Blah.

There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.
-Ernest Hemingway

I sit here and I write. I'm distracted, I waste time, but I write. I lay down and I dream, I think and I write. I make words but I can't write. There's no art without blood, without sweat and tears. There's no value without sacrifice, there's no meaning without pain.

The road of a doctor is glamorous, the road of an artist is treacherous. If you're an artist you'll die poor, if you can afford art you'll die rich. We all race on different tracks. If you're winning you're oblivious, if you're losing, you're ahead of the pack and if you're sitting on the sidelines watching them run, you've won. Soon they'll all die and be replaced by themselves.

You think you're winning when you see the finish line. You'll be struck down before figuring anything out.

You think you're losing when you see everyone pass you by. You're left alone and in that loneliness see yourself, what you need, who you are, putting you ahead of the crowd.

You sit on the sidelines when you've felt something wrong, it's not a track, it's a circle. You sit down and watch them run. By seeing what they do wrong you do what's right, you feel the grass on your ass and wait for what's coming to take all of you.

I've said nothing in the past paragraphs. What's their point? It means nothing, bullshit blabbering from a bullshit brain. Coping mechanism for your unparalleled laziness and lack of motivation. An excuse to be the way you are while justifying it, a way to sleep at night.

You believe the lie, making it true...but it's still a lie. What's right then? Certainly not using metaphors and an aggrandized vocabulary to show an idea that's been said before. Every thing is like some other thing. Every scene is like some other thing.

Whatever you think of has been thought of, whatever you write has been written. Frustration and lack of novelty seems to be our novelty. We don't walk forward, we just climb on top of everything that has been done before.

Well fuck you. Fuck trying, being is essentially what we're designed to do. What if everyone stopped trying so hard to be original and just existed? Who knows, it's never been done before.

Why are do big words make us feel important? Why does understanding something someone else doesn't make us feel superior? What if we looked deep inside ourselves? Looking for what we really wanted?

What if we found something we didn't want? What if we found something that scared us? Would you do it? Would I do it?

Bullshit blabbering from a bullshit mind and I still can't sleep at night. I need what I want, but I don't want what I need. I want a drink but I need tranquility. I want a joint but I need motivation. I want sex but I need stability..

Tomorrow will be bring me more of today. The day after that will be more of tomorrow. Life changes in a minute but every day seems just like the last one. Today is the only thing I have to worry about, tomorrow's problems will be waiting for me, they're not going anywhere.

No one cares about what I say but I say it. No one cares what I write but I write it. No one cares what you look like but you make yourself look so damn presentable every morning. No one cares about what you eat but you eat it. But that's different you idiot. You don't need to write or say what you have to say to live, I could go my whole life without either, moron.

Everything I write will go unheard, everything I think will never be known, it all builds to nothing, but nothing is all I have. Fuck these painfully inspirational thoughts, feelings and memories. They're not bad enough to be a tragic story, they're not interesting enough to be heard, they're just bad enough to fuck with my head and bum me out. Fuck'em all, but good thing I have them. I don't want them. They're all I got. I need them but I don't want them.

My Mission

I was on Google Maps today doing things that can't be considered even remotely productive. (Although now I do know it would take you 40 days to walk from California to Connecticut) Anyways, I began zooming in on both populated and remote parts of the world. Nothing too interesting. But then I thought that there has to be a car crash or accident somewhere.

Not good enough.

Out of 6 billion people someone must've been in a bad spot or must have been doing something really embarrassing at the exact moment Google snapped their picture. It's my mission to find them. Whoever you are, if you crashed your car or are doing something fishy on Google Maps, I will find you, and expose you. I will not rest until I find you. You have been warned...

Although it is weird that everyone
is looking up.

I Suck at Poker

Poker is like sex. Everyone thinks they're great at it, but almost no one knows what they're doing.

-A wise old man

I suck at poker, you probably suck at poker. If you know someone that says they're good at poker they -without a doubt- suck horse cock at poker. Some people who claim they'd be winning players if it wasn't for all the donkeys, really? Ok, let me put you up against professionals, I'm sure you'll do much better.

Everyone sucks at poker, some less than others. The best players are the ones that suck the least. Every player, whether he wins or loses, has hands that he regrets. He looks back and says How the fuck did I make that play? What the hell was I thinking? Sometimes these plays work, you suck out on the river, or you bust out.

The players who win make the least amount of mistakes, or the ones who really fucked up and got lucky. It's the charm of the game, find out who sucks the least. Everyone is always trying to fix the leaks in their game, trying to outdo the competition. No player has ever claimed to have played every hand of a tournament perfectly, and if he did, he lost.

So yeah, I suck at poker.

The End Is Near...

In a previous post I alluded to my utter disdain for 'hipsters'. There were several reasons, but I knew there was something else, a deeper reason. Like that feeling you get after eating too much Taco Bell and you think to yourself "Something bad is going to happen". You don't know exactly why, but you just know. This article explains it better than I ever can. Enjoy

My Blog, America and Poker

Several of my readers (yes, all 3 of you) have complained that my blog isn't very blog-like. I succumb to your demands. I shall post more often about the trivial challenges of my everyday life. You will join me in my uphill battle with employment, productivity and human interaction. As well as my bitter and oh so witty rants that you've all come to love.

