In Defence of [Moderate] Sagging

//written in letter form, to present to offending parent for bothering you about having your pants a few inches below your waist.

Dearest Mother and/or Father,

I see you have taken offence to my style of dress. I've prepared this letter for your convenience, so you might understand that what I'm doing is not, in fact, "idiotic", as you put it, but in fact a logical decision to alter my appearance for the betterment of my social standing.

Allow me to explain. You once had a job, if you do not currently. While working, you no doubt dressed sharply to impress your coworkers and, more importantly, your superiors. Few would wish to work with a slob, correct?

Before you say that's exactly why I need to change, allow me to note that I'm not the first, nor certainly the last, teenager to do this. Things have changed since you were my age. The phrase "horn-dogging" no longer refers to sex, nor anything at all, and man has invented fire. Similarly, wearing the top of your pants an inch or three below the waist is no longer the act of a slob, or a gangster, but indeed a socially conscious person.

I normally find it distasteful to use the word "conform" but that's exactly what I'm doing. I'm observing the (in your eyes, slightly odd) social rules of my generation in order to yes, conform, in order to put others my age at ease. They are, normally, slightly put off by the massive intelligence (which I got from you) and this act relaxes them, allowing them to have a more fulfilling and happy day.

So, in summary, while you may view my pant height as rather unintelligent, it is in fact a carefully-calculated, logical act to... oh my. You pulled my pants up and left before I got through the second sentence.

Oh well. [Moderate] Sagging for life!

I Should Actually Be Doing My Math Now.

But honestly, all those "LoveGivesMeHope" Groups make me want to puke.

Not just because of their flagrant disregard for the space key, but also because I'm a cynic.

For those who don't know, a cynic isn't the biggest fan of people. We're more like... anti-fans. To be blunt, I see you, my immediate assumption is that you're a scumbag. It's nothing personal, but really, it's just how I see the world. You can prove to me you're not, but when I see a dude asking for something, I assume it's for his own selfish ends. I'm an ass for assuming you're all asses, I know. But really, if we're talking about farces, can we stop joining those sexist facebook groups?

Which brings me back to my original point: those groups you're liking, the ones about a boy playing with a special needs kid, or the boy loving his girlfriend? Those make me sick, please stop.

Really, have you considered, cynicism aside, how obnoxious you're being? I have to see a dozen paragraphs that people are 'liking' each time I boot up that homepage when I should be doing my math. That's a dick move.

There's something worse, of course. [marvin voice: there always is.] There's a group now: "I'm awesome. I'm awesome. I'm awesome..." On and on. For about fifteen page-downs, it continues. I've made it my mission to stab whomever I see liking that shit, and I will do so with a rusty shank.

So in short: don't support those things. They're evil in likable form.

Journal Post

Why? Because when a chick throws an inflated condom at a dude, it warrants my least favorite type of post.

So let's see, how did this start?

I was chillin [out maxin', relaxin' all cool] with my peeps at lunch, as I am wont to do, when we began discussing sex. And sex related things. While Chris and I argued that no dude would ever jack off with a condom on, given how much feeling is lost, someone (read: Katie or Jessica, my goddamn terrible memory has left this detail out) pulls out (BEST. CHOICE. OF. WORDS. EVER.) a condom.

Oh condom, how do I describe thee? Let me count the ways, I love thy intense redness, it makes the a-blush cheeks of the blushiest blushing bride look pale in comparison. I love thy lubrication, which makes me realize what a fucked up paragraph this is. I love thy wrapper, which joyfully exclaims, "Proper attire is required for entry," and causes the greatest lulz. But most of all, I love thy birth-controlling powers of stopping jizz, which lets me bang the flyest bitches and get them totally preggers.

While we lol'd at this condom, as you laugh now at my fucktacularly fucked-up paragraph, Rosemary (or /someone/) took it out, and as we threw it at each other, someone grabbed it. And while my memory fails as to many details of this event (indeed, even the order of throwing and this next bit) I do remember who took it, and blew it up. Like a balloon. I must say, I was quite surprised when Rosemary did this, and I found it, well, fucked up and hilarious. [stop at the first page. This is your only warning.]

So, we yelled about that for a bit, then we decided to give it to someone. In light of our group's weird-ass obsession with Ian, we decided to have Rosemary run over there and throw it at Ian. She did.

Oh god, did he freak out. [And so did his group. I'm pretty sure we're no longer welcome there.] Following this, we booked it to where Katie and Jessica had remained sitting. I did a fantastic slide-in landing. The others tried, and sort of failed. Felt good, man. We then lol'd about this all day.

So now I blog, because I'm in a fantastic mood, and this shit was pretty fuckin' cash.

Also, my sister and mom just got back from the east coast. Hurray!

I Started to Write an Anniversary Post

But then I realized, fuck it. I want to know what /you/ think.

This blog is about you guys. I want all of my readers to comment, and I want you to say, honestly, your favorite and least favorite thing about this blog.

And then you can yell at me for copping out of an anniversary post.

OH. MY. GOD.

IT'S THE YEAR-AVERSARY!

HOORAY, MOTHERFUCKERS!

Real post coming... saturday? Sorry, crazy motherfuckily busy week.