Slightly jealous

I am jealous of the BDawg, as is every man in at least three counties in Minnesota and god-knows-how-many in PA. Not for the size of his genitalia, which is considerable, but because he is a slacker and has no worries/problems with that. He embraces the jobless world with a hearty grin and an awesome fedora.

Traveling to Texas? Not a problem! Let me load up the Cavalier with some jammin tunes and we out.

Minnesota? Old news, homes!

I, on the other hand, hyperventilate when I don't know exactly how next month's rent will be paid. I am far less of a man than the BDawg. I am a stop on the long and winding road of his life and times (kind of a mix of Bonnie Somerville and Bob Dylan in that sentence...go me).

Come back to MN and teach me all that you know about not caring. The little shit in life is going to kill me...I just know it.

"Hang my head, drown my fear till you all just disappear."

Just like that lyric is all. A shot to the junk for the blogger who can place it, naming both the song title and the artist.

Dig this

I have been reading that damned Hillary Clinton article again. In fact, if I want to feel a great wave of misplaced rage at anything in particular, I link over to it and peruse at my own leisure. Here's something that I find funny and sad at the same time...as everything truly sad has undertones of hilarity, because, honestly, is it worth getting so worked up over something as to exert any real feelings for it? I think not.

"A recent poll found 62 percent of people 18 to 34 hold a favorable opinion of Clinton, highest of any age group."

Well, after that May 12 article, I really think that her approval rating is going to be right where it should be: between the white cheeks of my ass. The only damn reason her approval rating is that high among young people is that she is a NOVELTY item. She could've come to the podium with platforms like 'Platypus Restoration' and 'Glitter Bonnie Bell dispensers in every ladies room across the country' and young (and invariably dumb) people would still support her.

She is something new. Something risque (I hate that damn word, so it applies to Hillary Clinton). Something that the moral majority and the tottering Religious Right will oppose, so every fucking wannabe Johnny Rotten Billie Joe Armstrong Elliot Smith Hunter Goddamn Thompson under 30 will support her.

Imagine a gay black woman running for president. Every fucking civil 'rights' group, youth group, Democrat group would be behind that person in a heartbeat, calling anyone who offered friendly, old-fashioned competition to her a freedom hating fascist.

After all, what else does it mean to be a liberal but to hate the establishment?

A more positive note

"What I Got" came on my juke as I was editing that last post. In a little better mood now cause that song is the shit.

Have you ever stopped what you're doing in medias res: stopped chewing with a lump of mulch that used to be Salisbury steak in your mouth, quit reading mid-sentence so that the beautiful princess's lips are poised literally inches from those of her savior, or stopped talking in the middle of a thought, causing people to question your deftness as a speaker, or even as a member of the human race? Usually when I do this, something monumentally catastrophic has happened inside my head...I have come to a realization: a truth so huge and caustic that it shreds all previous thought, pushing them to furthest, frozen reaches of the rubble that used to be a whip-quick, acidic mind.

I think that has been happening to me lately. I hope it's that and not Alzheimer's...I certainly have had enough to think about lately. And more than enough to drive me crazy.

On a more positive note, at least more tangential, Froyd and I took a solid second place in Double Dash at his place last night. Would've been first but the other people were sober and we were drunk and screaming at each other and the screen and the other people at Froyd's house and the brown boxes on his floor and Millie who, bless her heart, tried to drive but failed almost as miserably as Froyd himself. Don't let Froyd bullshit you, he has no Double Dash skillz.

French? Maybe Australian in descent?

You scored as Fox McCloud. Blowing stuff up is a favorite pastime of yours. You'll also do almost anything for money. You also find yourself fighting Star Wolf at the most inopportune times. He always shows up just as you're about to score with Krystal...or slit Slippy's throat. Fox McCloud 93% Samus 67% Mario 53% Kirby 53% Donkey Kong 53% Pokemon Trainer 47% Link 47% Which Nintendo Character Are You? created with QuizFarm.com

I never actually played a Starfox game...just played as him on Super Smash Bros. Melee and totally kicked ass. This quiz sucked though, because I fancy myself a Capt. Falcon. Anyway, from SSBM, I got the impression that Starfox was some kind of foreign dissident...perhaps French? Fill me in, because it matters greatly in the scheme of things.

If I had a million dollars...

I would move away from civilization completely. I would build a log cabin in the Yukon or Australia somewhere and have my food and supplies airlifted to me. Life would be so much simpler without that unnecessary hassle of technology, work, friends, or a social life. I have no social life mind you, but at least if I lived in the wilderness somewhere, I wouldn't have all these people hounding me about being a recluse.

