The Unmistakable Stench of Rotting Fruit and Failure

Unfortunately, I must declare that this is a failure. I have done this many times. I almost enjoy being the coroner of creative endeavors. I say almost, because the sweetness of self satisfaction is not completely offset by the bitterness of failure.

What loathsome musing this is. That's certainly not what I wanted this to be. That's for my other project, "The Daily Whiner". At this rate, it may even be "The Hourly Whiner".

But as I was saying, this was a failure I don't know what I was expecting. I don't know what I wanted from this. Infinite offensiveness. Infinite comedy. Something remarkable and unique, or at least a decent copy of something remarkable and formerly unique. I expected nothing and I am still disappointed.

Mr Fucking Manners: Tips on being a gentleman and a scholar

I just stepped outside of my room, not quite drunk but certainly a grade beyond tipsy. There's nothing to do. Of course. No one is doing anything cool. I heard a football game on television and a very boring kid talking in a booming yet whining voice about this flaming lips concert and how they're totally the best band. Then I went into the bathroom to take a piss. I stared at myself in the mirror while peeing, to see myself listing slighty. What's that you ask? Yes little pig, that's how the urinal is set up. there's the mirror, a space over, then the two urinals. There is a conrete barrier just high enough up to ensure that the humble mirror viewer is not exposed to penis in addition to his own reflection, but goddamn, what a stupid design. Who wants to look at themselves while they're peeing. Even worse, there are only two urinals right next to each other. As any guy can tell you, two urinals without and partition between them are completely worthless. Might as well just have one. The simple reasoning is this. No one wants to stand next to another guy who is literally "holding his piece" just a few inches from you. That's not how it works. You need a one urinal buffer zone. Without it, there's a danger that someday, some drunken or otherwise socially deviant person would start up a urinal-side chat, in the tradition of FDR, though piss and penii would probably play a more dominant role than economic recovery and national pride. Here's an appocolyptic fantasy conversation of what would happen.

A: So... are you holding your penis will urine is ejected from it at a varying rate of speed depending on the fullness of your bladder?
B: Yep.
A: WHAT? YOU'RE HOLDING YOUR MEAT, RIGHT NOW, RIGHT HERE!?
B: Yep.
*pause*
A: How many shakes do you think you get before it counts as masturbation?
B: I'd say five, but then again, I'm circumsized so I don't need as many.
A: Oh. So what are some other characteristics of your penis?
B: Well, I have this wierd vein running up the top part of it, and it kind of hooks to the left, but it's not a boomerang cock.
A: Wow, I'm getting a real clear picture of what your penis looks like.
*B finishes urinating*
B: The human body is so fucking disgusting. It's fucking retarded to have the urinary and reproductive systems linked like this. *waves penis about for emphasis*


Moving on the shit-list. Literally. Don't laugh. The bathroom is filled with excrement that is both in and out of toilet bowls. The bathroom is fucking filthy. Wild packs of dogs will at least use a designated 'relieving area'. Sure it may be the corner, but at least it's in one place. This is just... everywhere. As thrilling as it is to be able to piss on the floor and never have to clean it up... it needs to stop. All of it.

Is there anything more endearing than constant complaining? Ha ha ha. Fuck you.

Look. Listen. Read. Learn. Shut the fuck up.

"complaining" is why we are here as a civilization. Someone complained about being cold, and so we made clothing. Someone complained about absolute monarchy and indiscriminate murder, and now we have democracy and laws. This "can do" optimistic spirit would work well in North Korea, but for everywhere else in the world, let's not put a happy face on things that are a) easy to change and b) run contrary to all standards of basic human decency. I'm not asking for mountains to be moved or the construction of a trans-siberian railroad. I just want PEOPLE, that is YOU, to not piss on the floor, to flush the fucking toilet, and to not wad up toilet tissue and throw it about like confetti.

In neolithic society, you would be the one who would shout down complaints about eating raw meat, not having tools and dying at age 20, but if you keep it up, you may be lucky enough to live as they did.

Thank you, Liquor fines and/or expulsion and/or police involvement!

