Allied Productions

Diarrhea in Switzerland

2012-01-10T16:39:00.001-08:00

I was homeless, stranded within the city of Mendrisio, Switzerland. I had been at Switzerland’s famous wine festival, Sagra Dell’ Uva, for over 13 hours. In the morning it had been relatively calm. Some music, some booze, some sightseeing. By nighttime, however, we quickly realized why it was regarded as famous.
I had enjoyed several beers and red wine throughout the day. I also tried a number of interesting foods. The first was a bag of roasted chestnuts. Still steaming as they were scooped from what can be compared to a crock pot. Once you peeled off the brown shell, underneath was a white/yellow-ish nut. It was VERY dry and quite plain, some Nutella would have been great. BUT it was cool to try anyway. I take that back, chestnuts fucking suck, don’t ever buy them.

I also enjoyed Spadina, which was roasted meat on a stick. One could purchase a small one for a euro, which was a total rip off. They were, however, delicious. Juicy, seasoned and just small enough so you could eat it in one or two bites and be insanely tempted to buy more.

13 hours later, things had escalated from calm to insane. The festival had become a mini version of Oktoberfest. Tents offered (more and new types of) delicious local food and live music as thousands of drunks swarmed every square inch of the area. Even, the famous church of Mendrisio was painted with tons of drunken natives; boozing, smashing bottles and making out. It was the epitome of blasphemy. Blasphemy no different from my freshmen year at college; or any Americans for that matter.

Directly below the madness, was an underground club, sporting the classic combo of reggae and marijuana. It was PACKED OUT and the place was steaming with smoke. I had been dancing among friends, as Hil sparked joints and cheesedick drank more wine. His teeth has been painted bright purple from a full day of drinking wine. A two minute walk throughout the underground area revealed a new section with more live music.

It was an impressive turn out, but I had an entirely different problem. You guessed it; diarrhea.

The festival was packed with thousands of drunks peeing everywhere. The public bathrooms were comparable to social get togethers at a packed train station. The movement was constant, everyone was in a rush, everyone was drunk and everyone was ancy; no time for diarrhea. I was in trouble, because this was the type of diarrhea that would not wait. There was no time for negotiation. I had to find a bathroom or I was going to be the dumb American that had shit his pants in Switzerland. I walked to a bar.

I had been in the same bar earlier that night when I had drunkenly stumbled out from a tent, looking for somewhere to pee. It wasn’t too crowded at the time and it seemed one actually had to buy a drink or eat at their restaurant in order to use the bathroom.

I walked in with no problem and found 2 bathrooms. 1 was occupied, but the other was just waiting to be destroyed. Thankfully, no one was online and the relief truly set in. I walked into the bathroom and was ready to unleash my wrath. Of course, I needed to make my toilet paper boundary first (so I wouldn’t have to make contact with the toilet seat). At that moment, I realized there was no toilet paper; devastation.

I walked back outside and knocked on the occupied door. Two girls responded. I eagerly awaited for them to exit. When they finally finished taking their sweet time, snapping pictures and giggling like morons, I rushed inside. I skipped past making a toilet paper boundary and pulled my pants down. Then I exploded.

After the emergency aspect of the diarrhea had been taken care of, I sat there with extreme stomach pains. Although I had gotten some out, there was more brewing. This wasn’t a battle, but an all out war. Round 1 of the explosiveness was done, but several more were coming.

Someone knocked on the door. Thank the FUCKING lord, it was Drunken Priest and Lavender’s nipple. I have to say, there are few moments in my life I have been SO relieved. The moment someone knocked paranoia immediately set in as I was NOWHERE near done. BUT, when I heard the voices of my friends, I knew I was safe.

Soon enough, I could hear a lot of talking outside as LD and DP’s voices started to dissipate among the chatter. I was getting nervous especially considering, the mayhem was not even close to done. Not to mention, when it was done, it was going to be the wiping job of the century. Unfortunately, there would be no bidet to help this disaster either.

Suddenly, I heard a very loud, distinct knock on the door; 3 times over. There was silence outside. I didn’t respond. Rather, I just sat there, silent too. A few moments passed and the knocking game again, it was incredibly blunt. KNOCK...KNOCK...KNOCK. It was like a serial killer, who had been stalking me out, had finally found me and this was his trademark mind game, before he murdered me. Then I heard, “Get the fuck out,” or at least a poor attempt in saying it, from a woman.

I responded, “Just a minute,” which was not even remotely true. Just a minute means you only need to wash your hands and you’ll be right out. The truth would have been, “Look you might wanna shut this place down, cuz I’m not going anywhere.” However, this womans voice of clear agitation made me panick and I started furiously wiping my ass.

I don’t know about you guys, but I always need to look at the first wipe. I have to know what I’m up against. On the rare occasion, I’ll encounter a ghost wipe too. Thus, it is a necessity, I have to see. When I brought the toilet paper out for inspection, I knew I was in trouble. This diarrhea session of epic proportions had left behind a destroyed village in my asshole. Now I’d have to play the swift hand of God to clean it up and reinact the beginning of reconstruction. This was not going to be easy, nor fast.

The knocking continued and at this point, I still didn’t know who it was, but it was clear that drunk people were egging on the fury of these knocks. I heard girls laughing, guys making obnoxious comments and girls laughing more upon hearing these obnoxious comments. Then again, I couldn’t understand a word any of them were saying. Suddenly, I heard LD say, “He. is. taking. a. HUGE. SHIT. Do. you. understand? Huge. Shit.” DP started laughing hysterically. I could tell just by hearing him laugh that he was wasted. As for LD, it was an eloquent choice of words and a solid attempt at getting a point across. I yelled out loud, “Whose knocking?” LD responded, “She works here.”

The knocking never slowed down and neither did the absurd pain in my abdomen. Eventually, I finished up wiping and at that point, I was just angry. In my mind, I thought, “Its not like I’m smoking a joint, kicking back in here. Who the fuck spends this long in the bathroom if its not an emergency?” In truth, I had no reason to feel this way as it was a a relatively nice restaurant/bar, I was wasted and probably sick from drinking too much and I hadn’t purchased anything. I was an American.

When I emerged I was met by a guy and after hearing his voice, I knew he had been the ring leader of the chaos. I was furious and I barked at him to keep his fucking mouth shut. He couldn’t understand me, but he seemed surprised over how angry I actually was. Then there was just silence. I parted a couple people, like Moses at the red sea, standing in front of the sink. I meticulously washed my hands as silence struck the surrounding people who probably thought the diarrhea man was a maniac. I finished up, wiped my hands, turned around, took a deep breath and farted. At that very moment, I shit my pants...and EVERYONE heard.

Nah I’m kidding, I simply left and at that point, there was nothing left to do, but continue drinking.

The Bidet

2011-12-22T08:29:00.001-08:00

The bidet was one of the greatest discoveries I could have ever hoped to come across in Italy. For those of you who don’t know, a bidet is a tool Europeans use for cleaning their ass. “Cleaning their ass,” is legitimately one of the most unnattractive phrases I’ve ever seen in writing, but for lack of a better term, that’s what the bidet is.

After a nice dump, or a mean dump; you know whatever the adjective, it’s still a dump. Anyway, after you drop a duece the natural progression is to wipe your ass. As if you weren’t aware. BUT that’s the point of this blog, were teaching life lessons here.

In America we keep it simple; toilet paper. If your feeling kinky maybe you’ll use your left hand. HOWEVER, in Italy they have a little tool you can use called a bidet. When I first inspected our bathroom in our new apartment in Milan I noticed a strange fixture next to the toilet. It looked like a sink for midget. I asked Harris if he knew what it was, but he was clueless.

The first time I saw the bidet in action was on accident. Our original roommate was a lesbian from France named Clementine. When she first moved in, us three were sharing a bathroom. It was VERY awkward sharing a bathroom with a stranger that was a GIRL. Unfortunately, our bathroom didn’t have a lock and I found that out the hard way.

Upon finishing the usual meal of pasta I had the runs and I decided to burst into the bathroom without warning. At that moment, I saw Clementine SITTING in the sink; NAKED. I could see the water penetrating her ass, I was intrigued. Then, she FREAKED out. She started yelling random French curses at me (if I had to guess) and when I continued to stand there like a deer in the headlights she began throwing things. Grabbing whatever was in front of her, I was hit with shampoo bottles and bars of soap. I awkwardly closed the door.

I was amazed by two things. 1. What the hell had she eaten? It WREAKED and 2. What the HELL was that contraption?

Less than a week later Clementine moved out. Eventually, we saw her walking down the street one day after class. Harris, whom she had taken a liking too (compared to me at least) walked over and gave her an animated hello. In blatant Universita Cattolica public she responded, “PSHH,” and kept walking. She almost seemed disgusted by our presence. Harris stood there with his arms open, completely dumbfounded. Random Italisn pointed and laughed at him. At that moment, I was thankful for walking in on her. Not only had it spared me Harris’ embarassment, but it was the sole reason I discovered what the bidet really was.

After briefly discussing it with friends, it was confirmed; the bidet was Italy’s version of wiping. At least, their preemptive measure AND while others were nervous to try such a strange gadget; I was intrigued. Afterall, it seemed genius.

Honestly, is there anything worse than taking a dump that leaves behind a serious mess in your asshole? I KNOW that’s an extremely personal and gross question, but if you know what I’m talking about PLEASE nod your head RIGHT now.

brief pause

Just like I thought, you know exactly what I’m talking about. ANYWAY, tackling this disastrous situation with DRY toilet paper is a battle AND it fucking sucks. SO, after learning the truth, I decided the next time I took a crap, I was 100% trying the bidet.

It was a cool afternoon in Milan. The kind where you can feel that rain is coming soon. Salamander’s congregated along the street corners as I breathed in the fresh air of the Italian Alps. Locals tipped their hats to me as they walked their genetically superior canines. I walked home with a quick, confident pace. I had purpose, I had somewhere to be, something I needed to do. My ass was about to explode.

That was my attempt at being a poetic asshole. I think it turned out pretty well. Essentially, I was walking home to take a fucking shit. After doing the dirty, I stared the bidet down; I was nervous. Was it judging me?

I turned the water on. It had both a hot and cold dial. I turned the hot dial and water spewed from the bidet. The stream was unsteady as it seemed this machine hadn’t been turned on for centuries. After a bumpy start a smooth flow of warm water projected from the bidet. It was like a sculpture in Rome. I could feel my ass tingling in anticipation.

I stood up, pants still down and approached the bidet. I counted to three and breathed deeply in between each number. Once I reached three I slowly sat down and the magic began. Immediately, I felt the warm water collide with my lower back, just above my ass crack. It was a shocking feeling as I jolted upon contact. Then in a smooth motion it ran down my crack and smoothed over my asshole. I sat like that for 30 seconds in pure peace.

THEN, I stood up and grabbed some toilet paper. GHOST WIPE. The only mistake I had made was not turning the water off once I was done, because it got all over my balls, my pants and the floor.

NEVERTHELESS, my first experience with the bidet was absolutely god like. From thereafter, I was officially converted. I never took another shit without using the bidet. It became more than a tool; it was a lifestyle. Ahh, the influences of a semester abroad.

One Liner

2011-12-11T22:42:00.000-08:00

I was playing basketball the other day and this black guy comes up to me, takes the ball out of my hands and goes, "Dude you don't know what to do with that..." and it sucks cuz I can't go up to a black guy, take a book out of his hands and be like, "Dude you don't know what to do with that."

5 Movie Recommendations

2011-04-05T15:00:00.000-07:00

Fantastic Mr. Fox (animated) -
Imagine if Quentin Tarantino and Pixar got together to make a pg film about a fox’s remarkable crime heist. As you might imagine, you have a fantastic (haha!) fucking movie. Fantastic Mr. Fox has every component of a great movie. In terms of humor its witty, clever and LOL hilarious. In terms of emotions, its a redemptive tale in which we learn important life lessons about self-acceptance. Finally, the story revolves around several meticulously planned robberies and that’s where the Tarantino aspect comes in. The cast is fucking fantastic...George Clooney, Jason Schwartzmann (who you will LOVE if you see this) Meryl Streep, Owen Wilson; seriously the list is never ending. Wes Anderson (director) is a genius with an incredible talent for animation. This is top 5 on my favorite movies of all time.
91% on Rotten Tomatoes with an improved rating from Top Critics.

Restrepo (documentary)-
This is one of my favorite movies of all time. This movie is essentially the real version of The Hurt Locker. Two filmmakers went to the Korengal Valley in Afghanistan, which is considered the deadliest place in the world, and simply filmed the absolute chaos. The troops out there took fire 4-5 times a day (on average) as the Korengal Valley is heavily populated with Taliban forces. There is no narration in the movie, simply footage and you’ve never seen anything so INSANE. Don’t miss this one.
96 % on Rotten Tomatoes.

The Cove (documentary) -
The cove is a documentary that is equally thrilling as it is inspiring. It is an emotional slap in the face packed with heartbreaking truths. The premise: the city of Taiji, Japan is personally responsible for the cruel slaughter of thousands of dolphins a year. The worst part, a solution has not been reached. Throughout this incredible documentary all I could hope for was redemption. Yet, as the movie comes to a painful end the next step is left in our, the viewers, hands. Driven by some sort of emotional rage I’ve spent the last hour signing animal rights petitions. No, I’m not a fag you ignorant fool; I’m traumatized. Not only is this documentary eye-opening, but its single handedly, one of the best movies I’ve ever seen. Don’t be a pussy, watch the fucking movie.
96% on rotten tomatoes.

Batman: Under Red Hood (Animation)-
This is an absolute gem within the DC comic book world and a mind bending tale that reveals an intense, fascinating story. It also provides some cool history about Batman which many of you may not be privy to. Plus, you really get your bang for your buck, because its only an hour. If your a Batman fan, or a lover of comic books in general-check this one out.
100% on Rotten Tomatoes...although it was only rated 6 times.

Source Code (Currently in theaters)
Groundhog’s Day (repetition) meets Inception (dream like mind fuck) in this mind bending sci-fi thriller starring Jake Gyllenhall. For starters, Gyllenhall delivers an unbelievable performance. He makes you feel everything from scared, shocked, intrigued and confused to teary eyed, introspective and sympathetic. My ultimate suggestion would be to see this movie high as balls and my ultimate warning would be the ending. I’ll admit, it wasn’t great, however, I’m literally referring to two minutes of a 2 hour movie and overall, it never stripped the movie of its legitimacy. I can guarantee one thing. This movie will keep you thinking and debating long after you see it.
89% on Rotten Tomatoes.

Diarrhea in Barcelona

2011-04-02T13:35:00.000-07:00

Allied Productions has been on a hiatus since January 15th 2010; over a year now. While I had originally intended to bury Allied Productions, it seems to be the most appropriate venue for anything inappropriate. That being said, lets kick off the shamefulness with a story pertaining to diarrhea in Barcelona. It's good to be back.

For a long time I had sincere difficulty spelling the word diarrhea. Like necessary or embarrassing it was just one of those words that never came naturally to me. However, due to the many stories that I’ve written about diarrhea, these days its no more difficult than your everyday use of the word, “Faget.” Then again, is that the correct spelling, or is it faggot?

Anyway, after a wild night of drinking in Barcelona, which will naturally be blogged about, I woke up to an awful hangover. It is common knowledge that after any night in which one drinks hard, he/she (ew) will undoubtedly face the “beer shits.” While I hadn’t drank beer, I had drank plenty of barcardi, absolut and eaten like a savage beast. Thus, the moment I woke up I knew I wanted to do several things. Brush my teeth, take an epic dump, shower and get the show on the mothafuckin’ road. These were (and always are) the essentials, even if I was in Barcelona. Without them, I would be unable to function. I needed to achieve homeostasis and thus, equilibrium. That was repititive but I just wanted to show off my vast knowledge of biology.

I have always been amazed by the alcoholics adeptness. After a hard night of drinking, I have friends who simply wake up in the morning and move on with their lives. They shotgun beers, rape Irish car bombs and pound endless shots of tequila yet they’re able to simply roll out of bed and sightsee throughout Barcelona at 9am the next day. I, on the other hand, am of course a pussy, but also, arguably human being? My body falls apart after a shameful night of drinking and DEMANDS to be taken care of.

Anyway, it was awkward taking a shit in our 8 person hostel, which we had squeezed 12 into, because there were 6 girls. Not to mention, girls constantly need to use the bathroom and there was simply no time for my shamefulness to be evacuated from my body. Thankfully, however, the hostel had a “public,” bathroom, and I went downstairs to use it.

After a normal diarrhea session, I wiped up, in case you were wondering if I wipe, I FUCKING DO, and headed over to the computers (I washed my hands too). A cool feature of our hostel was free internet. Although, there were only 4 computers, so it was usually crowded, I was still given time to check my fantasy basketball team and of course, my facebook; THANK GOODNESS!

After spending some time on the computers it seemed, as a group, we were ready to go. It was 1230 in the afternoon and it was a shame everything was taking so long, but it’s ABSURDLY difficult traveling in such big groups. Everyone was doing their own thing and we were all unorganized college students. Naturally, nothings going to go smoothly.

Have you ever had one of those moments, when something in your body shifted...and suddenly, you knew, diarrhea was coming? Not the type of diarrhea you could stroll to the bathroom with, but the kind that produces a facial expression of fear because you need to sprint to the bathroom. The moment this “shift,” in my body occurred, I immediately began to picture myself roaming throughout the streets of Barcelona alone, because there was no way everyone was waiting for me. I already accepted my fate and I didn’t care, this diarrhea was my number one priority; I had no choice.