There are certain things that put a smile on my face and make me have a slightly better day. This picture is an example of that.



It's good to see that the upcoming elections have captivated so many Digg users. But no matter how important or historic any election can be, it will always take a backseat to a 'That's what she said' joke. Good to see I'm not the only one.

Also, I had a very pleasant ending to my last Sit&Go of the day. We had been 3 handed for a while and the chip stacks were almost even the whole time. It was fucking exhausting, but then I managed to end it all in three hands.

Hand #1
t150/t300 Blinds - 3 players
The Official 2+2 Hand Converter Powered By DeucesCracked.com

SB: t4510
Hero (BB): t5140
BTN: t3850

Pre Flop: (t450) Hero is BB with 4H 4D
1 fold, SB calls t150, Hero raises to t700, SB calls t400

Flop: (t1400) 4S 4C 3S (2 players)
SB checks, Hero checks

Turn: (t1400) 5D (2 players)
SB bets t1400, Hero calls t1400

River: (t4200) KD (2 players)
SB bets t2410 all in, Hero calls t2410

Final Pot: t9020
SB shows 2C AH (a straight, Five high)
Hero shows 4H 4D (four of a kind, Fours)
Hero wins t9020


Hand #2
t150/t300 Blinds - 2 players
The Official 2+2 Hand Converter Powered By DeucesCracked.com

Hero (BTN/SB): t9650
BB: t3850

Pre Flop: (t450) Hero is BTN/SB with 8H AH
Hero raises to t600, 1 fold

Final Pot: t600
Hero wins t600


Hand #3
t150/t300 Blinds - 2 players
The Official 2+2 Hand Converter Powered By DeucesCracked.com

Hero (BB): t9950
BTN/SB: t3550

Pre Flop: (t450) Hero is BB with AC AS
BTN/SB raises to t600, Hero raises to t900, BTN/SB calls t300

Flop: (t1800) 3H 4H KC (2 players)
Hero checks, BTN/SB bets t1800, Hero raises to t3600, BTN/SB calls t850 all in

Turn: (t7100) 2D

River: (t7100) 6C

Final Pot: t7100
Hero shows AC AD (a pair)
BTN/SB shows AH 2S
Hero wins t7100

I smiled for two minutes straight.

What do you mean, try?

Try not. Do, or do not. There is no try.

-Yoda

This is Yoda

This highly overused, cliché of a quote from one of the greatest Jedi masters of all time is completely taken out of context to prove the point I want. This may sound hypocritical, -since I constantly criticize the plethora of wannabe intellectuals who quote philosophers out of context- but trust me, our motives are very different. See, these people with anti-Bush pins and Save Darfur Bumper stickers do it as a type of mental masturbation. They are the epitome of intelligence and reasoning in this world; to prove this they use the very words of Socrates and Aristotle to prove their point. So it doesn’t matter if you, a simple-minded slave to the government, disagree with their point of view, because the greatest philosophers of all time agree with them, so phooey.

Wow, really? If Socrates was alive he would totally agree with you that Bush is worse than Hitler? Hmmm…Well do you know if Socrates was alive today we would be probably be a very active member of NAMBLA. Fuck off and go eat a tofu salad while you protest the tragedy du jour, you’re really making a difference.

Sorry, I needed to get that out of my system faster than a 7^th grader who hasn’t jacked off in a week. Ahhh…anyways the reason I quote this Mexican jumping bean of a Jedi is twofold. First, it’s a good example of my thesis in this foul-mouthed, spewing essay. Second, I can’t believe I’ve posted over 5 entries without using a quote from Star Wars, and I need to get it out of my system faster than…fuck; I already used that witty analogy.

I digress (read: start) to my point. The word try has become so ambiguous that no one really knows what it means anymore. Do, or do not. That sounds like a good technique, fuck trying, just saddle up, do it, or fail. None of that peewee soccer 'You tried your best Skyler, here’s a sugar cookie' bullshit. So what is it, try or do? Do we follow our dreams, or do we try to follow our dreams? The more I think about it, the many times I’ve seen people try, or I’ve tried myself leads me to another word, failure.

Once you decide you will try something you’ve accepted a slight possibility of failure. A sliver of doubt in your mind forces you to say ‘try’ instead of ‘do’. You can even see it in sporting events, when the game is over the new champ comes for an interview with a hot chick or balding man. Whether it be football, poker, skeet shooting, you always hear “I did my best and got lucky”. I only hear “I tried my best but just couldn’t cut it” from, surprise surprise, second place. The winners were also the people who said, on day one, I’m going to win this. Try seems to have been surgically removed from their vocabulary.