What would you do if you had a million dollars? It probably wouldn't be as cool as what I just said, but that's ok. YOU aren't as cool as me.

Dammit! I hate myself again!

It just crept up on me. I didn't smell it...must've been downwind. Anyway, the reason for it is that Mark Christiansen is forcing me to write poetry. And (this is where the self-loathing comes in) I kind of enjoy it.
I've always thought that poetry ranked up there with creative nonfiction on the list on non-genres, and I still do. I guess I'm getting soft. Although, I was kicked out of the 209 Bar last week. If Ben reads this, I wasn't mad at you.

serious literary question

Would a story involving a dead Bob Dylan be considered creative nonfiction? I've got one in the making where he meets up with HST in heaven, or some drunken state called so, and was wondering if that would be too fictitious. It doesn't matter...I'm submitting my story to Creative Nonfiction anyway...just wanted to know what you all thought.

it's alienation time, boys and girls

Do you want to know what I hate today? I say all this bullshit about the grad office being Nazis or fat people wearing spandex (or other forms of tight-fitting clothing), but the thing I hate most of all is Facebook. I know that if you're reading this blog, you probably have a blog too, and if you have a blog, you're probably urban-techno-chic enough to be on Facebook. I'm sorry, but I hate you.

At first, I wasn't sure if I just hated the outlet (the actual website itself) or if the sheep who grazed in that pasture were the ones to blame. I think that an unequal measure of hatred shall be dished out to both, in accordance. Of course I already hate Froyd, so he is exempt...but the rest of you fuckers have been ostracized.

I wanted to see what the goddamn hubbub was all about, so I signed up today. After looking around for some people that I know, reading various things that weren't meant for human eyes (mine anyway), and looking at a rickockulous collection of drunk pictures, some including people I know, I said "FUNK DAT."

I am now going to attempt to delete said account. Don't look for me on Facebook. If I get an email saying "The BDawg has added you to his friends list," I will get in my car with my collection of fire pokers, my 18 volt cordless drill, and salad tongs, bound for Indiana, Pennsylvania. You will remember my name after that trip.

Keep your fucking campfire singalong, hand holding, keep in touch with warmest thoughts, I'm stuck in high school/college and I have no future bullshit! I'll be the guy with the can of gas, ready to warm up your little, happy party.

Don't talk to me after this. I'm pretty riled up and plan on being so for the next...oh, rest of my life.

Kip Winger is running for the position of sheriff in Beltrami County. This certainly is a long way from being on fat Stuart's t-shirt in Beavis and Butthead. Winger is god!

they're still frickin coming!!

Apparently this story (or the grad office's side of it, anyway) is spreading like wild fire throughout the English department. I've been chatted with by two professors since then (both of them, of course, hate my guts), and I suspect that more is on the way. What do they do, bring this shit up at the damn department meetings?

Anyway, my crusade is growing in numbers. I have allied to my cause the GAs that matter in the department. We are going to pick up any random people that might look like fascists and pummel them into paste right after I'm finished talking to you.

One word of advice: don't make any sudden, saluting movements around us. We eat fascists for breakfast and we're very hungry.

Beware! The Nazis Are Coming!

So, it wasn't exactly Nazis, but I'm sure they were fascists of some degree...on some plane. Their fucking scare tactics and storm troopers may be enough to frighten the light of heart amongst BSU grad students. I, however, do not fall into that category.

So, as the whole story goes, I got a note from the Grad Office yesterday saying that my tuition waiver and a bunch of other shit had yet to be turned in. I already knew that and needed no reminding by the fucking grad office. "The problem," I wrote in an email to one such arm-bander (what I now call any of the fascists from the grad office), "is that I don't know how to register for thesis credits because no one can give me a straight answer. And," this is a direct quote of myself, "I got this fascist letter in my box yesterday saying that if I didn't pay by today, I'd be dropped..." You get the whole boring idea.

Well, today I get stopped in the hall by Mark Christensen and he enlightens me to the fact that the word 'fascist' did not fall upon deaf ears in the grad office. They apparently took offense.

Goddamn Nazis. So freakin touchy.

Anyway, Johnny Cash came across my jukebox and I got to thinking...I could totally hold up the ideals of freedom and liberty from the fascists. Their tyranny and bullshit has gone on long enough. I'm going to fight the dirty red bastards. You can call me

Stephen Terhaar, Freedom Fighter.