YES, I had already shit before, but at the saying goes. You may have won the battle, but you have not won the war.

I went into the bathroom and was immediately met by around 12 kids changing into costumes that looked appropriate for a queer high school drama club putting on a Shakespeare show. They were taking up the ENTIRE bathroom, and I was furious. Didn’t they have A FUCKING ROOM?

Of course, your probably thinking, why didn’t you just use the toilet in your own room, douche bag? I would have loved to you clever cocksucker, but check out time was at 10am, I was 2 and half hours too late. Thankfully two, of the three, stalls were open. I went into the one in the corner, and closed the door behind me. Then I reached for some toilet paper to make a classic toilet bowl cover. Tragically, however, there was none; motherfucker.

I went to the other corner of the bathroom to use the only remaining stall. Once again, no toilet paper. After my second set back, I rushed over to the handicap bathroom, but it was locked. Remaining was only one stall occupied by some shakespeare FUCKING faget. I anxiously awaited outside as queer bags changed among every square inch of the bathroom. What pissed me off was that everyone was changing in the open but this fucking homo had to be self conscious and change behind closed doors. Grow up you queer, your dick can’t be that small.

After a torturous two minutes he finally fucking emerged from the bathroom. I rushed in and experienced the greatest relief of my life as I found a full fucking roll of toilet paper. I won’t go into details about the diarrhea itself.

After a couple minutes the bathroom cleared out and I was alone. While sitting there I heard someone sit in the stall adjacent to me; I was in the middle. I take my sweet fucking time, so he finished before me and soon I listened to his groans of disappointment. He had been smacked with the unfortunate realization that there was no toilet paper in his stall.

I guess I could have told him before hand, but for some reason I decided to be a piece of shit and keep quiet. I was curious as to what he was going to do. He was in a fucking pickle. SO, he sat there for a minute or two and then he stood up. I listened as he opened the door and then I watched as he WADDLED over to the other unnocupied stall. Pants around is ankles. This was getting good.

Anyway, as his heroic journey began, I was already privy to some very important information; my stall was the only one with toilet paper. Once he sat down, he deeply exhaled as if to acknowledge the fact that his troubles were over. THEN, he shouted “SHIZA” as he realized there was once again no toilet paper. He was really getting fucked over.

At that moment I unrolled a gigantic amount of toilet paper and awkwardly said, “Hey,” as I slipped my hand under the separation and handed it to him. For the next 2 minutes, he said a bunch of crap to me in German that I couldn’t understand. However, it was obvious, he was elated. I would have been too. I was the equivalent to an angel at that point. I was going to say G-d, but I refrained in case your religious.

Anyway, I finally got to chime in, “English, English,” and he came to a stop. Then he said, in an incredibly sincere tone, “Thank you, thank you!” I do what I can people. I’m just a hero, living one day at a time. This is the diarrhea chronicles. I’m out. 1 love.

I let the music take over my soul, body and mind

2010-09-09T21:34:00.000-07:00

For the first time tonight I smoked crack. It be great if that were true because that's gotta be the definition of hooking the reader in. Sorry to disappoint, but I didn't smoke crack tonight. I DID however, smoke some chronic out of a Vaporizer...a volcano to be exact. Shit fucks you up.

I decided to be smart and blaze during a poker game. Believe it or not however, it didn't hinder my concentration. Rather, I was far more focused on the game than I had been previously. I was playing more aggressively, reading my opponents to perfection and quickly becoming the chip lead. Unfortunately, I lost 3/4 of my stack when I made a ballsy call because I believed my opponent was bluffing. I was right, he had been, but unfortunately, he got lucky and caught 1 of 3 cards left in the deck, on the river, that would give him the win. I was upset and I decided to take one out of Phil Hellmuth's book and announce "That was complete bullshit. In all honesty, I out played every single one of you and it's a shame your shitty luck was the only thing that could end this tournament for me." Believe it or not, that's the pg version. That's not true at all, just a poor attempt at sounding tough.

What was the point of that story? I really have no idea, but the next move was to go home. Once I got in my car I put on the same CD I've been listening to for 2 weeks now. AND every single time I listen to it, I skip over the 5th song. WHY? Because there's a 30 second intro that is NOT music...it's just unnecessary and I have music ADD. BUT, for some reason I decided to listen this time and god damn, was it a good decision. In my frenzied state of mind, I heard the rapper spit these FRESH beats...if you were wondering, that lingo was intended to be a joke. Now check this out right quick.

I'm sayin what else is there to do besides relax
Let the problems in your mind become ancient artifacts
Perhaps these raps can help you alleviate
The things that's got you trippin you watch me demonstrate
First you ignore the nonsense and clear your conscience
Let your pen touch the paper write verbs and consonants
As the words become a sentence you start to feelin different
The stress is out your mind you feel like the weight was lifted
Terrific I'm glad we had this time to discuss
I'm outro call me if you want to blaze one up

Check it

As these lyrics ran through my mind everything became clear. Fuck ALL that shit. I lost. It happens. Time to put it behind me. I'll keep bringing my best to the table, because that's all I can do.

SO once I was past that temporary road block I got to thinking about my Future. Uh-Oh. For those of you not ready to put your thinking caps on, pass on by this post.

At this moment I'd like to declare that I am not a vulgar person. Let me explain this blog and why it even exists.

I didn't get too serious about writing until I took a creative writing class at Albany. Our teacher was named Randall Horton...and he was a fucking genius. I remember the first time he ever walked in it was NOT AT ALL what I was expecting. He was a stylish black dude rocking a blue sean jean valore suit with an unconventional fedora hat. Somehow he pulled it off.

The style of the class was sick. It about 20 of us sitting at a rectangular table. He would always have something mind blowing for us to read. Maybe poetry or even his own personal memoirs. He would always challenge us. For example, we once had an assignment to write a memoir. BUT not just any memoir, a memoir we held close to our heart.

Everyone seemed reluctant to the idea and initial pieces handed in by students weren't bold or risky. They were boring and impersonal. So Horton stepped up. He brought in a memoir of his own. He made copies for everyone and one day he came to class prepared to read aloud one of the lowest points of his life; the story of how he went to jail.

After spending years behind bars he was up for re-evaluation. He would have to appear before a judge. Apparently, this hearing would determine whether or not he'd spend the next 8 years in prison; and it wasn't going well.

When all hope seemed lost, Horton's father walked in. Despite living across the country and not having the money to fly, he made it to his sons hearing; and requested to speak. He got before the judge and swallowed his pride. He started to beg, he began to cry.

"Please, please! Spare my son, he is a soul worth saving!" As Horton described these moments to us, he nearly began to cry but, he read the rest of the piece and when it was over, he wiped tears from his cheeks. Not the least bit ashamed despite being completely exposed in front of his students. The rest of us sat there completely silent. No one said a word, but everyone was moved. I was inspired.

SO we were put into groups. When it was your groups week one had to submit a personal piece. A poem, a memoir, a story...something. We also had to print out copies so that everyone could read it. Just like Horton had done. Then the class would take it home, read it and we'd discuss the following day. Each time we seemed to have riveting discussions about whoever we were analyzing.

I turned in some serious stuff. A spiritual piece about my first moments in Europe. A poem about driving with my Father to go see his Mother, who had decayed into a state of deep Alzheimer's. I sat in the backseat knowing that he was about to see the person he loved most in this world, and she wouldn't recognize him. That's heavy knowledge for a kid. A piece pondering the concept behind suicide, but not in a morbid angered way but a peaceful, spiritual passing.

Today I read something I found incredible. Rogert Ebert, a famous movie critic, commenting on his approaching death. He has been battling cancer for years now and has gone under insane amounts of surgery. In the process, his voice was affected and now he's unable to speak. At this point, he's decided to terminate treatment; the suffering was not worth it to him.

Here's what he had to say about his approaching death.

I know it is coming, and I do not fear it, because I believe there is nothing on the other side of death to fear. I hope to be spared as much pain as possible on the approach path. I was perfectly content before I was born, and I think of death as the same state. What I am grateful for is the gift of intelligence, and for life, love, wonder, and laughter. You can't say it wasn't interesting. My lifetime's memories are what I have brought home from the trip. I will require them for eternity no more than that little souvenir of the Eiffel Tower I brought home from Paris.

To me this was incredible.

So after my class I began to write for personal pleasure. On my old computer (which was stolen, something I will likely blog about in the future) I had many pieces that one wouldn't expect for me. A big part of that inspiration was due to a book Horton had us read, "Spinning Words Into Gold." It would be an injustice to call that book anything less than the writers bible. Soon, however, as the intellectual capacity from Horton's class wore off and I started to drink more and more at school, I found myself writing funny stories. Then as I got more into stand-up I found myself constantly taking my most personally humiliating experiences and jotting them down.

I guess one part about vulgarity that's special is the embarrassment; people LOVE embarrassing. Why? Because when were embarrassed were vulnerable and people love to lean in a little closer and listen when someone exposes themselves.

BUT in it's pure essence however, vulgarity is cheap.

Let me explain vulgarity. It's easy. Being vulgar is a crutch. There is nothing particularly intelligent, witty, clever or unique about vulgarity. When I first started this blog I decided to sway away from my pieces which were deep for fear of negative reception. I figured my stories about diarrhea and "drunken debauchery," as miss "15 Minute Goddess," put it, would receive more positive attention. I was not wrong. Similarly, I was not wrong in terms of stand up either. My first routine, which can be found on this blog, nailed among college students and that is the very epitome of vulgar.

Truth be told, as a writer and a stand up-comedian, which is something I plan to be taking far more seriously in the future, I don't know who I am; I don't have a voice. That's an issue because it's important to find that voice and establish yourself some sort of persona.

That being said, I believe it's time for this blog to come to an end. There are many things left that I'd like to do. I have tons of saved material and many ideas I'd like to develop. For example, I still have 2 humiliating skydiving videos to post and plenty of writing to do so that you understand exactly what the experience was like for me. I have more stand-up videos to post and maybe some stories that will shed light on the part of me that is "arguably intellectual." I guess the arguably exists because I didn't want to be a pussy. A fellow blogger once criticized my post "Birthday," as "pussy," and my only logical response to that is, you just don't get it- kid. Yeah that's right, I called him kid.

So what does the future hold? Within 2 weeks I leave to study abroad in Italy. AND while I have denounced debauchery and vulgarity for awhile now, that does not mean they aren't APART of me. Sure I love strippers, awkward boners, diarrhea and STD's, but that's not ME as a person.

Because I also love a beautifully composed song [...Music Appreciation 101 ]. I love the movie UP, because it makes me cry every god damn time, I love my dog because she's the cutest thing on the face of this planet, AND I love my god damn family; with all my motherfucking heart.

As our mentor Bradley Nowell once simply said, "Lovin' is what I got."

I also love intellectual conversation, a great fucking book and beautiful fucking weather. The kind that just makes you wanna whistle Bobby McFerrin's "Don't worry, be happy." I found myself whistling that throughout this summers beautiful days.

Back to future plans, I'm currently stuck somewhere between pursuing a career in comedy (writing or performing) going to medical school and becoming a psychiatrist or getting a PHD. BUT talking more short term I plan to launch a new site...SethBorkowski.com and you can expect plenty of drunken debauchery from Europe mixed with my fair input of intellectually invigorating experiences. Not to mention, plenty of stand up-comedy.

Until then...take it easy and thanks for reading.

The World is My Playground

2010-09-07T17:23:00.000-07:00

I'd like to re-phrase that: The world is our playground. Second grade did wonders for my sharing abilities.

It’s a strange feeling as I sit here, on my way to LIVE in another country for a semester. I’m filled with different emotions. For starters, there’s the obvious excitement/nervousness. The two have pretty much merged at this point. I feel like I’m slowly embarking up an insane roller coaster. The drop has felt far away for so long, but now as we pass through New Finland, on our way to Milan Italy, the coaster is starting to level out. The drop is within sight. My dream is starting to become reality. My life is about to change.

The trip is yet to begin and I’ve already had my name announced over the airport loudspeaker. Of course, it can never be a trip without diarrhea. Plenty of it today as I decided to take down a whopping meal of spaghetti, chicken cutlets and garlic bread BEFORE going on a plane. Should have had a cinnabon while I was at it; the diarrhea was inevitable. I entered the bathroom at 4:48 and the battle was not over until 5:30. Considering, I was supposed to meet my friend Harris at our gate around 4:00 this was alarming to him. Especially since, the plane would be departing at 6. I left my cell phone at home because it’s useless in Italy, so there was no way of contacting me either.

As I pissed out of my ass I heard, “Seth B, please meet your party at gate 8.” Fantastic. Since the word “party,” had been used I figured everyone who was also going to Milan, from New York, would be wondering where I'd been. I wanted to maintain some self-respect and avoid everyone's first impression of me revolving around diarrhea. SO, I would need to make an excuse up.

I began the wiping process.

8 hours later and we are beginning our descent to Italy. We left NY at 6pm and the local time here is 8am. Essentially we skipped a night of sleep and now its the crack of dawn. We were just served croissants which was WEIRD because several hours prior we were served chicken, mashed potatoes and string beans. My body is begging for sleep while my mind begs to explore the unknown. I feel as if I can’t waste a single minute.

At this point, only a Shawshank reference feels appropriate- I find I'm so excited, I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it's the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain.

Oh and as for the diarrhea issue, turns out “party,” only referred to Harris. He was yet to meet any of our future friends. Close call.

Dealin' Pot Brownies

2010-09-02T01:02:00.000-07:00

Last semester I was a key member among a group of 3, in what would become...our pot brownie business. Please be aware that despite the opinion you may have formed of me, this is not something I'd normally do. It was all very random and thus, very blog worthy.

It was myself, J-Kid and James. J-Kid, once referenced in, "Bottomless Chips," was the mastermind behind it all...he was the businessman, the baker and the weed aficianado. James was an investor, and the laziest bastard alive. Then there was me, someone who can also be considered the laziest bastard alive...BUT, we were at SUNY Albany...and both James and J-kid, do not go to school at Albany.

Originally, I thought their idea was cool, but I had no interest. However, I soon realized I could be their most important asset. I knew exactly who we could sell to. It was obvious they needed me and I saw an opportunity to make some legitimate $$.

I started things off by sending a facebook message to every single person I was friends with from Albany. Here's what it read verbatim:

Selling pot brownies and cookies to all those who might be interested...10 for large brownie, 7 for small, 7 for cookies...should have u baked 4-6 hours..cookies more of a chill body high...hit me up if ur interested making drop offs on campus today...516-425-4085

At first the response was awkwardly minimal. I felt like a fucking idiot for sending so many people, many of whom I had never even spoken with, an intricate facebook message about drugs.

Soon enough, however, business was booming. Our first day on the job, the weather was great, so we went down to Collins Circle, which is Albany's equivalent to the beach (minus the water). Simply put, everyone chills there when the weathers nice.

I know its not smart to use your own product, but we figured we'd chill for the day, get baked as hell and tell any customers to meet us at the circle. We decided to imitate hippies as closely as possible by bringing a frisbee. However, I never got to enjoy the frisbee action because I got endless phone calls. Every twenty minutes new customers would show up...and to avoid suspicion we asked they stay within the area and eat them.

Within an hour we had three hippie vans worth of insanely stoned people chillin at the circle. Somebody whipped a guitar out and started singing Jenny Lewis' "Acid Tongue," and people actually dropped acid. I put my aviators on. I'm not making this up. It was groovy. Sorry, I felt the need to throw that in there.

The cash was flowing and the word was spreading. I started receiving texts from people I had never spoken to. "Yo my boy Andrew gave me your number, you got brownies?" Had no fucking clue who Andrew was. "Hiiiiiiiiiii, it's Amy, I'm in Sam's sorority, could I get 4 large brownies?" Knew exactly who Sam was considering she was next to me. Not only had her friends all bought brownies, but as I answered Amy's text, Sam was laughing hysterically as her friends rolled down a hill of grass like an inspiring group of 6-year-old's. I indulged myself.

That same night, J-Kid, an artist with weed, proposed two things. 1. We bake another batch and 2. We'd chip in to buy food for a pasta "weed meal." J-Kid is a great cook, so it sounded like a cool idea. SO, we went to pricechopper to pick up a ton of ingredients for home made sauce. We also got shit for garlic bread; which we figured would make a nice appetizer.

Later that night we were pre-gaming. I was drinking Sam Adams Cherry Wheat for the first time, which is far and away, at this point at least, my favorite beer. Anyway, James and I were being very helpful as we played madden for hours. J-Kid on the other hand, was taking care of logistics. Not only, was he preparing a meal for a houseful of us, but he was baking another batch of brownies.

After too much Madden I went upstairs to check on the meal. It looked incredible. The home made sauce was the seller. It was filled with tomatoes, onions, peppers, mushrooms and chopped meat. Meanwhile, the aroma of fresh garlic bread toyed with our emotions.

I watched J-Kid craft the finishing touches as he added a shitload of weed butter, leftover from the brownies, to the meal. It didn't phase me, I was starving. Anyway, fair portions of everything were distributed and we all sat down to watch TV. I raped my meal. It was delicious and I wanted to ensure I could get my hands on seconds before they were gone. In total, I had two gigantic bowls of pasta and a shitload of garlic bread which had green sprinkled all over it.

I could feel the high setting in as I was still eating.

7 hours later I was still fucking baked. We never made it out of the house. We had planned to go to a bar, but the weed got the best of us. Every single one of us was absurdly stoned. I was having difficulty handling the high after so much time. The intensity never let up and it was unmanageable.