So, the second we try something we subconsciously prepare for failure, but what about when it’s not in competition, no prize? We’re going to try to save our marriage. I’m going to try and do better in school. The latter, at least for me, is just words I say to keep people of my back. And you’ve done it to. Whenever someone asks you to be careful, not to feed it after midnight, not put that in there and you say I’ll try you’re a lying motherfucker. You want, or will, do said thing the second you get a chance. So is trying synonymous with lying, deception? Trying is a last resort and a first tool. It’s lies and failure. Trying is a dirty word that I will only use when asked, Can you give me a courtesy tap? Sure, I’ll try.

Trying also goes against your nature. Too many people have ruined a good thing by trying to do what they are supposed to do, or what they think they have to do, rather than just go with it. What if they told Sammy Sosa to try to swing the bat correctly? Hey, Gus Hansen, try not to play trash hands for once. Umm…Mr. Cheech, Mr. Chong? Can you try not to smoke the marijuana like a cigarette when you come up with ideas?

But how does this relate to me? I’m not a roided up batter, not a wild Danish card player and I haven’t made a career making awesome stoner movies. I’m just average, everything I do is average so I have to try and be like the successful people. People get stuck trying to do something for years just because they think it’s the only way. I find this ridiculous.

Our bodies and minds have this neat trick, they tell us when we like something, when something fucking works. We’re the idiots who fight it. Throw it all on the wall and see what sticks. We tend to rip off what stuck and try to force pieces of unknown less stick objects on the wall, and we get pissed and try harder. By the time we realize what we’ve done we’re sitting in the corner, exhausted, staring at an empty wall, with all our sticky shit on the floor, being carried away by ants. FUCK!

Like the kid who likes reading and writing, gets funneled into engineering. He’s good at math at science, why not try it out? Like that couple that tried to have a long distance relationship? But, by far, the worst is when people let a label dictate the way they act. They become something so they have to try and fill that role. I’m an RA now I can’t launch soda rockets in the hallways anymore. It’s not that they don’t want to; they’re trying to fill the role of what they’re supposed to be. They will fail. Stick with what sticks.

Another example we’ve all seen. Guy and girl great friends, start dating and it lasts as long as a celebrity marriage. What happens? Labels and trying. While they’re friends there’s no trying just being. This gets ruined once labels come into place. Since they’re boyfriend and girlfriend they start trying to fill those roles. It changes the way they act around each other. They start forcing some things rather than letting them happen, they ruin the reason they were so great in the first place. If they just stopped trying and just letting things happen they’d be surprised by the difference. Just think about it, remember something you’ve done with a person when you both forced yourselves, it just didn’t work and probably sucked. Now remember the time you just let it happen, spontaneously, no forcing, no pressure, I’ll bet you anything it was good, pretty damn good actually.

All this doesn’t mean give up. Just fucking do things, if you fail, find out why, fix it and do it again. I’m done trying, never again.

Failure To Succeed Part 1

*This blog, as well as the people mentioned in the stories, will remain completely anonymous and pseudonyms shall be used due to incriminating (read: that time you fucked a fatty) events.

“Your pizza is ready”

I sign the voucher and take the pizza from the greasy cashier. We managed to get the only table – nothing short of a miracle—in the whole restaurant. The price was steep; minutes of flirting with four robust hockey playing girls wearing nothing but spandex and camel toes. I wonder how many times I can pull the “I don’t give my number to strangers” before getting called out on it. I guess she’d rather believe that instead of further embarrassing herself, she’d already grabbed my ass to which I responded with a look that said “If you touch me again I will vomit on your face.” We have your table, now leave. Thank you. They go back to their dorm sans male companions, phone numbers or dignity, an event all too familiar for girls of that caliber.

“Ryan, your pizza is ready”

The three of us sit down, DPS and I go to town on the pizza while Pookie has his head on the table.

Pookie: I fucked it up! I’ll never get another hot girl, why do I have to be such a looser.

Me: Calm down Pookie, there’ll be others you just have to learn to make a move.

DPS: Yeah man, you can’t expect her to do all the work.

Pookie: Why not? It’d make things so much easier.

Me: Because she’s a fucking girl man. Ok, listen up. She’s just as horny as you, she wants to fuck but it’s your job to work for it. She’s already spent hours working out, putting on make-up and choosing an outfit. She wants to be seduced, she wants to feel special. She is a prize, and she wants you to know it, fight for her, make her consider you worthy of her used up vag.

Pookie: Wow, you guys inhaled that pizza, couldn’t even give me a slice.

Me: I know, and I’m still starving.

DPS: Me too, but I’m broke.

“Ryan, your pizza is ready”

We all look at each other, our thought is communal, Ryan’s fucked. I give DPS the nod, me and Pookie stand up and head for the door. As we’re leaving we hear DPS’s voice in the background.

DPS: Yeah, I ordered a pizza a while ago, there was some traffic. My name’s Ryan.

DPS shows up with a large pepperoni and we continue our long drunk walk back to the dorm. As we devour the pizza our conversation continues.