There's nothing quite like sitting in your room, with the door locked and the blinds closed just to nurse a beer quietly. A college that takes seriously the charge of preventing college students from drinking is not a college I want any part of. Unfortunately, it's rather too late for that.

I shouldn't complain though, really. Even people that are 21 and over can only drink in thier rooms with the blinds closed and the door locked. Also, it's against the rules for anyone to display empty liqour bottles of any kind in thier room. Yes, little lamb, you heard correctly. It's a 3 strikes and your out policy not just for beer, but for beer bottles. Jesus fuck my eye.

The major downside of this is that liquor is a prime lubricant of social interaction among strangers. I enjoy being drunk, hell, I even enjoy being drunk alone. Still, I enjoy being drunk around other people more than being drunk alone, and by my definition, it means I'm not an alcoholic. If they really want to build community, they'd set up a few (dozen) kegs and just let everyone go at it. That's how you can instantly meet dozens of people and have a great social network. Not neccessarily "friends" but just people you can sit with at lunch and find out about campus events from. But no, that's not possible.

Of course, it's not possible officially, but a handy measure of intelligence is the amount of discretion an authority uses in enforcing arbitrary and harmful rules. In this case, they've elected to be female imperialist running dogs. That is to say, bitches. In any non totalitarian society, you can't actually stop people from committing a behavior. All you can is drive it underground. I'm on my second beer right now, and I'm debating having a third one. True, this isn't exactly a crackhouse, but these rules encourage me to drink alone. There is nothing and no one to stop me from breaking out my handle of vodka and having a vertible cocktail night right here in my room, alone. It's generally more fun being drunk around other people, but to compensate, I'll drink more. Great policy. Well done.

Shitty "community" events where we're lectured at for hours at a stretch is not exactly community building. How about some fucking fun? How about a few beers? How about a few shots? How about we get so drunk we're all stumbling around and talking about how much we loved this one song that goes like "DA NA NA NA DA DA" but we can't remember the fucking name of it? How about dude I totally know what you're talking about it, it was like the theme song to the cosby show but... different. you know?

No? Ok, I guess we'll just go off campus. Let me get my car keys. Yeah. I'm cool to drive. Yeah, I can give you a ride back too.

Epic Victories and Crushing Defeats in the Realm of Sandwich

A few weeks back, I finally got into sandwiches. A particularly delicious BLT was the cause, and I won't tease you with the succulent and erotically charged details that you can never fully experience, ever.

Suffice to say, it got me thinking about the possibilities two pieces of bread can hold. The first attempt was a crude, primitive sandwich, consisting of turkey, 91 cent mozarella cheese, and whitewheat bread. (don't ask. Let's just say that you're going to be getting diabetes and I'm going to be getting rock-hard erections when I'm 80. You don't want to say it? Fine, I'll say it, and say it's from both of us.)

Harnessing the power of a microwave, which wikipedia tells me "can result in severe burns." Unfortunately, I permenantly lost my sight in a freak accident both before and after, but not during the reading of that excerpt. (don't ask. Let's just say that you're going to be shooting milk out of your anus on the hour, every hour, in about 6 months, and I'm going to be building log cabins out of pudding and selling them to art dealers.)

Moving on: I fused the cheese, bread, and flesh into a single object that can never be taken apart or destroyed, then consumed it. It was suprisingly bountiful in flavor, but it could have been better. Much better.

I was missing many things. My checkbook, my wallet, my phone, part of my thumb and possibly one or both of kidneys, but none of those relate to this story in any way.

The things I was missing were condiments and spices. I don't mean fancy things like goose liver and tumeric. I mean things like mustard and pepper. Furthermore, a quick check of my pockets revealed that I could touch myself in public via a clever hole without anyone realizing. A more extensive check revealed that the existence of previously established clever hole precluded the possibility of money being in previously established pockets. Presently established godfuckingdamn it.