I didn't even feel high, I felt as if I was on a twisted version of ritalin. My heart was RACING, I was wide awake, but I COULD not concentrate for the life of me...sort of. I would be completely invested in a task for a solid minute WHEN unconsciously my mind would jump to something new. This went on for hours and periodically I would stop, 30 seconds into the new task or concept and say out loud, "Wait what was I just doing?" Then I would stop to try and remember. While trying to remember I would jump to something else, forgetting that I had even been trying to recall something...and just like that, I'd be onto something completely new; forgetting the entire previous process. It was a sickening cycle of ineffectiveness. It was like I had developed amnesia and taken ritalin. Nothing made sense. My mind was lost.

The next day I woke up with an awful hangover. I had never experienced a hangover from weed before, but my mind felt like someone had reached in and removed half of it. Life felt much slower. I sort of felt like I was in a black and white movie, stagnating through the day. My existence felt meaningless. I remember feeling very depressed. You get the fucking point?

To conclude about the weed meal, part of me hated J-Kid for coming up with such an awful idea. I mean seriously, we had fucking brownies, pieces to blaze out of and all this other bullshit. Did we really need to take it to such an extreme level? The feelings were unanimous throughout the house. James didn't get off the couch for the entire day. Harris never left his room and Fat probably jerked off a good 37 times. We were all living in a parallel hangover universe.

AnyMOTHERFUCKINGway, the weed business still continued. It was a Sunday and the trio would be splitting on Monday, but the show must go on. I would continue without my partners in crime. On our last day together, we were going to try and sell as much of our new batch as possible. If we were successful we'd bake another. I went out onto my porch with J-Kid. Our plan was to sell door to door.

Believe it or not, where I lived, that wasn't a sketchy idea. Surrounding houses inhabited sororities full of std's, drugged out frats and meth labs. However, walking around wasn't even necessary. I lived on Ontario, a street that generated a lot of traffic and whenever someone passed by, I said, "Selling pot brownies, any interest?"

Later that day we took my car to get Moe's, which is far better than chipotle. As we passed by randoms on the street I decided to stop and yell, "Selling pot brownies, just throwing that out there." Consistently my target audience was taken by surprise. It was an awkward thing to simply "throw," into consideration. After trying that three times I gave up because once my proposition was met by blank stares, I slammed on the accelerator and bolted. A better marketing strategy may have been to leave them a business card, but we weren't that advanced. At the very least my friends and I got to laugh at the concept of offering pot brownies then IMMEDIATELY driving off. Leaving no information, not even a name.

The porch method, however, was killer. One kid we sold to, was a pledge, and he seemed miserable. Upon offering him a weed brownie he eagerly said, "My pledge brothers will probably all want, you good with that?" Nah dude, you know what, we'll pass on the business. Fucking idiot. Send those retarded pledges this way.

The pledges ran straight through our supply and once again business seemed to go SO well that J-Kid made an additional two batches before departing. This time, however, he used green sprinkles on the brownies. Morons that I would soon be selling to, would be under the false impression that this was visible weed. Only helping business. J-Kid even had the courtesy to individually wrap every brownie in tin foil.

Monday came around and I was alone. I had an entire fridge full of brownies and lots of interested people on campus. I packed my backpack, yes I'm a queer I use a backpack, with my shit for classes and threw plenty of brownies in. I would be making rounds throughout campus.

After my first class I went to play ping pong and I sold 5 brownies to a bunch of gamers. They were sitting adjacent to the pong table playing World of Warcraft. They watched me sell a brownie to my opponent and word quickly spread. No shocker gamers enjoy playing under the influence.

After selling 6 brownies in a well populated student area I became a spectacle. Everyone was interested in what I was selling. Once they found out, a legit 90% were interested in buying. I was on the cusp of a selling frenzy when I noticed a group of RA's staring; one of them being my former RA. A second later I received a text from him that read, "Don't put me in this position, you need to stop selling drugs in the campus center." I humbly left the area.

I have common sense, but a crowd can be overwhelming. They were a straight forward crowd 2; give us what we want or we'll gang rape you. While a redhead getting gang raped might make for a great porno I'm unwilling solely because I'm waiting till marriage...SOLELY motherfucker. I ain't scared of shit. I deal pot brownies bitch.

Sorry, I played tennis at the local park tonight and for a solid two hours listened to black people, on the basketball court behind me, bicker over every turnover, slap on the arm and improperly worn do-rag. Nah, I'm kidding, I'm not a racist...I sincerely love black people, I'm just allowed to say that after living with them for a year; consult freshmen year dorming. Seriously though, they argue over fucking everything. That stereotype is true, just like it's true that Jews are cheap.

After the school incident I started exclusively dealing off campus; mostly to fraternities. One frat in particular, an accounting frat, bought 95% of my brownies. I was surprised considering one would assume most accounting majors are contemplating suicide (because accounting sucks, oh COME ON! How are you going to make me explain that?!) Picture that spoken in this tone/context

Arrested Development, GOB, Come On!

Like I was saying, the accounting frat was down. I'd get random text messages asking for large portions of brownies to be delivered to a certain house. Every time that house happened to be within walking distance. I became Luke Shapiro from the Wackness. An awesome movie I reviewed, yes reviewed, under my movie section. In my remarkably humble opinion I'm a connoisseur of sorts when it comes to movies.

When it was all said and done, J-Kid and James came up one more time to Albany with the intention of continuing business. In total, we made about a grand (which isn't much considering we had to buy mad weed). Fortunately, since I had done the most work in terms of sales, I got a large cut. Similarly, J-Kid received a large cut for doing all the cooking and we ended up paying James back for his original investment since he had done nothing. Essentially, we bought him out of the business...and it was a bargain because he made no profit. He wasn't much of a negotiator.

We might have kept it up, but J-Kid soon transferred to a school halfway across the US and with just James and I left, and by James I mean myself, I simply didn't have the motivation nor the love for weed to run it alone.

In the end, I made about 500 bucks and months after we shut down, I would get texts, facebook messages and phone calls asking for brownies. Apart of me really missed that gang rape attention.

NBA Primetime

2010-08-16T22:05:00.000-07:00

I started writing for an NBA web site not too long ago...and I've written a few articles for them that have been read by probably all of 6 people, so if you have any interest in basketball give these articles a try...

This one is about Anthony Randolph...a guy who I believe is prime to have an insane fantasy basketball year...AND he just became a Knick!

NBAPrimetime

LeBron Makes a Humble, Respectable Decision

2010-08-16T22:01:00.000-07:00

Here's the second article...about LeBron and why I believe, he made a legitimate decision...and if your wondering I AM a die-hard Knicks fan.

NBAPrimetime

Unethical Mouse Trap

2010-08-16T21:21:00.000-07:00

I wrote this post the night it actually occurred, but that was awhile ago and I never got around to finishing it. I probably jump from the past to the present tense 35 times, but I have no desire to go back and edit all that. Deal with it. Enjoy.

IT IS NOW 6 in the morning as I sit here writing this post. I have just experienced one of the most stressful nights of my life. I was sitting in my room, preparing to go to sleep when I heard non-stop shrieking. I could hear the mouse, shrieking in the kitchen. I couldn't listen, I tried to cover my ears, but the mouse would NOT STOP.

THEN I went online to discover that these traps don't kill mice immediately. Rather, it is a long, painful death caused by starvation, dehydration OR (this was a killer) they rip themselves from their own limbs, in a desperate attempt to break free. This was the saddest news I ever read. I was terrified, I don't know why, but I was. Nevertheless, this mouse had to be saved. There was no other option. The past two hours were spent attempting to save its life.

I was never much for rats, not that anyone is. Their rodents, pests, nuisances; especially when there living in MY house. At first, my housemates and I, really did not care much, sadly. We knew they were present, but we had simple rules. Stay out of sight and stay out of our rooms; and were cool. There nocturnal garbage feeders. SO, this was a reasonable compromise.

However, soon enough they took advantage. We felt foolish for trusting rats. How could we? We decided it was time; it was us or them.

We did not want to kill these mice. So, we tried to be ethical. We purchased these mouse traps that were simply glue boards. The mouse gets stuck, you safely remove it and the nuisance is gone; unharmed. LITTLE did I FUCKING know.

It was 4 in the morning. I was awake because my sleeping habits are completely ridiculous. Suddenly I heard the horrific noise of a mouse shrieking. It was stuck in glue, in the dark, alone. I just sat there; SHOOK. Its a disturbing thing to hear at 4 in the morning as your calmly listening to music among a world where everyone is sleeping. I sat there hoping the shrieking would subside. Maybe it would escape, maybe it would quickly die. BUT, I read a link on wikipedia only to find that these traps are considered UNETHICAL because the victims suffer. The suffering was all too real as the shrieking continued. I called my roommate; asleep. THANK GOD, Fat was awake downstairs. He came up to help, we became a team.

Josh entered the kitchen and was immediately startled by the mouse. I stood far back, with no desire whatsoever to step foot near that kitchen. I don't know why I was so freaked out. I guess I didn't know what we were dealing with and I envisioned something horrible. Finally, it had to be done and as I walked into the kitchen I saw it. Tiny, innocent, terrified and stuck. The question became, "Now what?"

I'm a psychology major so extermination and or rodent rescue missions are not my forte. The suggestion loomed that we should simply throw it out the window. But, I could not bring myself to do this. I would never forget those innocent shrieks as I condemned this mouse to an inescapable, torturous death. BUT, there was no way of separating the mouse from the glue.

Lee was in Australia and it was around 9pm down under. I IMed him hoping to find some help. He will forever be credited with the miracle solution; vegetable oil. He explained that vegetable oil negates the sticking effect of the glue. I reached into the pantry and grabbed a random bottle of extra virgin olive oil. Unfortunately, this happened to be an expensive bottle of cooking oil that I would later have to reimburse my roommate for. Fucking mouse.

ANYWAY, I didn't want to cover the mouse in oil and then let it run free in my kitchen. Sure, I didn't want it dead, but out of my house would be fantastic. SO, we decided we should put the mouse in a bin...this way, it couldn't run free once it was out. Transferring the mouse took over 20 minutes.

Neither of us wanted to pick up the trap with our hands SO, we titled the bin to the side, and tried sweeping it in. However, the bin was NOT on the same level as the trap, so we needed to create a bridge of some sort so we could transfer the trap from the floor to the bin. BUT, before we decided to be smart, we played fucking hockey with the mouse for 15 fucking minutes trying to get it in the bin. Christ we were morons. When it was over, we brought the bin downstairs.

I kept staring at the mouse, and for some reason I thought of my dog. It was such an innocent creature and whenever I got close it would just huddle over and shake. I felt really sorry for it. Sorry because it believed death was coming. Lucky for the mouse I have a heart and absolutely no testicles.

Fat was over it. It was late, he was tired and this fucking mouse had been eating our garbage. I felt where he was coming from BUT I had already named the mouse (Herman). The emotional attachment continued to grow. I forced Fat to get Herman cheese, but once we threw it in the bin, he was completely disinterested; he was simply too scared.

SO, it was time to employ the vegetable oil. At first I was careful, pouring very small amounts, as Herman started to slowly fight his way out. HOWEVER, his tail had completely merged with the fucking trap so I had to drench that motherfucker.

Two minutes later Herman had fought his way out and frantically began trying to escape. Believe it or not, this little fucker, that could easily fit in the palm of my hand, was getting some serious air. It was getting close, BUT what Herman didn't realize, was that each time he landed from a jump, he nearly fell back in the glue. Fucking Herman.

SO, Herman was out. Fat awkwardly stuck his hand in the bin and disposed of the evil glue trap. NOW, it was time for the release. We walked outside to the freezing cold of Albany. Suddenly, more guilt set in. I really don't know why, but I tried to convince Fat to let Herman back inside the house. I was worried it would die from the cold. Pathetic I know. It's like I developed a twisted version of Stockholm syndrome. Anyway, Fat had reached his limit so he just tipped the bin over. Herman took off down the stairs and made it to a pile of leaves. I watched him find comfort under a large pile.

I breathed a huge sigh of relief and walked back inside. I gave Fat probably the most sincere hug I've ever gave anyone, walked upstairs and slept like a fucking baby. No mouses' death would be on my hands that night.

Aish Xtreme Trip 2010 Part 2

2010-08-03T23:02:00.000-07:00

The next activity we'll delve into is Trapezing...yeah, I initially thought the same thing too; What the fuck?

Among the activity line up, trapezing was definitely the wild card. I always knew at some point in my life, I'd go skydiving, but trapezing, figured I'd leave that one to the gymnastic queers.

So, when we first got there, I had a pressing issue, diarrhea. Diarrhea was a theme throughout the trip for me. Unfortunate theme for a vacation.

I am not what one would call a morning person, an early riser...I'm more of a lazy bastard, sleep till three in the afternoon type of guy...SO it was rough when day 1 came around and I was snapped out of my coma...I felt like an alien creature on another planet. Seriously, I cannot tell you the last time I've been awake at 6 in the morning.

I never ingest food during such times...ever. So waking up and having cereal or eggs threw my body into physical crisis mode. Mentally I was awake, but physically, my body was expecting another 7 hours of sleep before food would arrive..so every god damn day, diarrhea.

It's really annoying being on the go, all the time, while suffering from diarrhea...because a legitimate bathroom is never a guarantee...AND I was terribly disappointed when we got there and I saw porta potties. However, my horror was quickly put to ease, because magically, the porta potties were intended only for peeing, while a bathroom in a private trailer was intended solely for shitting. Legit, I know. PLUS, there was a key for the bathroom, so privacy was further assured.

The first thing I got my hands on was the keys to that bathroom...my friend L handed them to me as he walked out, but sadly, another friend of mine, a crazy russian bastard who we'll call Stalin (creative I know), slipped in before the door closed.

Stalin was on the shitter for a couple minutes, while I stood outside waiting, key in hand. Randomly, L came up to me, knowing I had the key...ready to fuck with Stalin. He had found the right person to assist him, always down with a prank...Anyway, he had approached me holding a gigantic traffic cone...and he motioned for me to unlock the door...this was an opportunity I couldn't turn down.

I slipped the key in the the door knob...and as I started to turn it Stalin calmly began to alert whoever he thought we were, that it was occupied...BUT as I continued to open the door he started to panic and he went from calm to screaming his fucking head off..."STOP, STOP, DON'T OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR." This prank was intense already.

The moment I got the door open, I jumped out of the way and L launched the traffic cone at Stalin. I will NEVER forget Stalins FURIOUS reaction...as he SCREAMED in his communist accent, "YOU FUCKINNNNNN IDIOT!" We SPRINTED back to where trapeze orientation was beginning...laughing hysterically.

After wards, we found out that the cone had knocked his phone into the toilet...

Truth be told, I don't remember any of the orientation because I decided to really look out for my safety and not pay any attention. My focus remained loyal to a dry erase board in which everyone signed their name. This would be the order in which we would trapeze.

I paced around nervously as we slowly climbed up the list on the dry erase board...when it was finally my turn I started to climb the ladder which would lead me to a platform, high in the air.

Underneath this platform was (essentially) a gigantic trampoline and suspended in the air were pulleys and a bunch of other shit you could dangle off of, as you flew through the air, wondering, why the fuck am I doing this/why the fuck have I never tried this before.

So when I got up to the platform, it was myself and one of the instructors...some chick. She strapped me in to all these Karabiners- which CAN, in fact, be spelled with a K (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carabiner). Then she brought over the trapeze bar which she told me to hold with one hand...while using the other to hold onto something steady which was directly behind me. It was an extremely awkward position...case in point with the below picture...

Once I was in this position, she told me to LET GO of the thingy behind me....you can't really see it, but my face describes how I felt about that..."ummm...think I'll just stay like this for awhile...." Letting go of it just didn't make sense to the mind. It was as if you were volunteering for death.

I immediately panicked once I let go because NATURALLY I was falling, BUT at the last moment, I felt the belt around my waist tighten up and something behind me shake...it was the fucking girl...the only thing keeping me alive was this chicks relatively unsturdy arms. Somehow she was able to hold this body of muscle and braun.

Then in a quick second, I bent my knees, grabbed the handle with my free hand and stepped off the platform...

As I was swinging an instructor from below gave clear instructions...FIRST, he commanded me to bring my feet up....unfortunately, I have a shoe size similar to most NBA players, but the height of your average Jew...which is a wonderful combination...BUT anyway, I had trouble squeezing my feet through, but I got it the second time around...

Once there he told me very simply, "Let go." It was a cool feeling as you freely dangled from the bar.

After that, you lifted yourself back to the original position...and dropped onto the "trampoline."

After everyone did this once or twice, it was time to throw a different variable into the mix. Now one of the instructors would be trapezeing from the opposite side and our goal was to connect with him in mid-air...in which we'd grab each others hands and he'd take us flying with him...

This was much more intense...standing on the platform you watched the instructor set himself up for awhile...timing was key and they were patient with getting it just right...when he was ready, he went into a specific position called spread eagle...and it was time.

When you jumped there was much more pressure to immediately get your feet up, because time was ticking. In the end, I wasn't able to get it because as you can see in the picture, I was looking the wrong way, like a fucking idiot. It was kind of disappointing, but I couldn't be mad, I got to fucking trapeze...it was awesome.

The next day my abs were SORE AS HELL...and I had only gone up like 4 times...but that also explained why all the instructors there had insane abs.

Until next time...

Peace.

P.S. Up next is boot camp.

Aish Xtreme Trip 2010 Part 1

2010-07-21T00:01:00.000-07:00

I've been working on this blog post for awhile now...and originally I planned to release it as one gigantic post...but it's gonna take forever to write...and I figure most of you won't read more than three paragraphs anyway...so I'll chop it up a bit...