Pookie: I just don’t like getting rejected. I won’t know what to do, I’d feel like shit.

DPS: Pookie, man, everyone gets rejected. You win some you loose most.

Me: Yeah, even if you get rejected 10 times that one time she drags you to the bathroom is worth it.

Pookie: I don’t know. I’m so worthless.

Me: Ok, how about tomorrow at the Professors and School Girls party, we’ll all get rejected. We’ll specifically hit on girls in order to get turned down; the one who gets booted the most, wins.

DPS: Ok, Ok, I like it. We’ll make a pact then tomorrow we all fail, you’ll see that it’s not that bad Pookie. It actually gets easier the more you drink.

Pookie: I guess, I’ll give it a try.

We all swore to fail over Ryan’s pepperoni pizza as we crossed the street to our dorm.

Pookie: Thanks guys.

Don't Quit Your Day Job Part 3

So, are you interested? After reading that you still think you’re up for it? Well, answer these questions then.

1) How far are you willing to go?

2) How good is your self-esteem?

3) Are you a good actor?

5) Are you willing to let someone be the most important thing in your life one day and leave them the next?

6) Can you handle being completely alone?

Here are the correct answers.

1) All the way. You need to know your objective and be willing to do whatever it takes to get there, because once you get there your job is done. A month long vacation with her family? Yup. Getting your ass beat? Yup. Letting her decide if she wants to keep it (hopefully she’ll vacuum the bugger)? Yup.

2) Rock solid. You can’t doubt yourself for a second, you have to know how great you are or else you’ll be destroyed in any project that you get too involved in. Women will fight you till the very end; they’ll hook up with other guys and hate you. Her friends will most definitely dislike you and you’ll have to stand tall, never appear weak, if you do, you fail. And don't expect them to thank you, they never will.

3) The best. Every girl has different problems and every problem must be treated differently. Normally I’m cocky, rude and inconsiderate of most people’s feelings, basically an asshole; you’ll have to learn to adapt your personality to each project without being too obvious. Tori needed to be treated like crap; she eventually ‘cheated’ on me, which was the goal of that project. ‘Ice Queens’ need to be gradually warmed up until their hearts melt, you’ll have to be sweet until you give her cavities, show her your mushy side. You have to cry on command, control subtle body language you want them to notice, know your different stares and how to use them. Never break character.

4) In a second. You will become involved with your projects. You’ll miss them and want them around, they will be important to you but you have to be able to let them go. It’s impossible not to get involved and even I’ve broken my cardinal rule, don’t fall in love. Just know that you’ll have to loose them and it won’t seem that bad when that time comes. You have to come in out of nowhere, then leave as suddenly as you showed up.

5) Yup. You can’t hide these projects since they involve human relationships, so you have to justify them. You naturally have to be a strong person to take on projects, which means you already have enemies. Projects cause more, women get jealous and don’t want their friends (your projects) around you, guys resent (unless you only take on fatties and ugly bitches) your success and shun you. People will try to take you down and you can’t let your guard down. It gets better though, you learn to trust people for certain things, designated friends. If you ever do find someone who sticks by you regardless of this, don’t let them go.

I also have a set of rules, but I won’t list them. As long as you have what it takes you can make your own rules, and if you’re like me you’ll probably end up breaking them anyways. Just don’t forget who you are and what you’re doing, stay focused children. This is what I do, this is the key to my success with women. This is what works for me and it’s actually the only way I know how. My success comes with a price though. I consider it a toll-booth on my daily commute, and I’ll always pay the price because I’ll never quit my day job.

Don't Quit Your Day Job Part 2

How do you get here? Why do girls flock to your room? Why you? There are dozens of books, instructional videos and websites dedicated to the art of picking up girls. There’s a whole community (more like cult) of these guys, Mystery, David DeAngelo or Ross Jeffries; each guy with their own technique, whether it’s cold-readings, pre-determined lines or overall scummy techniques. If you want a quick ‘how-to’ guide to get laid in college these guys will help –if you’re not completely incompetent. But that’s not what I’m about, personally I hate these guys, they make our world a shittier place. These con artists are programmed shells with nothing to offer after they run out of lines, and they make my job so much harder.

I’ll start from the top. Anyone who’s relatively smart knows the feeling of being ahead of the crowd, being more mature than your peers. You feel stunted and a need to dumb yourself down in order to have a good time. Sadly –like most people—I did exactly this, because hey, it beats the alternative, alienating yourself. Dumbing yourself down to one group becomes too easy, so you become a crowd jumper. You fit in with every group of friends but have no click of your own, you take pride in this. You’re such an amazing person you can stretch your personality to fit everyone’s desires… and then you feel empty again. You’ve lost sight of yourself; you’re pretending to be so many different people you forget who you actually are. You hate some groups but stick with them because you have no real reason to leave them; you pulled your personality until it tore. This is where most of the relatively smart people stay stuck, because it’s hard to fix.