So, with the sweat of my brow, I extracted a few dollars from the harsh and infertile penny jar then went to a grocery store. I went on a whirlwind tour of spending, carousing, gambling and whoring. I'm not sure she was working "it" at that moment, in the grocers, but I am sure that she was a whore. I purchased "durkees", a cunning southern sauce. I purchased "for maximum value mustard", which I pray is a near cousin of actual mustard and not a dollar store variant of rat poison. Why would I suspect that you ask? Let me illuminate your empty head, pilgrim. By removing all the letters but the first letter of each word, we get FMVM. I feel that even the most thickskulled in our number should be able to make the tiny deductive step neccessary for establishing reasonable doubt of possible proof. Moving on: I furthermore purchased lettuce in a bag. I inquired within, and was assured that it was fresh by a local retard who is happier and wealthier than me. And I don't want to again address issues of my sexual orientation (straight and very narrow. Just like my penis. It's like a garden hose. I have to coil it in my pants or it'll get crimped.), but anyway, regardless, forthcoming, I think the retarded gentleman was "packing some serious penis heat", as a more discrete statesman once said. So, the real question is, who will put him out of his misery? He clearly can't enjoy life as much as me, with my tiny apartment, high rent, painful rectal itch, and deep loathing for all humanity including myself.

I also purchased several varities of curdled cows milk, which were cleverly remarketed as "cheese". Well done gentlemen, but don't think I didn't notice. You have been warned.

I came home. I put the various components together. I reached for the pepper without looking. I reached for the pepper with looking. I reached for the pepper in the grocery bag. I reached for the pepper in places there had previously been no pepper. I frantically reached over the entire kitchen multiple times for the pepper. Finally, I reached for the godfuckingdamn it and placed it slowly in my mouth, savoring the remarkable but spiceless flavor.

Postscript: The sandwich was disposed of. No pepper once, shame on me. No pepper twice, I throw away the fucking sandwich.

Second Postscript: I called up 6 or 7 sandwich shops in town that night to complain. From Subway to Jimmy Johns, from local businesses to monolithic multinational corporations, I complained without distinction. I complained about the seasoning. I complained about the service. I complained about other ingredients that never, technically interacted with my mouth and never technically came from thier store. I feel no guilt.! I needed to complain and curse regarding a sandwich with someone. I probably didn't "need" to threaten them, the lives of their families, or mention that "my gang" had been "casing" the "joint" and was going to "light it up" if they didn't give me "satisfaction", but I did. It was a mistake borne soley out of a desire for justice.

Literary Analysis

My Name is Billy. I wish I had a sailboat because i like to go swimming. My uncle taugt me diveing off a boat. It was a lot of fun. I am a good swimmer but not as good as my brother. He is two years older than me. He licks swimming a lot to.

What is Billy try to tell us about his race, class, ethnicity, social background and status? What is the power differential between him and the reader, if any? What other significant techniques and subthemes were used in this essay?


This is an excellently written and extremely clever essay by Billy. In the first sentence, one can clearly see Billy challenging standard writing conventions by capitalizing "My Name". By doing so, he is confidently asserting his self worth to the reader without being intimidating or clicked. His wish for a sailboat is obviously metaphorical. The author wants to escape, and the sailboat represents freedom, adventure, and pleasure.

By mentioning his uncle, Billy addresses the duality off concern/relief that comes from an authority figure, be it a biologically/culturally linked familial figure, the authority of mass culture, or the authority of a deity. In this context What significance does the uncle figure have?

Is mentioning "it was fun" a reminder of our own mortality, or is it merely discussing a single instance in time? What message is the author attempting to convey to the audience?

Billy writes: "I am a good swimmer but not as good as my brother. He is two years older than me" Explore the themes of false modesty, inferiority complexes, Freudian views on family and post-modernist feminist critiques of ability comparison.

What is the significance of the use of the word "licks" in the last sentence? How is the author contextually suggesting tacticle/oral-erotic imagery? Do you agree with the morality of his interpretation? Is this foreshadowing?

"Then there is the other secret. There isn't any symbolism. The sea is the sea. The old man is an old man. The boy is a boy and the fish is a fish. The shark are all sharks no better and no worse. All the symbolism that people say is shit. What goes beyond is what you see
beyond when you know."