So this is part 1...and it'll give you some background info about the trip and it will sound kinda queer, because I wrote it for Aish's blog, but its brief, so chill...we'll get into paintballing and consider religion for a bit...but don't let that discourage you, believe it or not, I think you may find it interesting...especially if your Jewish...Also, I'll get into more depth about characters as the post goes on, but for now, there just names...

AND if you don't give a fuck about going on this trip and what kind of food they served, I totally feel you, so I'll draw some lines for you, the first will be where religion starts...and the second where paintball starts... (-------)

For the past 11 days I've been traveling with a Jewish organization called "aish." I signed up for the trip, which departed on June 13th, 2 days prior. I never expected to get accepted. I figured this type of a trip would have never ending wait lists, with participants lined up...eagerly sitting at their computer waiting for the very moment Aish began accepting applications. Similar to the intensity us jews attack birthright with.

I was wrong...Aish is the local equivalent to birthright (in my case at least since its based in NY) and the Jewish worlds best kept secret. Well not the Jewish worlds best kept secret, but among us college kids, its flying WAY under the radar.

For an absurdly cheap 250 dollars Aish HOOKED IT UP. They provided everything. Food (meals and snacks) transportation, activities, rooming and even the gift of knowledge.

The food was good! Here's a typical lunch...half turkey/roast beef sandwich with mac or potato salad, cole slaw, pickles, 2 cookies and a delicious Dr. Browns black cherry soda to wash it all down with.

How bout a typical dinner? A hot pastrami sandwich on a fresh roll. Maybe Hawaiian and sesame chicken with a side of grilled vegetables. If its not home cooked maybe some delivery chinese food or a local delis toasted paninis with hummus...and even the kosher worlds twist on Italian night wasn't a complete failure, impressive I know.

We spent many nights eating out...dining everywhere from renown kosher delis in the city to friendly jewish neighbors homes on shabbos. All this eating introduced me to the wonders of Jewish food ranging from falafel and schwarma to classic gavilta fish and kuggle.

Finally our banquet night had over 200 dollars worth of grilled meat..everything from marinaded london broil, to grilled chicken smothered in dry rub spices. AND when the issue of vegetarianism surfaced from a Ohio native raised by a feminist (that's not a joke), veggie burgers were immediately purchased.

Everyone was taken care of and no one went hungry in between meals because pretzels, chips, hummus, cereal, fruits and other treats were always complemented with an ice cold gatorade. And if you weren't satisfied? One word to the rabbis and you were taken care of.

The rooming was amazing too. We stayed at two different spots, a hotel in monsey and a house in pasaic. The hotel in monsey was beautiful. I shared a gigantic room with only 1 person...we each got a queen size bed and our own cabinets...not to mention there was a full size bathroom...

Undoubtedly, the best feature of the hotel was an indoor full size basketball court. What an incredible experience it was living only an elevator ride from my own personal court. After long days doing our "xtreme" activities (that sounds queer I know) it was nice to come back, have dinner and relax for a bit before we got into some basketball, football or kickball (yes, kickball) action.

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Now onto arguably the most significant aspect of the trip...and the only reason its arguable is because we did some crazy shit...BUT the classes is what I'm referring 2. When I first found out that classes would be mandatory, to say the least, I wasn't excited. BUT, I was stunned by how incredibly thought provoking they were. In many instances, they weren't classes, but rather intellectual conversation with an extremely wise/knowledgeable mediator. For example, one of the classes revolved around a famous mark twain quote...

”...If statistics are right, the Jews constitute but one percent of the human race. It suggests a nebulous dim puff of stardust lost in the blaze of the Milky way. Properly, the Jew ought hardly to be heard of, but he is heard of, has always been heard of. He is as prominent on the planet as any other people, and his commercial importance is extravagantly out of proportion to the smallness of his bulk. His contributions to the world’s list of great names in literature, science, art, music, finance, medicine, and abstruse learning are also away out of proportion to the weakness of his numbers. He has made a marvelous fight in this world, in all the ages; and had done it with his hands tied behind him. He could be vain of himself, and be excused for it.
The Egyptian, the Babylonian, and the Persian rose, filled the planet with sound and splendor, then faded to dream-stuff and passed away; the Greek and the Roman followed; and made a vast noise, and they are gone; other people have sprung up and held their torch high for a time, but it burned out, and they sit in twilight now, or have vanished. The Jew saw them all, beat them all, and is now what he always was, exhibiting no decadence, no infirmities of age, no weakening of his parts, no slowing of his energies, no dulling of his alert and aggressive mind. All things are mortal but the Jew; all other forces pass, but he remains. What is the secret of his immortality?”
- Mark Twain
(“Concerning The Jews,” Harper’s Magazine, 1899)

As a group we were challenged to answer this question...why are the jews immortal? A bunch of answers surfaced. "Adaptability, the torah, perseverance, community etc...I remember when I first heard someone say "the torah." I argued with vehemence. Sure, the torah is essential to Judiasm, but can we really attribute a book to our continued existence? After the class was over, I continued to ponder over the question...and its very RARE any class sparks that kind of interest in me.

After thinking for quite some time I decided that while the torah is only a book, in the most physical sense of the word, how could Judiasm exist without it? It couldn't. If there was no torah, there would be no judiasm. While there are certainly other important factors, in terms of our continued existence. I found this realization to be a significant one.

Throughout the trip we continued to have interesting discussions...and after every class I truly found myself pondering over renewed concepts such as my religious identity...or new found concepts like the premise behind shabbos. Also, let it be known that many of these speakers were renown rabbis who ordinarily receive a ton of money for only 45 minutes of their time.

Now onto the real deal; the activities. What an incredible line up Aish had in store for us...we'll start off with a list of everything we did.

Skydiving
Mountain Biking
Trapezing
Paintballing
Boot Camp
Ziplining/adventure tower

Visited the Empire State Building
Went to EPSN Zone in NYC the night before it officially closed...so we got to watch bartenders smash glasses
Spent several nights in NYC, one of those nights at a comedy club.

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The first activity we did was paintballing. It had always been something I wanted to try, but never had...similar to skydiving. When we got there, we had to fill a waiver out...which would become a theme throughout our trip. Everything we had signed up to do, would require us to risk serious injury...or our lives. Solid.

When everyone was set up we started our descent towards a field filled with moon bounce type obstacles. This was exactly how I pictured paintballing to be. However, we walked right past that field, which was still in the construction process, and journeyed into the woods.

It was hot, wet, foggy and muddy, but it was legit. On both sides there was plenty of little bunkers that you could use as protection. Also, you could position the barrel of your gun through little cracks (in the bunkers) which was sick if someone happened to be within your crosshairs.

As a group, we split in to two teams and each went on the opposite side of the forrest. Once settled, we intensively discussed our strategy. We decided to split into three units; one on the left, center and right. We planned to advance the field with precision. The game itself was simple...single elimination. If you were hit, you were out.

"3...2...1...GO!" Madness ensued. We all ran to our planned positions, but we had no leader. So many shots were being fired it was nearly deafening...and it was all completely random; from my perspective at least.

My helmet had IMMEDIATELY fogged up SO, I couldn't see anything. Not to mention, I had never paintballed...and I didn't know if there was some common strategy employed in these types of situations...I was stuck in a state of near blindness.

I ducked behind a bunker. For a moment I stood up in a pathetic attempt to survey the area. Within a second my facemask was covered in yellow paint. I sheepishly walked off the field. I didn't envision my first paintball experience being such a failure.

I picked up some helpful strategies after round one. I put a paper towel under my helmet to help with the fogging and I started breathing out of my nose only. Also, we had been given three canisters filled with paintballs. The canisters were attached to a belt which went around our waist. It was difficult to run around with 500 paintballs hanging from your crotch. So, I decided to leave 2 canisters behind and my speed increased dramatically.

I had originally went out prancing like a bitch. I didn't want to get all dirty. BUT then I realized...I'm wearing a work shirt, shoes that survived fountain day at albany and 7 dollar sweat pants from Wal-Mart...fuck the clothing. Also, this wouldn't be a legitimate experience if I wasn't ready to go all out.

Our team came out in round 2 ready to get rich or die trying (50cent). This time we would be playing capture the flag. At first, the rules were simple; capture the flag and hold it at your base for 5 minutes. Then the other team would have to journey to the your side to try and get it back. However, it was impossible to infiltrate the other side once the flag was attained because everyone would camp (AKA- hide and wait for the enemy to come). So, we ditched that idea and tweaked the rules.

Whichever team could get the flag and run it to the OTHER teams base wins. I guess that's how the games played anyway, but common sense is lost when guns are involved...even if they are paintball guns. Anyway, we designated one man, L, to sprint after the flag.

The moment the game began L hunted down the flag like a champ, and brought it back to us. For the next 20 minutes we took to systematically removing every one of their players.

Yosef, the logistics coordinator, and one of the coolest people I've ever met, had been in the army...and he is a fucking madman. I was camping back in the distance, because I knew their team was too. BUT Yosef was buried under layers and layers of mud, firing paintballs and barking orders. I had gotten past my pussy stage and had completely destroyed my clothing. Everything I was wearing covered in paint and diarrhea brown mud...but I had nothing on this nut.

Slowly but surely we got rid of every one of their players. As I fired from across the field, I set my sights on (my friend) Issac who occasionally popped his head out from a bunker. I missed a few times, but refined my aim, waiting for him to emerge again. Finally, he stood up and I pulled the trigger nailing him in the face. My first successful shot in paintball. It felt amazing.

After awhile we conversed as a team and we were certain that we had eliminated everyone...or nearly everyone at least. Maybe one player was left. So, it was time. L and I decided we would all out sprint towards their base. Go hard or go home bitch.

L took off and I quickly followed behind. Within an instant I watched him wipe out in the mud and I tumbled right behind him. Through my foggy helmet I could see at least three opponents emerge from "camping." I was a sitting duck.

It was shocking because we had been SO certain that everyone was eliminated...BUT, fifteen paintballs to my body was a rude awakening that we were a bunch of rookies.

The next round we switched sides and played single elimination again. Before each game we would start at the very edge of the woods and wait for the referee to yell "GO!!" Then we would take off sprinting. Looking back on it, it was hilarious...I mean, we were a bunch of unorganized Jews. No one knew what they were doing. We liked to think we were employing legitimate strategy, but it was pure chaos...and after getting raped with fifteen paintballs I started playing much more conservatively. Call me a pussy, but its way more fun shooting people than getting shot.

The next round I was positioned next to one of the Rabbi's (Zacter) who has shooting from behind a bunker. He was a good guy to work alongside. He surveyed one half of the field while I viewed the other and we actually communicated with one another. It was a bobbing game for awhile as I would pop up and quickly shoot at the other team...before ducking to safety again...and they would do the same.

It lagged on for awhile, until God dropped a beautiful opportunity into my lap; yes God. Well maybe. Not quite convinced of his existence yet...although, not opposed to the idea. I guess the ultimate argument for me is 1. If God existed, why would he ever let something like the holocaust occur? When I posed that question, to the rabbi who fired beside me in paintball, his answer was, "I don't know." AND that is the truth of it, we will never know, WHY? It makes no sense to me. Also, if God exists WHERE IS HE? That is my current take on religion after spending time with orthodox Jews, however, before that time God wasn't even a consideration...and to be truthful, while on the trip, and shortly after it concluded, I spoke to God. For the first time in years and to some of you that may sound queer, but it was an extremely spiritual experience that took me down the path of self-discovery...which for those of you who can appreciate that concept, is a pleasant road to go down. Anyway, I said to him, "If you exist, show me, make me believe." I'm still waiting. Kudos to Aish for getting me their in the first place.

Anyway, the opportunity dropped into my lap in the form of Harris' stupidity. Harris, who I often mention in this blog, is a friend of mine from Albany, and we went on the trip together. Harris was on the other team and I could clearly see him dashing across the field. Quick movement while standing completely erect (rather than crouching) makes you an incredibly visible target and before Harris knew it, he was a marked man. SO, he stopped running and hid behind the closet thing he could find; a small tree.

From where I was sitting I had a near perfect angle to bombard Harris with paintballs. Honestly, I might have shot him 75-100 times as he sat there, attempting to hide. Of course, all the shots didn't hit, but if you can picture it, he was hiding behind a tree that was not quite thick enough to cover his entire body. So, whenever, he leaned in a certain direction I could snipe him with a paintball to the shoulder, the head, or his legs. AND considering there hadn't been any obvious targets, I took advantage of the opportunity as I wreaked complete havoc on him...and I wasn't alone. He was in plain view to everyone on our team...it makes me laugh looking back on it...he's such a retard.

After awhile, when he must have thought things were clear, he took off in search of safety. However, I had been sitting there, gun positioned, praying he would be foolish enough to do such a thing. My patience was rewarded...overcome with adrenaline and the looming desire to injure my retarded best friend...I went apeshit; it was awesome.

Throughout the experience fog was still an issue...and there was a STRICT rule in place...NEVER take your helmet off on the field. I decided to disobey that rule for one round. Don't get excited, I wasn't shot in the face...with a paintball that is. Cumshots were the norm on the trip itself.

The field we were playing on was huge...it was a forrest like I said, you idiot...and the entire time, I'd say we were only using about half of it. So, for one of the final rounds I ran all the way to the left side of the forrest...to a point where I was non existent. Once I got there, I ducked beneath a bunker and surveyed the field. From where I was sitting it was much easier to spot targets. I saw an opponent sitting in the middle and I unleashed hell on him. He attempted to fire back, but fog mixed with distance only produced confused shots of aggravation that landed nowhere near me.

Being secluded was clutch because I could take cover and adjust everything. Reload my gun with paintballs, unfog my mask or even just take a breather. Then, when I re-emerged I could pick off targets with little to no threat. In other words, I'd either make a good sniper, or I'm a huge pussy. Maybe snipers are huge pussies. Who knows.

In the final round the game was a free for all with very simple rules; shoot until you have absolutely no paintballs left. The game wasn't particularly special except as people ran out of bullets, the size of each team began to dwindle. After some time, my team was down to three people. I noticed them crouching behind a gigantic tree trunk, so I ran over.

We were sitting there shooting at the opponent with relative success and good cover...WHEN we were ransacked from behind. In the blink of an eye I experienced my most painful moment during the entire trip...when I think about it now, my head tingles...for whatever reason. I guess because the pain was so intense.

Anyway, we were sitting there when a paintball rocked me in the back of my head. It happened to hit me in one of the few spots my helmet wasn't protecting. I can't even describe what it felt like...but I was completely disoriented. My helmet was fogged, my head was throbbing and I couldn't see who was shooting me. Seconds later, I received a second bullet to the tricep. The pain was incredibly sharp and I watched my helmet fog up as I screamed in anger/agony. Anger because I was pissed they were shooting at us from such a close distance and agony for obvious reasons.

After the second bullet I crawled to the sidelines, as I continued to get pelted...once there I threw my helmet off and put my gun down. The paintball experience was over for me. Overall, however, it was fucking awesome and I would 100% percent do it again. After wards, we chilled out, had a gatorade and journeyed home. In the van I took a killer nap and when I got back, took the shower of a lifetime...I had to throw my sweatpants out because the mud had not only destroyed them, but they smelled like a pigs asshole...and if your questioning that statement, yes I've smelled a pigs asshole before, so fuck you.

For real though, awesome experience...more to come.

Blog Patrol

2010-07-06T20:19:00.000-07:00

Blog Patrol is an application that allows me to see how many people view my blog, how they find it etc...For example, if somebody searches the internet for my blog (via google possibly) blog patrol will show the key words they used. I thought I'd like to sure some of the keywords or phrases used to find this site.

"Beer and eggs puke" No brainer here.
"white hairy pussy fucking black dick." This dude was clearly looking for something a little more hardcore.
"Shaving your balls for surgery" Been there, done that.
"Getting balls shaved in the hospital." Apparently people are very interested in what's going on with my balls.
"Stuck on the shitter."

AND Finally

"Fat Passed out." Classic.

Korean Spa in California

2010-06-12T00:54:00.000-07:00

Before I get into my spa experience it's important to explain that I'm currently in California on a family vacation. Our original plan was to stay in a hotel, with the approximate price being 2,500 for a week. BUT, my Jew Mom found an incredible deal. Instead, I am currently staying in a HOUSE. It has three bedrooms, a living room, two decks (one in front, one in back) a full kitchen and most significantly a SICK DVD collection.

Actually the DVD collection isn't so great. BUT, as I was digging through the pile I opened a strange looking DVD case. The physical DVD said, "Property of Miramax, for Screening Purposes Only." I was very intrigued. So, I opened another which had the letters FYC printed on the front. It was more comparable to a booklet which contained HBO shows, movies and stand-up comedy specials. Turned out FYC stood for "For Your Consideration." The consideration intended for those granting Emmy Awards. I'll post some pictures, creepily taken on my webcam with no shirt on. Hey, at least I'm not flexing, just showing some cool shit.

Apparently this house belongs to a low profile movie director that travels often. For only 2,000 dollars, we have rented his entire property for a week. Quite the fucking deal.

WELL its not an absurd mansion BUT still, it costs less than a fucking hotel! If there was ever a real estate draft this house would be an insane sleeper; like Brandon Jennings...minus the gradual downfall after his 55pt game. If you don't follow Fantasy Basketball you probably didn't catch that one. Life goes on dude.

So on to those fucking Koreans. What a strange experience today was. A friend passionately recommended this place through the simple yet effective phrase, "It's godlike." I took her seriously. She looked hypnotized, under a trance, her eyes completely frozen...as she got lost in the eloquent portrayal of her previous experience...I too got lost in the imagery she ran through my mind. Maybe it was the acid we dropped before hand. For real though, I was CONVINCED.