To find yourself again you have to lose everyone else. This is why very few people do it, it’s a tough path. People will hate you, you’ll become alienated, and you don’t know who to trust. The resentment is so great people can’t wait for a chance to stab you in the back, to gang up on you, to get back at you. New people will feel intimidated and try to take you down; it’s a lifetime of fighting, a lifetime of looking behind your back, a lifetime of being alone.

At this point you’re probably wondering what the fuck this has to do with anything. Well, this incessant solitude causes boredom, this boredom caused my nifty little brain to develop games and social experiments to entertain myself. They started out small, saying or doing absurdly random things in public to gauge reactions. Seeing how fast I could get a girl in bed and push her sexual limits to see how far she’d go. Then the games got more serious. How long would it take for someone to tell me their deepest, darkest secrets? How fast could I get a girl to fall in love with me?

I got more involved in each game and this is where I realized how many people were going through what I went. Torn personalities, they had issues they couldn’t seem to solve but I knew how to fix it. The games became productive, helping people fill the holes in their lives. I switched to only helping women because I got laid in the process, fuck it, I’m a shitty person. I’d never felt a sense of accomplishment or significance until I helped a girl fill her void –no, not like that silly. Every girl has issues, some feel they’ll never be able to love again, others wonder why they’re always just ‘another’ girl, and some are just trapped in their current –shitty-- situation.

I call them projects, and no two will ever be the same. Some can take a week, a few will take years. Some will only need a visit once a week; others will take up half your day. Some will go smooth, other times you’ll get the shit beaten out of you. It’ll push you to the limit and then more, it challenges every single one of your skills and you reach places you never thought possible. There will be points where you regret starting a project, you’ll want to quit, and at that moment you realize this is the challenge you were waiting for.

Why the hell would someone do this? First the challenge is too great to pass up. Second, nothing else gives me the sense of fulfillment that my projects do. I’m not giving them a fish, I’m not even teaching them to fish, I’m helping them build a god damn fish stick factory. Third, I don’t know what else to do, I’m so conditioned to problem fixing and human drama I feel empty when everything is going great. Too bad I don’t get paid for this.

Don't Quit Your Day Job Part 1

God: Bender, being God isn't easy. If you do too much, people get dependent on you, and if you do nothing, they lose hope. You have to use a light touch. Like a safecracker, or a pickpocket.

Bender: Or a guy who burns down a bar for the insurance money!

God: Yes, if you make it look like an electrical thing. When you do things right,people won't be sure you've done anything at all.

-Godfellas, Futurama

*Knock* *Knock*

I jumped off my bed –leaving Tori’s firm ass in plain view—and walked to the door. Who the fuck could that be?

Tori: What are you doing?

I didn’t answer her and wrapped a jacket around my waist, shielding the world from my naughty bits. I went outside and heard a faint ‘Where are you going?’ before I shut the door. God, she doesn’t know how to shut the fuck up.

It was my favorite hot girl/gay guy couple standing outside my room. And yes, there are plenty to choose from in a Liberal Arts University with a Rainbow Center.

Lou: We heard some noises coming from your room…

Sarah: What are you doing in there?

Me: Playing Candy Land, it’s a rough game.

Lou: Naked?

Me: Yep.

Sarah: Can we join?

Me: Nope.

Sarah: I guess me and Lou will just play out here then.

They looked at each other for a second and then she jumped him. He picked her up, pinned her up against a wall and they began eating face. Oddly enough this sight wasn’t that rare; a gay man ravaging a girl while another guy stood there bordering on nudity, welcome to college.

Me: So what are you guys doing tonight?

Lou: Me, [fuckbuddy] is coming over so I’ll my hands full.

Me: And your mouth.

Sarah: I’ll be drinking in my room, where’s your roommate by the way?

Me: He went home for the weekend, immigration issues. I’ll see you guys later.

As they turned the corner she looked back at me and smiled, she’d be coming –no pun intended—over tonight. I go back to my room, grab a beer from the fridge and sit at my desk. Tori is pretending to sleep so I’d pay attention to her, so I did. I fire up a game of online poker and blast The Doors. I don’t know her birthday, favorite color or menstrual cycle, all I know is that she despises The Doors aka: the greatest band of all times. Every time she moaned or turned I would raise the volume, she doesn’t take a hint this one.

Me: Tori!

Tori: Can you please turn off that music.

Me: No.

Tori: I want to sleep.

Me: I don’t.

Tori:…well is there something else you want to do?

Good God she’s desperate for attention.

Me: Not with you.

Tori: Fine then, I’m leaving.

Me: Ok.

She didn’t budge; she sat at the edge of my bed waiting for me to talk her into staying. I was busy; I had good cards and a flush draw.

Tori: I don’t know why I bother.

She got off the bed and started the scavenger hunt for her clothes.

Tori: Where’s my bra.

I pointed to the top of my bookshelf, hit my flush and won 50 cents, awesome.

Tori: Bye

Me: Yup

She grabbed the doorknob and hesitated.

Tori: All you do is use me, you’re going to end up alone and miserable one day, asshole.

I use her? Yeah right. As for the ‘alone’ part, she has no idea

Me: Get the light on your way out.

She stormed out of the room. I crack open another beer and look out my shitty dorm window, waiting for my next visitor. Wondering how best to please her, remembering if she’s the boob or the ass girl, if she’s a top or bottom, if she has the daddy issues or the abusive boyfriend. This is my day job.

Fugitives on the Run: Part 2

I knew I couldn’t, it was off limits. This was the last time we were going to see each other. Terribly tragic, I know, but what can you do? Three years ago I wouldn’t believe this site. I hated Lola when I met her, snobby, stuck up and, like every other high school elite, spoiled to the core, I guess people can change. Me, I was unmotivated, used drugs and had a blatant disregard for authority; I guess some people never change.

Our weekend getaway didn’t turn out as expected, nothing we do ever does. That’s not a bitter tone, no matter how terrible our plans turn out we have a great time together, but it’s goodbye now.

Our train arrived and now we were waiting for hers. This is where our tracks split.

Me: Ten minutes left.

Lola: We’re not going to sit here and stare at the clock like a bunch of idiots though.

Me: Hahahaha, no.

Lola: I have to pee, hold on.

Classy lady. I saw the minutes go buy, no stopping them. She was happy, happier then when we said goodbye last night. 7 minutes left. Is there really a point in staying here? I should just pick up my bags and leave; it’d be easier on her. 6 minutes. Good God, this woman has the bladder of a race horse, if she’s not back in one minute I’ll go. 5 minutes. Well, I guess it’s time. I put her bags on the bench, picked up my bags. Fuck, I have so much shit with me. As I stood up I saw her coming through the crowd, damnit. She always does this, in the airport, train station, bus stop everywhere she always shows up seconds before I leave. Bitch.

Me: I guess it’s time to say goodbye.

Lola: Yeah.

She wrapped her arms around me and I hugged back.

Me: I’m going to miss you.

Lola: I’m going to miss you too.

I pulled my lips away from her ear and had them dangerously close to hers. She pulled back and began to pout like a kid. She stomped her foot and in with a voice whinier the Fran Dreschers said.

Lola: I can’t, I don’t want to. It’ll make things too hard, why do you always have to do this?

Me: I don’t care.

So I grabbed her by the hip and kissed her. It must’ve been a weird show for everyone around us, it looked like she was about to slap me before I kissed her. She pulled back again, eyes full of tears and then she hugged me as hard as her arms let her.

Lola: Bye.

And she ran towards her gate. Little bitch. I caught up to her just in time.

Me: I just need to know, just tell me because I feel like if I’m going crazy. I just need to know if things were different, if our plans worked out once, do you think we could’ve been happy?

Lola: …you’re not crazy.

With that she walked away. I stood there smiling as I saw her walk up the stairs to her track. She took a turn and saw me looking at her. Fuck, I hate that she caught me looking at her. I took my bags and left to the main terminal.

I sat down as I watched everyone around me. So many people, I wonder how many were saying goodbye. I wonder how many people were going home or leaving it. I didn’t know where to go. I had everything I owned in those two bags, no ticket, I could go anywhere but I had nowhere to go. And that’s when it hit me. I did it, I was free. I squeezed and fought myself out of the status-quo prison I was stuck in and now I’m here. Standing in a place in between places, a place that could take me anywhere, wherever I went from now on was my choice. I took my bags and pulled out a cigarette.

Anal Pirate/Security Guard: Excuse me, sir, you can’t smoke in here.

Me: But it’s not even lit, I’m walking outsi…

Anal Pirate/Security Guard: Well please wait until you’re outside then.

Fuck.

Fugitives on the Run: Part 1

"If two people love each other, there can be no happy end to it"

-Ernest Hemingway

I stood at the edge of the train stop and gazed at the beautiful scenery. Battered old rusty train tracks, littered with beer bottles, fliers and the occasional half-joint, I’m pretty sure I saw a dream or two lying around there. It was comforting knowing that our lives relied on these rusty pieces of shit not falling apart, our future looked bleak. On the other side of the tracks was a flaccid chain link fence; its days of keeping conniving train riders at bay were over. The field it no longer protected was overrun by mutant weeds and a mysterious rectangular pond that was perfect for concealing corpses, firearms, babies or a combination thereof. The rundown motels at the end of the field were falling apart by the second, the occupants –most likely an assortment of hookers, drug dealers and politicians—weren’t doing any better.

I looked back at Lola…so were the two old pervs on the bench. She was trying to keep her skirt down while the wind did its best to reveal her well trimmed goods. To top it off the whole place smelled of shit, but there was not a turd in sight…Ahhh, New Jersey. I sat down next to her as the wind died down and their eyes went from her skirt to her cleavage.

Me: What time is it?

Her breasts are pretty fucking awesome

Lola: The scenery isn’t very romantic is it?

Me: Hahahaha, neither are we.