Put it this way...Imagine being the head of admissions for a prestigious mathematical university like, MIT. Now imagine, personally receiving a knock-out letter of recommendation from a world-renown mathematician...that letter of recommendation being for a student that YOU, as the head of admissions, must decide to accept or reject. WELL, I think you've got your fucking answer boss. Not sure why I called you boss...I guess because you'd be the boss in that scenario I just described...sir. Still with me? I'm high as balls, so I'm hoping this makes sense.

SO that's how convinced I was...and that poorly constructed analogy kind of happened in real life...John Nash's (A Beautiful Mind) former Carnegie Tech professor, R.J. Duffin, wrote a letter of recommendation consisting of a single sentence: "This man is a genius." He was accepted. Pretty fucking cool. I never got to see the letters of recommendation teachers wrote for me in high school, but I imagine they were long....BECAUSE length gives the false impression that the person their writing about is worthy of acceptance. When in reality, length detracted from the fact that they actually had very few positive things to say about me. I guess that's what I found so cool about a five word letter of recommendation that worked for Harvard AND Princeton.

ANYWAY, today it was my Mom, my sister and I. We got dropped off in front of what looked like an office building. When we went inside it looked like a mall and there was a movie theater. We took the elevator to the basement and there in its own little corner of the world was the Koreans and their spa. Immediately, I was shunned away. They explained that there is a Men's and Women's spa and that the two are totally separate.

SO I was off to the other side of the building where the Koreans second little corner of the world existed. I decided to take the stairs and as the door shut behind me I turned around and saw there was no door knob. It was just a key hole. There were no stairs leading to the basement. It seemed that I had just locked myself inside the stairwell. I felt uneasy.

I walked up several flights of stairs and was met with the same result. I tried prying one door open; no luck. I kept climbing hoping to find an escape..BUT as I continued to venture past locked doors the nervousness escalated...I started to realize...I might be trapped in this creepy stairwell for awhile. My phone was dead, conveniently, so I wouldn't be able to call my Mom or Sister either.

I made it all the way to the door that led to the roof...and anything was better than being trapped, so the roof it was. There I was met by a Spanish woman cleaning the roof itself; for whatever reason. I'm not sure what purpose that could ever serve, but I awkwardly approached. The moment she noticed me she stood completely still and stared. Once I got close enough I asked, "uhhh where's the Men's spa?" She responded, "Not on the roof you fucking idiot." Nah, she didn't say that, but it would have been legit. Instead she simply replied, "The basement." I responded as if I had made a casual mistake "Oh! The basement, of course!" I gestured back towards the stairwell when she started laughing..."Follow me." It was kind of creepy, but my options were severely limited at the time, so I followed.

I found it weird that she didn't even bother to ask how I had ended up on the roof, but she laughed every step of the way. I must have made her day. I guess, it's not often a Spanish woman runs into a confused, redheaded Jew in Korea Town, California...while routinely performing her day job which happens to be cleaning the roof.

SO, I made it to the spa and the woman at the counter was surprised the moment she saw me. In the most chopped up way its up been pronounced she said, "Borkowski?" I said yes and she set me up with a locker and said, "naked, you must be naked." I awkwardly laughed because I thought she was joking, but she just stared back at me.

She pointed to some dude and he showed me around. First he showed me "the room" which consisted of a sauna, steam rooms and showers. I immediately saw a bunch of old naked Korean dudes and I wanted to die. Then I walked inside to get a closer look and the dude (showing me around) grabbed me and pulled me back...he pointed to the sign. "Absolutely no clothing is permitted beyond this point." To me it sounded more fit for a strip club or a frat party, not Korean dudes; I was ready to leave.

The spa has a gym which is the only place where Men and Women connect. SO, I was relieved when I ran into my sister BUT she said, "Yo fuck this shit, did you hear what we have to do?" I didn't say anything as she continued to explain, "We get naked and get a full body scrub; a guy will be scrubbing you naked." The second part of that sentence was really a killer. As for Rachel, she was more concerned over the fact that she would be seeing our Mom naked. Same rules on the women's side; no clothes. Thank God my Dad didn't come.

We were ready to leave when a white guy pulled me aside. It was random as hell, but he said, "Listen I know what your thinking, but give it a chance, you won't regret it." It was pretty obscure advice because I was thinking about asking for a masseuse (female) and a happy ending...and I really don't think he was thinking that, but he inspired me.

I decided I'd stay, but fuck the scrub down. I went to the front desk and had one of the most difficult conversations of my life. All I wanted to do was cancel my scrub and get a back massage; THAT'S IT. Instead I somehow agreed to acupuncture and a one on one personal oil massage; without realizing.

THEN, I went to my locker to change. Right when I got there a naked Korean man was standing in front of my locker (#79) with his arms crossed. "Whya don't u wanta the scruba massaga?!" He was naked and legitimately upset. I was confused and legitimately scared. I said to him in plain English, "I have NO idea what's going on." He didn't understand me...but he DID go into a deep explanation about the scrub massage. I had no idea what he was saying and I was ready to hang myself when a SECOND naked Korean man showed up; the acupuncturist.

Apparently the scrubber was his competition and he had arrived to win me, and thus my money, over. He had an acupuncture needle in his hand. He gestured that he wanted to show me and I hesitantly agreed. Surprisingly, I didn't even feel it go in. The scrubber stood their furious. The acupuncturist walked away.

Hell of a presentation on his part. It was like a one night stand. He came in, fucked me and peaced without even leaving his number. His lack of interest was intriguing...I was like a classically obsessed, naive woman...Why doesn't he like me? His confidence was stirring too, I thought to myself, what's so great about acupuncture anyway? And why does he seem so sure of himself yet completely ambivalent towards my decision? He's such a badass.

BUT, the scrubber wasn't ready to give in to the acupuncturists superior "show and tell," display. The scrubber went into a whole new rant and I was losing my god damn mind. Finally I said to him, "You! You! WHATEVER YOU WANT!" He was elated as he said, "OK, take clothes off meet inside." My dick shriveled.

It was time to get naked. There were several reasons I felt uncomfortable. 1. I was unsure how the size of my dick would compare with others. 2. Its not often I'm naked among many naked Korean men; unless I'm dreaming...AND 3. I was about to be massaged naked, by a naked Korean man. I stripped down to my boxers and started walking towards "the room."

When I got there I was met by my massagist who THANK GOD, put a bathing suit on. I think he could tell I was uncomfortable. Anyway, he looked at my boxers then pointed at the sign; which prohibited clothes. As if I was unaware I said, "Oh right, that was stupid" and walked back to my locker.

I took a deep breath as I stared at myself in the mirror. It seemed I couldn't run from this problem. My sister hadn't contacted me so I assumed she and my Mother had gone through with it. I wanted to go home, but I was clueless how to even get there...not to mention, I had no mode of transportation (we had taken a 25 minute cab ride to get to the spa). Worst of all, the Korean was waiting for me AND my mom had already paid. There was nothing left to do, but get naked.

I slipped my boxers off and started walking towards "the room." I was still feeling awkward so I grabbed a towel right before I entered and semi-covered myself. Accidentally, I had grabbed a hand towel, but I didn't realize until it was too late...I ended up looking like a college chick wearing a failed Halloween costume. All I really needed beyond those "panties" was a bra and a crown. Cross dressing is an old hobby of mine.

I walked inside.

My massagist called me over. I creeped across the room...everyone seemed to be staring at me. The room was filled with old Korean men. AND here was a random young white dude. My massagist said, "Take showa, go hot tub, den massage." I went over to the showers. It reminded of prison. Well, what I imagined prison to be like...the showers were separated by tiny wall like barriers. They served no purpose. I saw a bar of soap. I chose the body wash instead.

I showered in between two Korean men. I was on rape patrol, yet I showered as long as possible...dreading the naked scrub down that was approaching. Eventually, my massagist came up to me and said, "OK OK...now hottub, quick!" SO, I went into the hot tub until he called me out. It was time, no turning back.

I walked over and he lied me down on my stomach; phew. Not so bad, at least he wasn't going to be near my dick. He started scrubbing me down, but I couldn't remove myself from the moment...I was naked in California being scrubbed by a Korean man. How did it come to this?

He scrubbed the living shit out of me. He was extremely meticulous and incessantly repetitive. He moved from my shoulders, to my ass (sadly) and then down to my feet. THEN, he paused. I was incredibly anxious...as I sat there, in the dark to his next move.

Unexpectedly, I was hit with the refreshing feel of warm water. By soaking me he removed all the dead skin that had been scrubbed. THEN he started massaging my back. This was one hell of a god damn massage. I busted my back last summer and if I don't stretch, which I never do, it get's real tight and bothersome. I felt him isolate the knots and rejuvenate my muscles; allowing them some breathing room. To be honest, it started to hurt like a bitch after awhile. BUT, I knew it be incredibly relieving once it was over.

Once again he made it all the way down to my feet then doused me off. I had enjoyed the massage and now I was ready to leave. Until he said, "Aturn hova." Translation: Turn over. I hesitated. I was already WAY out of my fucking comfort zone. I dreaded the very idea of turning over, ass fucking naked, as this queer bag massaged me.

He repeated himself, but I remained stationary. Then he got agitated and started talking jibberish again. Fine Korea, fine, I'll turn over. SO, he started with my upper body, same as my back. Sadly, that meant he would be making it down to my feet, scrubbing everything in the process.

When he got down to my stomach he skipped right by my junk and went to my upper thighs...moving into dangerous territory as he scrubbed my groin. I was remarkably uncomfortable...cringing as he descended where no man should ever descend. BUT, thankfully that was the closest he got. He grazed Henry a couple times (my dicks name) but overall, I was spared.

When I imagine a massage I think of a very relaxing experience. Maybe some mellow music with the lights dimmed, as I close my eyes. NOT lying ass naked on (what can be compared to) a slab of metal, surrounded by naked men with slanted eyes.

He aggressively stretched my muscles. Better yet, he beat the shit out of me. He pulled my arms behind my head and extended them as far as possible. It felt like my shoulder was being torn apart. Then, he proceeded to deeply massage every one of my muscles; from my legs to my feet. Using his fingers it felt like he was making it down to my bones.

Using his forearm he pressed down against my back and chest; for whatever reason. He yanked my legs in different directions as he twisted my feet and ankles in the air. In addition, he gripped my head with his hands and violently stretched my neck in all directions. I swear to god, I had to fight through the entire massage it was awfully painful.

When that was over with he covered me in god knows what. Oil, lube, whatever they use. Then a rush of hot water one last time and boom; it was over. I stood up, in a daze, and barely managed to say, "Thank you, that was crazy." He was ridiculously happy and he showed it by hugging me. Then he told me to take a shower.

I emerged back into the flow of the main room; naked, ambivalent and free. I had received a naked massage from a man who did everything with the exception of a hand job. There was nothing on this earth that could make me feel uncomfortable anymore. I strutted to the shower.

I truly enjoyed that shower despite being surrounded by nudes. It must have looked like a shampoo commercial. I waved my hair in the air, passionately washed my body and even hummed a song; I felt fucking great. Then, I hit the hot tub, steam room and dried to a crisp in the sauna. All the while maneuvering among the Korean regulars.

THEN I noticed a different room where men were sitting in front of mirrors; shaving and what not. I walked over and had the shave of a lifetime. Then I brushed my teeth (razors and toothbrushes were available). After that I took one final shower and walked into the locker room...which had every grooming product a man could ever need.

For some reason, the room had mirrors on ALL sides so I constantly saw reflective images of everyone; as they saw me. So it got kinda awkward when I starting using a blow dryer on my balls. Truly, however, I did not care. I was an artist with that blow dryer.

It was an indescribable feeling...being completely naked, yet acting comfortable...as if I had clothes on. I didn't feel exposed, I didn't feel insecure, I just enjoyed my time. In fact, I took some time to examine different angles of my body in the mirror. I really didn't know what my ass looked like until that day. I feel like I hadn't seen it in years, but we became very acquainted with one another.

After that I grabbed a hand towel...the same kind originally meant to cover me...except now, I threw it over my shoulder and strolled to locker 79. I slowly put my clothes back on, ending by snugly fastening the laces on my shoes. Then I grabbed my headphones, threw some chill music on and took the elevator to the first floor.

There I met my family as we discussed the ridiculous experience. When we got outside, we started walking around looking for a place to eat and the refreshing feeling a massage is supposed to give you; kicked in. I felt like a new man. Every muscle in my body felt insanely relaxed. Every step I took was orgasmic. My skin felt incredibly clean, my rejuvenated hair flowed like a surfers and my balls elegantly relaxed into my boxer briefs. Life was perfect.

Fat Dances

2010-05-31T00:29:00.000-07:00

In the days one may deem "hospital worthy," Fat was notorious for drinking Captain. On one particular night, we picked up a handle. Fat took an empty water bottle and filled it with around 5 shots worth. I looked at him, completely joking, and said, "That's it?"

Without hesitation he met my challenge as the level of captain projected from drunk to hospital bound. It was ridiculous. BUT it was NEVER a big deal with Fat because getting blackout drunk was his forte...it was his game, it was his thing...it was his fucking jam. He never needed encouragement, he just needed an excuse, a reason; anything. For example, "Fat, your a pussy!" "Fat, its Friday night!" "Fat its 2 for 1 drink specials!" "Fat its my birthday!" AND after awhile..."Fat its a Wednesday!" "Fat its my Aunt's half birthday!" "Fat...slow down dude." "Fat...you can't pass out here." "Fat, the ambulance is coming...again." "Fat its called substance abuse." "Fat AA stands for alcoholics anonymous." “Mrs. Fat, he’s dead.”

Anyway we hit up a random house party and there we ran into an acquaintance. She was holding a pitcher filled with gummy bears. They had been soaked in vodka. No one told Fat.

The party was in a basement, with a dance floor and very dark lighting (essentially, it was a club). BUT, there was a barren corner with ONE chair, awkwardly bright lights and NO people...EXCEPT FOR, you guessed it, Fat. Fat had chosen to black out under a fucking spotlight. EVERYONE was staring at him. Some people were concerned...they interrogated "are you ok?" Fat responded, "I'm fine..I'm wide....before he could finish his sentence (wide awake) he slipped into unconsciousness; remarkable. I have video proof that he legitimately blacked out mid sentence, I just don’t know how to upload videos from my blackberry. If your reading this and you know how, please show me the way. I've got goldmine material of Fat. SO...believe it or not, my friends and I thought this was hilarious...I mean its not like a section of my blog is labeled “Fat.” SO, we enjoyed from the sidelines...disregarding it as an issue.

Later that night Fat was standing again...so we headed over to the keg. After doing so, I leaned up against the wall and observed the dance floor. Fat started to slouch next to me...he was breathing heavily...and for some reason, he was TERRIFIED. He whispered, "help me...help me." NOW, when your contemplating approaching a woman (and your nervous) the last thing you want to hear is some idiot begging you for help.

SO, I said to him, "This is what you get for drinking like an asshole." He continued to plead for help, directly in my face...and I got fed up...SO, I pushed him away from me HARD...and he stumbled onto the dance floor.

He took a moment to steady himself, felt the music...and started BUSTING moves. I stood there dumbfounded. First of all Fat is not a bad dancer. He may not be Chris Brown and his blog name may simply be the word "Fat," but he’s got decent moves for a white guy. Secondly, MAD people were watching him. He quickly became the life of the party, a drunken spark. EVERYONE thought it was hilarious.

BUT after that died down, Fat TOOK OFF...naturally. I didn’t bother to follow, I figured he was going to puke. Thankfully for him, the kegs were soon kicked...so we peaced that bitch.

SO, as we left the party and started walking down the street, we could see Fat in the distance. He was drastically slouched (as if he was being examined for a scoliosis exam-arms dangling towards his feet) alone and walking very slowly. He looked like Smeagle (LOTR) or a retarded hunchback. As he approached us he was whispering our names “Seth, Jose...” over and over. He didn’t look up as he passed by resulting in him NOT NOTICING US...SO we silently watched as he walked right on by...TALKING TO HIMSELF. Are you fucking kidding me?

After some laughs we caught his attention and he was ELATED; confirming that he hadn’t been faking it...he REALLY had been wandering like a legitimate schizo.

SO, we set off to a pizza place called Madison’s...and we sat Fat down on a stool. He silently obeyed. Then we ordered pizza and ate by the register...which was on the opposite side from where Fat was drooling. He was staring at us...whispering, “help me...help me.”

It was a sickening (yet entertaining) mixture of hilarious, creepy and pathetic. Others didn’t even acknowledge his existence...no one noticed him...he was alone in the world...with us, the unconcerned friends, being his only outlet. Good times.

The Most Absurd Night of My College Career

2010-05-16T02:38:00.000-07:00

I've had many nights through the course of my college career that one could classify as absurd (Although, I'm sure many of you have). You can read about 75% percent of them under the label, "Fat." Specifically, Hospital Drunk is among the craziest. BUT this night, was an entirely different kind of madness.

It all started this past Friday.

We were outside on our deck. The weather was finally nice, downtown Albany was flooded with people, and we were wasted. Naturally we started getting rowdy.

At first we were just insulting whoever walked by, hoping to start some mayhem, but then we switched to blowjob advocacy. Nicholas started it off, "HERE YEE HERE YEE, we have 7 strapping gentlemen all looking to get blown..." Shockingly, this proposal wasn't met positively.

SO as a last ditch effort we started screaming for some titties...girls gone wild style. There was light at the end of the tunnel. A girl passing by heard our cries and responded, "you wanna see some titties?!" We all responded, "HELL YEAH." THEN, this crazy bitch put her drink down and ACTUALLY flashed us...and then she was gone; in a flash (pun intended, bitch).