Lola: Yeah, I guess it’s a perfect fit then…the train is coming.

I put my arm around her and we both gazed at our disgustingly romantic spot. Cherry Hill, New Jersey. I can’t help but laugh when I think of that place. A terrible town in the worst state in the union, (Note: If you are from New Jersey I’m sorry, not for insulting it, but because you had to live there) but it was the only place we ever called ours. I could ramble on about our story, how we met, fighting the feelings, and the climax that every good story about a girl, but that’d be a waste of my time and yours, for now anyways. We go way back, as far as the eye can see, like rusty old train tracks. We’re still moving too, tracks leading towards somewhere where we can’t see. All I can tell you is about where we are, our little train stop, because that’s the only place you can really see.

We were sitting on the train, talked our way on with only one ticket, the cleavage helped. We took a seat and I started playing with her skirt.

Me: These designs look like fireworks.

Lola: I know…

Me: I like this one, it’s very Shazam.

Lola: Really? I think this one’s better.

Me: Fuck no, check out the color design and size on this one, it’d kick the other one’s ass

Lola: Haha, you wish.

At least she was laughing. I think I might actually miss this one.

Me: I want to kiss you so bad right now.

Lola: …

My Folded Rockets Part 2

I know, I’ve heard all the pro-college arguments already. Those people didn’t work hard enough. Finish the degree, a diploma is a foot in the door. What good is a foot in the door when the room’s already packed? The professors are accomplished professionals. Going to a big school you encounter two types of classes.

1) Huge lectures given by PhD’s who don’t give a crap because they’re teaching the most basic part of their field to a group of kids who are forced to take their class.. Nobody wins, tests are a cheat fest, I won’t bother you if you don’t bother me.

2) You have TA’s. People a couple years older than you studying for their own degree and consider teaching you another bump in the road.

I do not claim all professors or TA’s are like this, there are a few exceptional educators here, but they're more scarce than profanity in a Will Smith album. Going to class is listening to an audio book, and getting a piece of paper at the end, proof of purchase, $120,000 in four easy payments. Reading the overly priced textbooks teaches you more than going to class. If I was interested in a subject I’d read an extra book on it, when I asked a TA about it I’d be asked to stay on topic, yeah right he didn’t know what the fuck I was talking about. The quality of people that receive a degree scare me sometimes, this is the future of America? These people who have a hard time spelling and think Wedding Crashers is an intelligent comedy are college graduates? I’m embarrassed to go to the same school as most of these people.

Don’t be stupid get the degree and then follow your dream, it’s only four years, no matter what job you have a degree will get your more money/respect/testicular fortitude. I was listening to the radio one day, the guy was talking about pursuing your life goals and people who set money as their goal live unhappy lives. I look around the bus (where else would I be listening to the radio) people either chatted away on their phones or bobbed their head to whatever bomb musician they were listening to. He said that money comes and goes; some never run out while others can’t get any. There’s one thing that we can’t get more of and will run out no matter what, time. The only time we get is from when we start breathing till we stop, no more, no redos, a crappy time is non-refundable, ask your local dealer for more information. How can we put a price on life? I got off the bus and everyone continued whatever they were doing, I was off to sell my life at $8.50 an hour.

The other week I spent around 11 hours (not in one sitting) writing a five page report on Barack Obama’s American Opportunity Tax Credit. I handed it in during office hours, my TA looked at the title skimmed through it randomly putting checks and topped it off with an A-. Are you kidding me? 11 hours to write, 20 seconds to evaluate, when I asked him what was wrong with it he said, “I never give A’s”…well suck me off and shit on my nipples. I should’ve asked him for $93.50 (minus social security and medicare of course) it seems to be the going rate for my life. All this time I put into this work that will barely pay off, 15% of a 3-credit class, 120 credits to graduate. Hey it could be worse; I could be paying for this.

When does it stop? When do I get to do what I like? Judging by the way things were going, never. The American Dream is bullshit. The only thing I can compare it to is MC Escher’s Ascending and Descending, always climbing but never reaching. Every step you take they tell you it’ll be at the next one, then the next one, ad infinitum. How different is this from life, do good in elementary and middle school then you get to go to high school, you have more freedom and can even choose some classes. Wait till you get to college you can choose all your classes and have more freedom. Wait till you get a job, you’ll work and have more freedom. Wait till you get promoted, you’ll do less work and have more freedom. Where do I get off? When do I finally reach the top? The American dream is just getting promised free candy and then getting violently raped in the back of a windowless van by a guy who goes by the name of a household appliance. Mister, I want out of this fucking van.

Despite this, everyone follows these steps that lead to the molestation of what you used to call a life. I’m calling him out, BAD TOUCH! BAD TOUCH! I see past your lies, criticize the blue collar society? Last I noticed the only difference between you and them was the color. We slave our lives away for the promise of happiness, we delay it now to have it later. Maybe you’re OK with that, but I can’t live my life that way. I have childish dreams of being a writer, comedian or a poker player. Fuck a significant life, your life’s work will just be skimmed through with someone randomly placing checks on it. I’d rather enjoy it, there’s so much this world has to offer. There’s so much to see, cities and monuments, nature and boobs.