Is it a big deal? No, maybe not. BUT, we were pumped. Seriously, if its not Mardi Gras how often are girls flashing titties...let alone asking if your interested. NEVER, that's how often.

Then we went to a party. I stayed pretty late, but some of my friends took off earlier to catch a cab home (I live downtown so I'm always within walking distance whereas those who live on campus need to take a bus or cab...I know I know, I'm amazing). Anyway, those who left early had the luxury of running into the "flashee." Apparently, she encouraged them to grab her tits and slap her ass. This was DEVASTATING news. I was once again unsuccessful with women for a night, so I was lonely, horny and burnt out. A raving lunatic of a porn star would have been a guaranteed pick-me-up.

SO, the next night we started drinking around 11 and then we went to a beach themed party. We were all wearing bright colored shirts, bathing suits and sandals. The party was pretty sweet...they had sand around the beer pong table, 2 kegs left (even though we arrived late) and madmen running around with huge bottles of sangria...pressuring people to drink.

These days Fat is a new man. He has a new girlfriend and he's mad whipped...so no more stories about him getting black out drunk. BUT, there are still a few goldmine stories from sophomore year that are yet to surface. So lets keep our fingers crossed and fight through Fat's sober days.

EVEN THOUGH, he was sober on Saturday, that doesn't mean he's immune to acting like an idiot. While sober Fat may not go to the hospital, black out in public streets or finger trannies...he will absolutely act like an immature asshole. SO, we were chillin' on their deck, when some dude from the street asked for a cigarette. Fat decided to talk shit AND pour beer all over him; smooth.

This kid happened to be a fucking gorilla and he was standing on the street screaming his head off. I tried to talk him down and shockingly he was able to be reasoned with. Most fights in Albany are caused solely by insecure dudes, with too much pride, who lack the ability to walk away; and be the "bigger man." I am NOT one to talk, but I'm not one who should be fighting either; because I won't win.

ANYWAY, all this guy wanted was an apology. He said to me, "That was mad disrespectful your boy needs to own up ." Fat didn't respond. SO, the dude charged into the house ready to fight. Once he made it to the deck, Fat made a wise decision and gave an extremely fake apology. However, he played it off sincerely, so all was good...BUT this former WWF wrestler had the self-esteem of a sexually abused 6 year-old-girl SO two seconds later; he was intensely arguing with people from the street. He said to some Chinese kid "you jackie chan looking motherfucker, fuck off."

Kendall was laughing hysterically...he loves a good racist joke, and a fight...SO he started to instigate both parties with the hope of providing some entertainment. Next thing you know gorilla and jackie chan were about to square off in the street. However, one of the Sangria boys aggressively intervened. He was trying to break shit up, but he was loud and angry. Before you knew it, everyone was fighting.

SO I went back inside to play beer pong...when I started talking to some chick at the table. Believe it or not, she was feelin' me, BUT then a loud knock came from the front. Everyone got quiet as Sangria # 4 opened the door...an angry cop awaited on the other side. Everyone ran...instinctively I followed. I slipped out the back and will probably never see that girl again. Whatever that's not the point.

THE POINT IS, even when Fat isn't being true to his blog worthy self, he's being an idiot. Thus, he inadvertently started a chain of events that eventually led to- 1. a fight 2. the cops showing up 3. me being cock-blocked and 4. the party ending. HOWEVER, had it not been for Fat's actions, this blog post would not be worthy of its title. Here we go...

SO we all left the party and staggered back to my house. When we got to my porch some people wanted pizza and others went inside. Rather than argue I simply started walking towards my favorite, Paesan's Pizza, when Gabrielle in his retarded Latin American accent said, "Wait!"

I turned around and their were two girls drinking "4 Loco," staring at me. One was black and the other we found out, was Native American. Gabrielle said, "THIS is the girl that flashed us, and her friend." I was wasted and VERY appreciative of what she had done the night before so I yelled, "THAT WAS YOU?!" "THAT. WAS. AWESOME."

Conveniently we happened to be standing outside our house...so we invited them inside. We walked upstairs and immediately we were pushing Remy (which is what we will call the Native American) to flash us again. She responded, "Show me some dick." Gabrielle's dick was out in less than 3 seconds and no sooner, her tits were out. Truth be told, they were disappointing up close. They were small and kind of saggy.

SO, we started pushing her black friend, who we'll call Nikki, into flashing us. She was kind of shy; at least in comparison to Remy. She was contemplating what to do when Remy moved in and kissed her. So we skipped right past Nikki's tits and progressed into some girl-girl action. Nikki was literally eating her face.

BUT, in the midst of this Harris walked over, put his arms around both of them and tried to get down in some triple kiss action. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't have cared. BUT, this was a show, for EVERYONE. AND this selfish asshole has to walk over and intrude. SO, I ran over, grabbed him and tossed him. He went fucking flying to the floor and started rolling around in pain. I was stunned. I had simply intended to move him, but there he was, whimpering and holding his wrist. It's rare I feel any guilt towards that asshole, but he was suckin' on titties moments later anyway.

After they stopped kissing Remy said to me, "I snuck up on her a couple weeks back and ate that pussy." I looked at Nikki and she said, "It's true, hell, I was half asleep!" I started laughing hysterically. This was only the beginning.

Before we knew it Nikki's tits were out and overly aggressive Mantle was making out with her. So, for the time being Nikki was taken to the kitchen. Remy was left alone with 8 dudes, but she was experienced. She told us that she used to be a stripper...until she had a kid. WTF.

I had thought she was some crazy ass student, but as it turned out, she was a MOM. So as we stood there, unsure of what to do, someone slapped Remy's ass...and I saw it in her face, she fucking loved it. Two seconds later she took her pants off and bent over by our window sill; in her thong. We all took turns man handling her ass. It wasn't a nice ass by any means, but everything was too surreal to care.

Since she was half naked and claimed to be an ex-stripper...someone brought out a fold-up chair and started yelling "LAP DANCE!" We pressured Kendall to sit down and Remy was beyond down. SO, she walked over to her purse and pulled out a bag of coke. She blew a few lines, drank some 4 Loco, took her shirt off and said, "Put a song on." I sprinted to my room and threw on a play list J-kid had made for me back in the day. J-Kid if your reading this, job well done.

She started giving Kendall a lap dance and I was literally screaming my head of; for 2 reasons. 1. It was the most ridiculous scenario ever...LESS THAN 5 minutes ago this was some random girl who had flashed us on the street AND NOW, she was ASS NAKED, blowing lines and giving LAP DANCES 2. I didn't want them to leave. I knew keeping the energy going was important. For starters, if these bitches were getting naked in under 5 minutes in our house; they had serious self-esteem issues. SO, I knew if I could temporarily raise their self-esteem, through half-assed praise, they would definitely stay; genius I know. Not to mention, Remy wasn't going to continue to give lap dances and make out with her friends if we sat around silently. AND a bunch of my queer friends are awkward motherfuckers, so I kept it going...I "gassed" everyone up so to speak. Lit a fire under that whores ass.

EVERYONE got a lap dance. We all took turns sitting down in the chair as Remy went to fucking work. Honestly, and I'm officially going to make this clear now. She was gross. WITH CLOTHES ON, she seemed attractive. WITH HER CLOTHES OFF- UCH. She had saggy tits, stretch marks (most likely from fucking child birth) and a flat ass with some pimples on it. NOW, that's a pretty harsh description and in your head your probably picturing the grossest girl ever...NOT to mention, you might have thrown up in your mouth. BUT, she really wasn't THAT BAD, not to mention, WTF. I mean, come on! THIS SHIT WAS RIDICULOUS. Even if for humorous purposes only...it was totally worth it. I guess, that was my paragraph where I came clean and defended myself. Either way, you'll still judge my friends and I as sick fucks, but I guess that's why this blog exists anyway; bitch.

I'm tipsy right now. It's not often I write intoxicated, (unless I'm high) but finals are done and I'm chillin' on a few beers before we get wrecked tonight. Fun fact.

ANYWAY, the night continued. Nikki came back after awhile and completely removed her shirt. Her tits were beautiful. Nicely sized, good curvature and PERFECT little hershey kiss nipples. THEN, someone said the words, "whipped cream." I was ON IT. I ran over to Pine Hills, which is a corner store, literally located three houses down from our place. Otis once reviewed it as, "Top 5 most convenient places of all time." You know, the same Otis who jumped out of my car, so you know his opinion is legitimate.

I came back and without even asking permission I covered Nikki's exposed tits with whip cream. She seemed to be digging Harris, while regretting having hooked up with creepy Mantle, so I pushed him in as the whip cream dispensed. Mantle, a good sport, whipped his camera phone out, as Harris went to work on dem' titties. The best part is the end of the video...Harris looks up like a fucking retard, whip cream up his nose...with this goofy/creepy smile of satisfaction on his face. He looks somewhere between post rape and post onset of down syndrome.

So the night continued as lap dances went around. BUT, after awhile (I'd say 2am) the excitement of it all wore off. I mean, seeing the 2 make out wasn't even appealing. We just wanted them to leave. It was a rush at first and very fun. BUT, these were the BIGGEST whores in Albany. Blowing lines, getting naked in our house...hit it and QUIT it, they say. WELL, unfortunately that ended up being taken too literally.

At first it seemed more than obvious that we were going to run the train on these girls. That was UNTIL, we realized that Remy was a FUCKING MOM...AND, I SWEAR TO GOD, she said this, "I woke up on a park bench this morning and my pussy really hurt." So either I fucked one huge black cock, or a lot of small white ones." WHAT.THE.FUCK. LEAVE MY FUCKING HOUSE.

Of course we were all too pussy to say that, so we had to bear the rest of the night. Remy was drunk, tweaked from cocaine AND under the impression that we all thought she was smoking hot (due to my incessant spark of energy). She was ALL OVER me. It was fucking terrible. Here's how the rest of the shameful night went.

2-4 AM.

SHE put three fold out chairs out and said..."Triple lap dance." She called myself, Jose and Harris out. Its safe to say that she was looking to get down in a foursome with us. She went back and forth. Lap dance for one, hopping to the other. It wasn't impressive, it wasn't hot, it wasn't anything. She got me to take my shirt off and I sat there shirtless with this hideous freak on me. Isn't it AMAZING how my attitude shifts in this post. I go from the PUMPED to DISGUSTED. Albany crack whores man.

Thankfully Nikki showed up and I pretty much begged her for a lap dance. She was kinda shy (however on a shy scale from 1-10, she's porn star status) but all she needed was a little push from an experienced rapist. Before I knew it I had an attractive black girl grinding on me, with a great body, rather than Remy's washed up ass.

Mantle wanted to get down on the action. SO, he pulled up a 4th chair, as sweat oozed from his hair, rolled down his face and died out on his chest. The lap dance never came. After the triple action subsided, everyone walked away, but Mantle never left. He was incredibly frustrated that he wasn't getting any attention.

45 minutes LATER there sat Mantle...hairy, sweaty and dissatisfied; its a wonder he didn't take the hint. Even Remy was no longer interested. I guess, he should have manned up and snagged some more coke 4 her.

SO, Remy's confidence was sky high, which was very unfortunate. Since I was the main contributor, she was on my shit. I will NEVER forget the horror I experienced, when she approached me, as I was relaxing in my room. It was her and I, ALONE. She started kissing my neck and BITING it hard. My dick shriveled intensely. Then she started kissing me down from my chest to my stomach. I was FREAKING OUT. In a moment of desperation I said, "How bout another lap dance?" Then I winked at her; it was maybe the smoothest thing I've ever done in my entire life. Not like that's saying much. BUT, she truly believed that all I wanted in the world at that moment was her grinding on me. I threw on a Birdman song and she went to work. It was fucking terrible. I also came to the unfortunate realization that I was wearing my brand new shorts, purchased from Express a few days ago. No laundry machine would ever fix the damage she was doing.

SO I managed to escape that disaster and went outside to the deck. Remy quickly followed. Sitting outside was myself, Jose, Harris, Remy and Nikki. I was all over Nikki. I didn't know how else to get Remy away from me. I had my hands around her waist, I was grabbing her ass...I NEEDED Remy to leave me alone. Thankfully, she sprung onto a new target.

Harris has no standards...and she started making moves. Harris was posted up on the deck, comfortably, with his legs extended. Remy went up to him and put her head directly over his dick. It was like an imitation blow job. I don't know what the purpose of that could ever be, but whatever. SOMEHOW, the two transitioned inside, to our couch. Then, Remy started giving him a lap dance as the rest of us chilled outside.

TWO MINUTES LATER, I looked inside and I saw Remy BLOWING HARRIS. I took my video camera out and started recording. There, in the middle of our wide open living room, not less than 10 feet away from the remaining core of the "party," Harris was copping a blow J (Superbad) from Albany's finest...No, not law enforcement; Remy.

I stepped inside. I thought by doing so I might interrupt them. I wasn't trying to cock-block, merely trying to entertain myself. BUT, that didn't stop Remy. Nikki was in on the fun too. She actually positioned herself right next to the two. Harris looked up, but he didn't give a shit...AND Remy never opened her eyes, she was doing work. SO, I handed my phone to Nikki and she recorded a solid three minutes of the blow job on my phone. I watched it once, jerked it and deleted it.

After awhile Harris nutted in her mouth and they re-joined us on the deck. BUT, Remy wasn't done. She came up to me (I was still shirtless, because there's no reason this beautiful body should ever be covered with a shirt) and started kissing my stomach. I was horrified. Once you swallow some fucking cum, it's time to call it a fucking night. Albany crack whores man. THEN, she started licking my belly button. GOD KNOWS WHY. I pushed her head away. She got the message.

SO we were left to deck activities. Remy was indescribably drunk and started yelling the most random shit off our deck. "Your Daddy's a jump-off!" "Your Momma's a trick." AND most importantly... "Your Daddy's a scallywag." I actually know what a scallywag is and I do not understand where that came from. Fat concluded with, "Your grandmas a hoodrat!"

ANYWAY, she got the attention of some black dudes on the street. She looked at me and said, I fucked that one. Nikki responded, "yeah...that's my little brother." I was 1. shocked 2. scared and 3. confused. 1. What were the odds that Remy was able to point someone out, that she fucked; on the street?! Well, never mind. 2. I had seen Nikki's tits, gotten a lap dance from her and pressured her to kiss Remy...and she was RELATED to the gun carrying black dude on the street. That's not a racist remark, I saw the gun. Finally, why the fuck was she so chill about Remy fucking her brother? weird.

Anyway, Remy started talking shit and one of the OTHER black dudes started laughing. Remy remarked that she had fucked him 2. He yelled, "Come down here and suck my dick." She responded, "Go to the basement, I'll be there later." He nodded his head. OH. MY. GOD. At that point, it was official; Harris had contracted full blown aids.

SO the black guys started shit talking Remy. "Yo watchu doing wit' dem' white boys?" Then they started making fun of her pussy, calling it mad loose. She started screaming off the deck, "I keep my shit tight!" Then she intensely pressured all of us to touch it; FUCK THAT.

THEN one of the black dudes sat down on a car. This car happened to belong to FAT...YES! I yelled at him, "YO, HOP OFF MY RIDE SON." Naturally, he was pissed...AND not only did he NOT hop off, BUT all of his friends hopped on. Fat was flipping out. "Seth, S.T.F.U. I'm going to beat the shit out of you." Harris chimed in, "yeah hop off ya fucking tricks!" All are interrogation resulted in the very opposite...Fat's car was their new chill spot. At its peak there were maybe 8 gangsta ass black dudes on Fat's tiny ass honda civic. Classic.

Remy still wasn't done. She jumped onto the edge of our deck, with just a thong on, and started grinding on one of our pillars. Everyone from the street was watching. I desperately tried to get her to stop. If she fell, which was VERY likely...her shitty death would be on our hands. She was swaying around, half unconscious, loving the attention, but she noticed that I was pissed off, tired and disgusted. She quietly sat down.

AT THIS POINT, it was beyond obvious we wanted them to leave. The nightlife was pretty much dead, as 4 in the morning rolled around. BUT, Nikki had taken a bunch of pictures, so we had to look. It was like the ending in the movie, The Hangover. The most absurd pictures ever. There was a picture of Remy, naked, grinding on me; shirtless. There were pictures of everyone licking whip cream off these whores. Pictures of different people making out throughout the night. Both of their tits. Remy remarked, "Delete the ones with my face in them, if my baby's Daddy see's this, he's gonna kill you."

What fantastic information. This rehab bound prostitute had a fucking boyfriend. God only knows what he's like. THEN, as they finally were leaving, they told us to friend them on facebook. RIGHT. The only thing we hoped for, was to never see any of them again. Well at least not Remy, Nikki was fine.

The next day I felt indescribably ashamed of myself. Ashamed isn't even the word; I was traumatized. We went to Moe's to get a burrito and I had trouble eating. I kept thinking back on everything that had happened and it made me sick. Not to mention, a lot of the blame was being thrown my way. Harris, in particular, was pissed at me because he would have never contracted aids had it not been for my false encouragement of the duo. I felt what he was saying, but you can't really blame me; it was too ridiculous. Either way, I never would have let that crack whore blow me.

These days Harris awaits the results from his STD test. If I had to guess, he's got the H.I.V.