Spending four years here, then 5-10 minimum in a company, the idea makes me nauseous. The most important things I’ve learned have been from real people, people who’ve succeeded at life and aren’t forced to teach because they’ve failed. Life is the best teacher, how can we learn if we keep on postponing it? I need out of this system, I sent out my application to the University of Life and am waiting my answer. I’ll try to get to the top on my own because I know I’ll never reach it on these stairs, perhaps a ladder? Getting my degree in Journalism/Philosophy, I’ll throw away this hand, a poker tournament has never been won off of pocket Aces.

My Folded Rockets Part 1

There’s nothing worse than not knowing how to open an essay. You got all the ideas floating around in that noggin of yours, but the part that puts them together is still napping off the suspiciously cheap vodka from last night. Well, here it goes, I’m folding my rockets, I’m going to lay down the best hand I’ve been dealt.

I’m currently a student of a second-tier state university with an over budgeted athletic program, and I go here for free, joy. Boy was I lied to. You work your way through an overly Christian and conservative high school that considers freedom of speech to be on the same level of alcohol, inappropriate for underage use. The kids there are the same, miniatures of their breeders, soon to take their spot as CEO of Stick’N’Anus enterprises. Teachers were apathetic and anyone who could deal with this lot of spoiled children was immediately hired. My comments got me in trouble, my sense of humor was blasphemous, I was promised that if I did well I’d go to a decent college, more liberal, a place where the tiny seed that is my brain could blossom into a beautiful white collar flower. I did what they said. Fuck yeah, I was getting the hell out of there. A land filled with unique people, alcohol and females with questionable morals, smells like home.

My first semester here was like the first time I went to McDonalds. You see it on TV, a place with playgrounds, clowns, mascots of unknown gender and mouthwatering burgers that are plump and ooze with flavor. The 2 story playground with a huge swirling slide that you promise yourself you’ll ride until you puke. And then you go. You walk in knees shaking with excitement. It doesn’t look as good as the one on TV but that’s ok it still looks awesome. You go up to the counter and order your first kids meal with the 4$ you just asked your mom for so you can buy it yourself. You see the obese minorities and lanky teens in the back making your food, everyone in the commercial was attractive…meh who cares.

You get your food and bolt to the playground, not before you run back to the counter because you forgot your orange soda. Wow. Holy shit. This place is awesome. Ball pit, check. Awesome slide, check. Cockpit, complete with plastic bubble and steering wheel, check. You take out your gourmet meal and then it’s all downhill from there. The perfect burger you were promised looks like someone had sat on it and farted, repeatedly. The fries are cold and the toy is a piece of shit. My heart is broken.

At least you still have the playground. You walk in only to be hit by the smell of socks and stale vomit. You run to the slide, that’ll be worth it. You reach the top and that excitement you had when you came in is back. You sit on the edge, fingers cold and heart beating. You let go…and you let go… What the fuck? You’re not moving, you have to push yourself every 5 inches. Your dreams of shooting out the slide at 80 miles per hour, rolling on the mat and finishing in an awe-inspiring pose are dead. Is this really it? Is this really what you promised me?

Besides my major that promised great rewards after 4 years of sacrifice (mechanical engineering) the scene didn’t change much. Being a state school with 71% in-state students the only diversity I found was in the mirror. Everyone had their high school click, everyone went home for the weekends it was basically a 30k a year daycare for young adults, and they’re still kids. Being an honors student in this “prestigious” institution made me feel like a one eyed man in the land of the blind, the problem is I have two. I went to job fairs and talked with alumni. The successful ones needed Viagra for sex and the young ones needed a miracle. Recent grads –if they were lucky enough to be employed- told me that the only had to keep on working hard and do slave labor for 5-10 years before they made senior engineer and could start living the good life. Excuse me? I was promised 50K a year starting salary. Fill one hand with promises and the other with shit; see which one fills up first. 9-15 years before my life picks up, before the promises I’m promised now are fulfilled. Excuse me, but fuck you. I was told to change my major. It’s not about the money; it’s about doing something your passionate about. It’s hard to pick your passion out of catalogue. Change it to something you like, a field where the tiny seed that is your brain can blossom into a beautiful white collar flower. I did what they said. Same shit different asshole.

To those of you who graduated college you’re probably aware of the calls asking you to support your alma mater with a donation of 250$, that’s me on the other line. This job showed me the value of a college degree. Retired without a penny, unemployed, living with parents 15 years after graduation, unemployed, drowning in debt, working in a restaurant, unemployed, drives a truck, unemployed, unemployed…these people went to the same place I did, promised the same things I was, their Aces cracked. Those with enough money to donate made it out of wit; most times there degree had nothing to do with their wealth. What was their secret, how did they succeed where so many failed? What am I doing here? Did I really puke in the shower last night?