My Second 8 Tracks Playlist

2010-05-12T17:22:00.000-07:00

Fuck you Rachel

Click it Ho

My First Playlist On 8tracks

2010-05-12T15:33:00.000-07:00

Click it Bitch

After Innocence

2010-05-12T14:40:00.001-07:00

After Innocence is a documentary about criminals who have been exonerated. AKA these INNOCENT men were fucked over by the criminal justice system and thus had to pay the terrible, terrible price. I had NO clue how flawed our criminal justice system was until I saw this. This documentary is unbelievable. For a little bit of convincing listen to Nick Yarris...starting around 3:55...it's worth it...AND if you like it, the same guy who posted this video, posted the entire movie...For the record, it was a special on SHOTIME a couple years back.

Heres the link in case it doesn't work...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RFouyLIjQVk&feature=related

4/20/2009

2010-04-24T12:49:00.000-07:00

In honor of 420 I felt the need to finally write this story. Which is now being published like 4 days late.

The plethora (sexy word) of responses one may face, when caught smoking pot, by an authority figure, are intriguing (That's probably a run on sentence). For example, the cops might arrest you. OR your parents might ground you. OR your Mom might roll a joint (Check out, Mom Rolls Sick Joints).

On the other hand, some adults are understanding...Maybe their reformed pot heads, like my Mom (apparently). For example, Sling and I were blazing on a random street corner last summer when this woman came out and said, "Look I don't care if you smoke, I've been there, but I've got kids...please take it somewhere else." Sling responded, "You're absolutely right, won't happen again." It was nice to be met with an appreciation, an understanding of what we were doing... sympathy maybe...whatever you want to call it.

Other times you may be met with shame. Like one time Jose and I we're blazing in a mall parking lot. A Mother passed by with her child, as Jose exhaled his hit and passed the bowl to me. Her son watched in confusion as she confronted us and said, "you should be ashamed of yourselves."

I don't mind the first 2, even shame...because she wasn't wrong. BUT, the worst are those who look down on you. Those who make assumptions simply because you like relaxing with some bud every now and then. Those who already have their minds made up about you, the moment they find out you blaze. AND even sometimes, those who look to degrade you. As if smoking (weed, fuck cigarettes-quit dude.) makes you lower or inferior. I HATE that. Sometimes such degradation may call for a fight.

SO, it was 420 as Otis, Sling, Devin and I smoked an L in my car. We posted up in bumblefuck so we wouldn't get caught. Naturally, I threw on everyone's favorite, "Do You Know," (The Ping Pong Song) by Enrique Iglesias...thug ass Devin and Sling took to lip syncing the song lyric by lyric; which is always entertaining. Take note of thug ass...in my eyes that means, tougher than red headed Jews (far tougher).

As my "system," rattled, we were unknowingly bothering people. SO, it came as a surprise when a car pulled up next to mine and started honking. I remember thinking, "Great the fucking cops." I rolled my window down as a cloud of smoke escaped from my baked car. I was met by the face of an angry boyish looking man.

IMMEDIATELY he goes, "I know you fucking losers wanna celebrate your "holiday," (which he arrogantly quoted using hand gestures while mocking with his face) but some of us have to work tomorrow morning. Now get the fuck out of here before I call the cops you low life's.

I replied "WOW. Nice to meet you too buddy. I may be mistaken, but its 420...I don't think one qualifies as a loser if their smoking on this "holiday," (as I mocked his usage of quotes). Now something you may not have noticed, is my two friends sitting in the backseat (I have tinted windows). It's a shame too, because I don't want to do this, but you really shouldn't have." Sling, standing at 6 foot 5 stepped out of my car, while Devin came from the other side. I turned my car off as Otis called "shot fives," on the front seat. Clutch call.

We surrounded the prick as he SCRAMBLED to turn his car on. Two seconds later, Sling opened his door, and yanked him out of the car [Grand Theft Auto (Vice City, preferably) style]. So there he was, laying on the ground; defenseless. He started begging us not to hit him, offering us "lowlifes," money...which once again, was offensive. Even when he's about to get his ass kicked this guy had to be superior. It was a mistake too, because Devin kicked him in the face. His nose started bleeding as he started to cry. Then as a group we stomped him on the ground for a while. Then Sling got fancy. He started to perform the coveted "People's Elbow," (A reference to legendary WWF wrestler, The Rock) as we cheered him on. "OHH SHIT, HE'S NOT GONNA, OH. MY. GOD." Otis played the role of referee.

Do yourself a favor and watch this 30 second clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L_3Zi6t7W4s

Truth be told, none of that happened. The guy pulled his car in reverse the second he realized we were pissed...and backed into his driveway; which was directly behind him. Then he got out, sprinted inside and locked the door behind him. Truly a shame.

Demoralized we drove to another town to pick up bag.

We were all kind of pissed about what had just happened...but Otis is a natural at turning those kinds of things around by fucking with people. SO as we we're passing by a large group of girls standing outside Otis decided to slam on my horn, and duck his head. Seeing that in words, its incredible how gay it sounds, its not even funny...but all the girls turned around and proceeded to laugh at my awkwardly stoned blank stare...I was embarrassed and I wanted to get him back.

So I pulled a "you-E," (U-turn for you faggets) and said, "you know whats coming." He immediately got out of the car...NOT long before this night I had fucked with Otis.....

WHAT HAPPENED WAS...I had parked next to a car, that two people were fucking in. I rolled down Otis' window which had been angled so he was directly next to them. Then I locked the windows as I reclined my seat. There sat Otis, panicking as he awkwardly sat next to two people fucking; as if he was watching a live porno. Then I tapped the horn to get their attention. They took notice of him and for some reason he got out of my car and ran. I watched Otis dash into the distance, with the aid of my rear view mirror. Then I calmly turned my car on, laughing as I cruised away.

So given that past experience, he got out and started to walk off. I rolled down his window, my car still angled towards the group of girls, and lied to him. "Dude get back in the car, I'm not gonna do anything you pussy." Like a schmuck he got back in and we all started laughing as I drove towards the girls. He was devastated...AND he started to open his door..."Dude I'm getting out." I knew he was bluffing and just to be certain, I stomped on the gas, hitting just about 40MPH. At that moment I watched Otis' first suicide attempt.

I will NEVER forget watching Otis attempt to WALK out of my jetting car, as if it was parked. During those impending moments, Devin's voice cracked like a confused 8th grader as he yelled, "OTIS?!?!?"

Otis FUCKING FLEW and I turned my head around just in time to see him pull several 360's HIGH in the air. As I came to a stop all I could think was, "I just killed my best friend." Then I looked in my side mirror and there he was, bare ass, lying on the pavement.

The group of girls I had intended to reach, were laughing hysterically...and one random dude yelled, "YO he full on FLIPPED." Remarkably, Otis stumbled to his feet and bolted into my car. His intensely scared eyes met mine and he sternly said, "DRIVE."

Once we knew he was alive, none of us could stop laughing. Otis, on the other hand, was freaking out. As I will always remember, Sling said, "This nigga's SHOOK." It was true, Otis looked like he had just seen a ghost...and left the encounter injured.

ANYWAY, it was still 420 and even though my friend had just attempted suicide the original intention of this ramadan of sorts was to get weed. BUT Otis wasn't having it. He wanted to go home, he was buggin.

I was torn. Although, my friend had just jumped out of my car, weed was within my grasp, no more than a couple blocks away. BUT Otis was getting pissed...THEN he pulled the "friend card," on me. The friend card, in this context at least, is a card that, when pulled, obligates one friend to do another a favor...as the ultimate show of loyalty and friendship. The friend card should be used sparingly and only when truly needed.

I didn't feel the circumstances were appropriate for pulling the card...SO I asked Sling his opinion on the matter...he classically said, "I gotta agree with Seth on this one, I mean the weed is right here."

Its unreal how clutch that response was...BUT newly paranoid schizophrenic Otis was devastated. No one had his back...so he defiantly said, "FINE, I'm calling my Mom." I TRIED to hold back my laughter at this suggestion. Even better, he put the call on speaker...NICE.

BUT a few rings in, he hung up and said, "jesus what am I gonna say, Mom I got really high...and...uh...I kinda...jumped...uhhhhh...outofSeth'scar!" (no spaces imply that he would have said it really fast, to prevent his mom from comprehending the truth...you dumbass).

We all started to laugh...and as it turned out, our guy was dry. So we went back to my house and sort of recapped what had just went down.

Otis looked like he was finally calm and once the transition from maniac to stoner took place...he whipped out a joint; that he had been selfishly hiding. "Yeah...I had this the whole time." What a piece of shit, causing problems, pulling friend cards, jumping from cars, blowing dudes (not any of us) ALL for nothing. BUT STILL we were happy just to have another joint.

So we lit up and the whole time all I could think about was the people who had witnessed Otis jump. What was it like for them? Considering it was 4/20, I think its fair to assume they were all stoned, and I remember hearing them laugh. So in reality, we must have made their 4/20. I mean seriously, they must have laughed and talked about it all night, wouldn't you?

He JUMPED out of my car. To this day I still have trouble processing that concept. AND the craziest part of it all; he jumped from my car to AVOID embarrassment. NOW, that was a plan. ANYWAY, there's no doubt that story spread among all their friends...you don't witness, what would have been the most successful youtube video ever, and not tell your friends about it.

The way I see it, that was their story for awhile. Whenever they were chillen with some people, passing around an L, their best story teller laid it on them. AND it must have been one of those stories that while your telling it, you can't control your own laughter. The kind of contagious laughter that gets everyone else laughing, even when the funny part hasn't been told yet.

From the beginning of their 4/20 experience, to the unforgettable (failed) kamikaze Otis pulled; it must have floored people every time.

Happy 4/20

Kegs & Eggs

2010-04-13T14:31:00.000-07:00

     Kegs & Eggs is notoriously known as one of the craziest experiences one will ever have in Albany. For those of you who don't know the concept is simple; wake up at the crack of fucking dawn and drink all morning; straight through to the afternoon. Also, everyone gets fucking soaked in beer, depending on where you go.

     As sophomores we were forced to take part in the lonely pilgrimage from the uptown campus to the downtown party area. Once we arrived, we waited on line (at a bar) for nearly an hour, paid a thirty dollar cover charge, barely drank anything and got fucking soaked in an overcrowded bar full of dudes. When we left we were freezing and far from fucking home.

SO, having a house in the center of downtown is a beautiful concept for kegs and eggs. This year we would be hosting our own party.

     The day before we picked up two kegs and a couple handles of everyone's favorite vodka: crystal palace. It's similar to Grey Goose if you've never had it. It comes out to about 12 dollars a handle...and it's so legit you can't even put it in the freezer...because it actually freezes (wtf?). Quantity over quality when you broke college kids I guess.

     SO, we took it easy on Friday night, and managed to get a couple hours of sleep...Then my alarm went off at 5 in the morning, and it was time to booze. When I opened my door, everyone was already awake, setting the beer pong table up and tapping one of the kegs. Quincy and James had decided to visit from different colleges (because they were on their spring break) and they were fucking clutch in getting shit started.

     It was still dark outside, as we set up 21 cup beer pong, but that didn't slow us down. Looking back, I wish it had because no one showed up to our party until around 730-8...and my tolerance is pathetic...and we were playing fucking 21 cup. I don't know whose idea this was, but a lot of us were under the impression that our beer was going to get raped, so we wanted to get our moneys worth.

At around 730 am a ton of random girls showed up. Arguably, our biggest mistake was not charging any of them. I guess we were happy that they had decided to come to our place, instead of 600 alternative options throughout the downtown area. BUT, this came back to bite us in the ass...because they invited more and more of their whore girlfriends who showed up, drank as they pleased and then left. At the very least, we had a solid rotation of different girls throughout the day.

Daylight started to streak through the windows as the clocks read 9am. Around that time James emerged from the bathroom with bloodshot eyes and puke running down his chin. It was at that moment, that a rule we had agreed upon came into effect. "The first person to puke, does a keg stand." I'm cracking up thinking about it now...I MEAN, the first person to PUKE has to vertically chug beer from a keg. Seriously? That's the fucking rule? It's no wonder Fats ended up in the hospital so many times, we have no common sense. Still though, fucking classic rule.

     James hit up some mouthwash and then I dragged him over to the keg, when he started to resist. SO, I did what any man would do with a drinking goal in mind...started a chant. "KEG STAND, KEG STAND..." It only took three seconds before everyone got excited and the circulating question became.."WHO PUKED?!" The answer was James and without much of a choice, we lifted him up and impressively...he took down a 25 second keg stand.

     When he got to his feet, he was pretty much gargling beer and I pushed him towards the bathroom. I'm assuming he puked again, but I can't be sure. Truth be told, I have no idea how the rest of the day went for him.

     Soon hunger struck and we all headed downstairs, to the nicer part of our house, to figure out lunch. When we got down there, Francisco (one of my rarely mentioned roommates) opened his closet and found two people fucking. He flipped a shit...understandably so, I mean strangers were fucking in his closet. The pair emerged and Francisco got in the dudes face. This guy actually turned out to be a friend of mine, but damn, I don't know why he chose the closet of all places. There was a pull out bed in our living room, which no one ever uses, just begging for someone to fuck on it.

After that fiasco was taken care of, Nicholas manned up and made a food run. In the mean time, most of us chilled out, but Francisco disappeared. No one ever takes notice of someone disappearing these days since Fat does it so often...and since it was Kegs & Eggs...we acknowledged the fact that he was gone and hoped he wasn't dead. That was the extent of our search, sadly.

After lunch a lot of people cleared out and some random girl who had blacked out on our couch (upstairs) hours ago, was STILL out cold. This girl was as good as a stranger...and its amazing (to me at least) to think...that this unconscious chick is someone's DAUGHTER. I mean, she went out at 5 am to drink, showed up at strangers house, and blacked out in that strangers house for several hours. Thankfully for her, none of us were rapists, but that scenario is a dark combination of every Dad's worst nightmare and classic rape. College is awesome.

After laughing at mystery girl Jose and I...started walking towards the kitchen to see how the kegs were holding up. It was a strange (yet awesome) surprise to find girls we didn't know doing keg stands...then, one of them asked me to hold her up. It was weird being looked at as nothing more than a piece of the puzzle to her keg stand, when I had not only paid for most of the keg, but I lived in the fucking house. BUT, she was hot...and trying to do a keg stand, I couldn't hate on that.

SO, she went for a good 15 seconds and when she came down, she puked all over our floor. She was fucking humiliated and started to jet down the stairs when I stopped her and told her that it was my house...and I really didn't care. Honestly, I wish I did care, she had just puked everywhere...but I looked down at the pile of puke and thought, "eh whatever."

SO she started to apologize, as Jose and I showed her to the bathroom, to clean herself up. BUT, for some reason, the door was closed...and the light was on. I knocked a couple times and no one answered. "Fuck it," said Jose and he opened the door.

     There was James, pants around his ankles, head in his lap...blacked out on the fucking toilet. I've never been so shocked in my ENTIRE life. Jose and I started to run, I don't know why we reacted this way, but nevertheless, I was running and laughing. I made it into the living room and fell to the floor in one of those moments of intense laughter that's so overwhelming it actually hurts. I was squirming on the floor laughing with Jose...when mystery girl, still blacked out on our couch, awoke from her coma and joined in on our laughter. This only made me laugh harder, what the fuck was she doing?

After she laughed with us for a little, she went right back to unconsciousness...as I slowly gained my composure. I stood up and walked towards the bathroom...and there was the girl that had just puked from the keg stand. She was daintily checking her hair in the mirror as if there wasn't someone blacked out on a toilet next to her.

SO she left, and out of pity, I closed the door behind me. BUT, a ton of girls, who were STILL drinking for free, were getting ready for the Albany St. Patrick's Day parade...and they all wanted to check themselves in the god damn mirror. I awkwardly tried to stop them, but one of them pushed right by me and barged into the bathroom. I just stood there shaking my head, laughing...poor James. She looked down at James passed out on the toilet and said, "I don't even care, I just need the mirror." Unbelievable.

So there was James, blacked out mid-dump, as a ton of girls took turns using the bathroom mirror; without EVEN acknowledging his presence. There was nothing to do at that point but video tape it, so I caught it all on camera.

Somehow, throughout the duration of girls coming in and out of the bathroom...and everyone else watching, videotaping and laughing...James did not move a single muscle. THEN, as I continued to laugh at James on the toilet, I turned to my left and saw James staring at me.

I almost blacked out from the shock and confusion of it all. I looked at James and he said, "Well, that's not me." Turns out, it was Francisco. He had disappeared to the bathroom and we had mistaken him for fucking James. The painful laughter started all over again because the scenario was totally different. James blacking out on the toilet was hilarious because it really wasn't a surprise. He had taken a keg stand immediately after puking...and he had always been known for getting way too fucking drunk. BUT, Francisco was a whole different type of funny. Francisco is without a doubt the most "straight-edge" out of everyone I chill with. I don't mean that in a negative way, he's just a hard working dude. He's trying to get into law school, he works two jobs, he RARELY comes out and I had never really seen him drunk. SO, this was a shocking moment beyond all comprehension.

     After everyone, including the newly discovered James had their laughs, Francisco eventually came back into consciousness and went to pass out in his room. For the most part, the party had completely died down, except for Quincy who was still fucking boozing, as the clock struck nearly 2pm. We had been drinking since five in the morning.

     SO, I woke up mystery girl and sent her home...and then I hit the bathroom to take a monster piss. I closed my eyes and just let it flow...nothing better than peeing fucking wasted. Then I opened my eyes and was met by a fucking turd.

I flushed Francisco's turd and called it a fucking day. Hours later, I woke up hungover...thankful, at the very least, that I had gotten a couple hours of sleep; before Kegs & Eggs part 2 began. I'll write about it soon.

Birthday

2010-04-12T00:00:00.000-07:00

21 years old. I always pictured myself being blackout drunk on the eve of my 21st. It's also a Sunday, and I'll be boozing tomorrow...BUT, as I sit here sober, I'm filled with nothing but, introspective thoughts. Growing up is bittersweet. Simply living another year is a blessing, but it also means another year has been taken from me.

Time is a scary concept. Especially wasted time; which we can never get back.

Opportunities come to define our lives...and in some cases missed opportunities stand our more than anything. There is no doubt that boldly failing feels indescribably better than being too scared to even try. Freedom lies in being bold...but many of us aren't willing to do what it takes to be free. I guess the "definition," of freedom is different for everyone, but the path towards freedom and in turn, self-actualization is a difficult one.

"In any given moment, a man's growth is optimized if he leans just beyond his edge, his capacity, his fear. He should not be too lazy, happily stagnating in the zone of security and comfort. Nor should he push far beyond his edge, stressing himself unnecessarily, unable to metabolize his experience. He should lean just slightly beyond the edge of fear and discomfort. Constantly. In everything he does." This is obviously applicable to women as well. We must learn to own our fear, rather than let it own us.

This leads me to think of some solid Third Eye Blind lyrics.

Every moment of your life,
Is a chance to get it right.
Every moment you've been living in,
You could turn it on like a light.
And the weight of the years,
Has got me bursting into tears.
Standing here with nothing,
I stand alone inside my fears.
Like an actor reveals a deeper state.
When I tell you now for me,
It's not too late. (It's not too late.)

A hint of optimism through, "you could turn it on like a light." I guess that's the beauty of it all; you can change in an instant.

Finally, we'll end this with a Benjamin Button quote.

Benjamin Button: [Voice over; letter to his daughter] For what it's worth: it's never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There's no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you're proud of. If you find that you're not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.

Happy 21 to me. I'll come back to this when I'm 22.

Sands BLOWOUT Party

2010-04-04T02:00:00.000-07:00

Last summer, for the second year straight, I worked at the Sands (Beach Club) day camp. It's an awesome fucking job. During the day I used to "work," by the pool, at the beach and under the sun....inadvertently traumatizing my campers in the process (through my lack of supervision, not rape)...and by night, I would chill with my co-workers. Weekends were the fucking best. Throughout the week there was always that looming anticipation of what was to come. Rumors were always circulating, but nothing was ever official until Friday. I remember my first Friday ever as a Sands counselor, a stranger came up to me and handed me a flyer. It was a picture of a beer pong table, the hosts name, and an address. That was all I needed.

There's something incredible about getting retarded with people you work with. It's one thing to interact daily at your job...where everyone sort of has that general bond through the fact that you all hate authority (your boss). BUT its a whole different story when your pounding jello shots, inhaling jungle juice and smoking yourself to the point of immobilization. It only takes a solid 4 hours, and the help of our dear friend alcohol to feel tight with your co-workers...in the short term at least. Its summer though, that's what its all about, living for the moment.

This past summer was short on parties compared to the previous. Where I had been getting hammered every weekend, guaranteed...NOW, I was praying for a party..which fucking sucked. By the time August rolled around there had only been 1 legitimate sands party. It was fucking incredible, but it was a tease because everyone wanted more. SO, a fantastic opportunity arose, during this dry-spell, when my next door neighbor (previously referred to with the nickname "penis,") informed me he would be going on a cruise to Europe for two weeks. Penis happens to be my best friend. After writing that sentence his name has officially been changed to Pen. ANYWAY, pen told me it be chill if I had a some people over for beer pong and such. BUT, he warned me not to let shit get out of control.

It was destined to get out of control. Pen's backyard was designed by an architect was alcoholism. It is PERFECT, for a fucking party. Several tables already set up for beer pong, tons of chairs, MAD space and relative seclusion from neighbors with gigantic trees surrounding the area.

I officially received permission from Penis two weeks before he left, which was the end of July. I only told my immediate friends at first. It's important to keep shit DL, because before you know it, the whole fucking world knows. Of course, Harris opened his mouth to someone....and that person opened their mouth etc...Several days before the small party which I was considering hosting tons of people already knew, and were drilling me with questions. This is a bad start for any party you want to keep under wraps.

Friday arrived way too fucking quickly and I was STILL yet to decide if this party was going down. Discussing it among my carpool that morning (which consisted of some of my closest friends from the summer) we decided that we needed to man up; this was too good of an opportunity. This decision was made when we were only a couple minutes away from work (and being late is "one strike," among three that leads to pay decrease). BUT, excitement, impulsivity and the overwhelming desire to throw an epic party lead to a U-turn in which I personally approved what would arguably become my worst decision ever.

We were in route to Minute Man Press...with the intention of making flyers. Harris' brother happened to work there and it was no more than ten minutes away from the beach club. When we got there Blake was being a pussy, complaining he didn't want to be late...so we tried to be quick. Harris' brother asked if we had a design plan, but there was no time. We told him simply...get the fucking point across. We wanted people to know what, where and who with a seconds glance. The result: SANDS BLOWOUT PARTY. Underneath this phrase was our names, numbers and Pen's address in big bold fucking letters.

Have you ever been in the midst of making a "terribly awesome," decision? There's that part of you that's thinking this is fucking stupid, but the other part of you ignores that prodding fear, because of the possibilities. You know, like jerking off in a public bathroom or taking a hard drug for the first time, like E. It comes down to that moment. The pills in your hand, everyone's doing it, and your about to attend an awesome fucking concert. All you have to do is put the pill in your mouth and swallow. You learned all about the medical side affects, you know what your parents would say, BUT you skip the guilt and apprehension by acting quick and just popping the pill. For the record, I've never jerked off in a public bathroom.

Although the moment in which we officially paid for 50 flyers cannot really be compared to swallowing a pill...because I had ample time, even after they were made, to change my mind....the rush of it all, is what kept me going. I kept thinking about the "next day factor." Discussing how fucking incredible a party was, the next day, is among my favorite past times. Recapping, remembering things you forgot, hearing ridiculous shit your friends did and finding out from someone else's point of view just how fucked up you were. The TRUE motivator however was the Sands party I had successfully thrown my first summer. Open house, while my parents dropped my sister off at college. That will have to be discussed in a different post, but it was epic.

When we got to the Sands (flyers in hand) we were obnoxiously late, and when your late, you have to sheepishly walk in front of everyone while you interrupt the morning meeting. It's pretty much set up to make you look and feel like a total douche bag. BUT, with the looming rumor that I was going to be throwing a party, this was a whole different feeling. There was that hora of anticipation surrounding me from staring eyes. People wanted to know if I would be providing a venue to get black out drunk. I was too excited to come to my senses.

Throughout the day we passed the flyers out...I may have given 99% of mine to women...but you always know a surplus of guys will show up, no matter what. It's the unfortunate way parties work.

Until someone pointed it out I hadn't realized that Harris "forgot," to put my number down on the flyer. I was upset for 1 reason and 1 reason only...4,000 girls would be seeing this and obviously thinking, "oh my god, Seth threw the greatest party on Friday, and now I have his number, I'm totally gonna text him to come over...and blow him." This was how the scenario played out in my head...it was all too realistic...BUT, Harris being the scum bag piece of shit he is when it comes to women, had been slick and ONLY put his number down. Motherfucker.

So it was official, we were going to be hosting a gigantic party in pen's backyard on Saturday (rather than Friday) night. BUT a serious problem arised; we didn't have access to his actual house...SO we had no way of turning the backyard lights on. When it got dark that Friday night, I went to check it out and you couldn't see your fucking hand in front of your face.

The next day we got together a fucking solid crew to get the party going. There was probably about 7 of us. First, we went to Ace Hardware. We bought two construction lights...which were bright enough to illuminate the backyard pretty well...and just like that, we were broke.

Danielle is the only girl in our carpool and she's as good as useless. Solely due to the fact that she doesn't drive...she contributes nothing, besides a great pair of tits. SO, her dad is a fucking nutjob, and a mad chill guy. He always expressed how much he appreciated us being chill about her not driving. He also was generous when it came to compensation. He encouraged us to call him anytime if we ever needed booze, pot or whatever. So, we called Danielle because our funds had run out...we needed her Dad's help.

He could not have manned up anymore. He went to Ace Hardware, bought a bunch of tiki torches and set them up in Pen's backyard. Without even telling us! It was such an awesome surprise, when we got back to pen's house, to find tiki torches firmly placed throughout his backyard. Not to mention, he was well aware we were throwing a house party at someone's temporarily abandoned house. He didn't even care, he just wanted to say thank you for dealing with his daughters lack of contribution.

THEN, Sling manned up and brought over an outdoor mini fireplace. That's what I'll call it at least. We had used it in his backyard before and it was perfect for chillen around, with some beers or a blunt. Then we went to disperse the chairs that were already in Pen's backyard. Sadly, they were covered in spiderwebs and dog shit, so chairs became a problem. We decided to make things easier and we took every chair available from my house (that would go unnoticed). Not like we were gonna throw recliner chairs back there. We ended up using some fold up chairs and these goofy beach chairs. It didn't matter though, people just wanted to get drunk, not sit elegantly. The last thing we needed was some sort of a garbage can(s). We found a mini-pool...I don't know what it was doing in Pen's backyard, but we threw it in the middle and everything was complete.

Nighttime rolled around and things were just about finished. There was the looming concern however, that my Mom would simply look out the kitchen window to Pen's backyard...and see everything. If your thinking ahead your probably wondering how I planned to not get caught throwing this party...generally. WELL, my parents go to sleep around 9pm, and once they hit the hay, there done for the night. We used to smoke in my backyard and play beer pong on my ping pong table every summer...and we never got caught. Truly, it's probably due to my Dad's snoring...its deafening.

Some people showed up early, but it was mostly close friends, to help out...and pre-game of course. I started lighting some citronella candles, while Sling turned on the construction lights. Then we lit the tiki torches one by one and placed some chairs around Sling's furnace thingy. We also had three tables for pong and flip cup. When it was all set up it was the most beautiful sight ever. We all came together to make it possible and that felt UNREAL.

At that point, there was nothing left to do, but get fucked up...and await for friends to show up. I was nervous about getting caught or disturbing neighbors, but I figured it wasn't going to get too out of hand considering most people lived mad far away. Never underestimate a flyer that says "BLOWOUT PARTY," (Unless its referring to guidos, fuck that though). The shit hit the motherfucking fan.

Two things happened. 1. Pen's prick of a neighbor noticed like 8 of us drinking...and called the cops. Simultaneously, my mom looked out the kitchen window...and FREAKED. She kept calling all of us idiots because if the cops showed up, which they definitely would, we'd get in a ton of trouble for essentially, trespassing. None of us really cared. Even me. I had a simple plan, I'd run next door, to my conveniently placed house, and lock the door behind me. Everyone else would probably just run, or follow me. BUT, Mom wouldn't back down, so the party was done before it even started.

I wasn't angry or sad, just disappointed, BUT my Mom being the saint she is, felt bad. SO, she said I could have some people in our backyard. So, we took to disassembling our work of art from Pen's backyard and transferring it over to mine. At first it was relatively low key...Only some close home friends and a couple people from work I was tight with showed up. BUT, over the course of the next 2 hours the whole fucking world showed up.

Just about every counselor who had any sort of a social life came through. A lot of them were still in high school so they had taken the train from a couple towns over...or a cab. It was just the beginning of mayhem and I was stuck in the middle. Immediately it got WAY too loud...and as my parents angrily demanded I kick everyone out, more people kept showing up. I felt awful for the people who had come from mad far. Looking back on it, I really don't know why I gave a shit, but I guess I had pictured things going so smoothly and in an instant it all went down hill.

I'd say there was maybe 40 people in my backyard when a bunch of lifeguards came through. None of whom I was remotely friendly with. So, big ass motherfuckin' Sling, kicked them out immediately. I stood there and watched as one of them nicely said, "What's the problem man, we just came to chill" BUT, I had asked Sling to do me a favor...SO, he didn't want a story, it was get out, or be dragged out. As I watched I felt sympathy for them. I had been in their shoes before and it fucking sucks. So, I met them outside and we discussed it. They weren't bad kids...they wanted what everyone else wanted, to party. GRANTED, the flyer specifically warned lifeguards not to come...BUT they informed me that a certain girl had personally invited them...fucking bitch. SO, I gave them a break, let em' stay. It was awkward with Sling because he had just threatened to fight them if they didn't leave. So he went over and apologized. Twenty minutes later, people who I had went to high school with started showing up and it was just too crowded. So I asked Sling to kick the lifeguards out again. He looked at me and went, "Really dude? I kicked them out, apologized and now I gotta kick them out again...fuck man." He's a good friend, so he took care of it.

As things continued to escalate my parents were flippin out. The only reason they hadn't broken up the party themselves was because I had begged them not to embarrass me. The last thing I wanted was my Mom and Dad coming out in their weird ass pajamas telling everyone to leave. Over and over they told me to take care of it...and I kept saying, PLEASE just ten more minutes.

I extended those "ten minutes," over a solid hour. During that time I decided to take two vikes. I was so fucking stressed out...I hoped it would help. As I was standing outside telling people to shut the fuck up, one of the lit tiki torches fell into my Mom's garden. It started burning shit up quickly, so I had to take care of that while everyone else continued to get drunker. Then I went upstairs to tell my parents to kick everyone out. I had reached my limit, I seriously didn't care anymore.

When I made that final trip upstairs I was surprised to find a co-worker hiding on my living room couch. Underneath him was a girl I had never seen before, trying not to laugh. He told me that my Mom came out and had mistaken him for a close friend of mine, James, who had been visiting from college. He said they had a lengthy conversation in which he agreed with her that the party had gotten out of hand and he had simply come upstairs to get away from it all. Thank god my mom was so oblivious. I snuck them downstairs and he apologized..."Dude I had no idea your parents were home, my bad." It was cool, later on in the summer we always looked back on that and laughed.

Suddenly, a fight broke out on my lawn between two dudes. Sling broke them up and said "I don't give a fuck if you fight, but get off Seth's property first." Good looks by Sling, but the "fighters," took his abrasiveness the wrong way and suddenly they were all about to fight. Then I looked over and saw J-Kid making out with some chick in the bushes. I listened/watched her say, "Excuse me for a minute," as she walked off. I watched her and this was a terrible mistake because she puked fucking everywhere. Then she actually attempted to kiss him again...thankfully for J-Kid, I let a nigga know what was good. While all of this this happened I bought xanex off some kid who I had known from high school. I had never done pills until that night, but the notion of anti-anxiety was all too appealing.

As expected, the cops showed up...and I was in front when they did. They flashed those trademark flashlight's in my eyes and asked who owned the house. Luckily they didn't go in my backyard, they simply told me, everyone leaves or your fucked. At that moment, more fucking people pulled up in several cars...I was vaguely familiar with them. They ignorantly stepped out, rowdy as fuck, with beers and bottles in their hands...the cops had an immediate hard on...time to fuck some kids over. Thank god they were all 21.

5 minutes later overly dramatic Danielle was causing a scene...the cops had caught her smoking bud with a friend, in her car. She was screaming and crying so the cops made her call her Dad to be picked up. Her Dad showed up and he didn't even care. In fact, he was acting a little rowdy himself. It caught the cops off guard and they decided to breathalyze him. Suddenly, he was being cuffed and escorted to jail under DUI charges. Mr. Tiki Torch would be learning a tough lesson. Danielle's crying only escalated at this point and I couldn't help but fantasize that somehow, someone would murder her. Nothing personal, she was just too annoying. Then again wishing death on someone is pretty personal, but you know how it goes.

During all this madness I was really feeling the effects of the Vikes, xanex, weed, beers and shots I had consumed. It was a bad time to be so inebriated considering I had to kick everyone out. Thankfully Sarah stood up on my hot tub and screamed her fucking head off until everyone peaced. I noticed my Mom, watching in horror, from her bedroom window.

SO, she ran outside in her incredibly embarrassing night gown...but thankfully Sarah had taken care of mostly everyone. Some friends stayed back and helped clean up and my Mom was disgusted by the amount of beer cans and bottles that were lying around. THEN, she went to the bathroom and started screaming. Fat had passed out in our shower. The water wasn't on, but he was out fucking cold. To this day I do not know how he ended up there.

After everyone had officially gotten kicked out some close friends and I chilled out in front and smoked a bowl. More fucking people actually showed up at this point, which fucking pissed me off since it was so late. BUT, they had weed, so I invited them to come smoke in my backyard...It was the best part of the night. I finally fucking relaxed.

Fat. If you read this blog that word in itself is unbelievably significant. The question of the night, where the fuck did he go? He had disappeared after the shower discovery. BUT, there wasn't enough panic to where we felt the need to search for him. Running away, while wasted, was his MO. If anything, he had ran his crazy ass all the way fucking home.

OR he drunkenly stumbled his way over to Pen's backyard. Remember that kiddie pool I mentioned? Well he woke up in it, covered in seamen. Nah, that didn't happen, been great though. RATHER, he blacked out (in Pen's backyard) on a lawn chair and woke up next to a huge pile of puke at 5 in the morning. Apparently, he knocked on my backyard door for awhile, but no one answered. No surprise there. So he called a cab home.

When it was all said and done, a party that many of my friends look back on and classify as "awesome," turned out to be my worst night of the summer. What was supposed to be an epic party in Pen's backyard (and the potential jump start to a series of parties until he came home) turned into a night of misery. I spent the entire night trying to maintain the madness while failing to keep my parents at bay. All so other people could have a good time. I am by no means a nice person...so looking back it's strange that I cared so much. Maybe it's the medias fault. You see these awesome movies where a dude hosts a party and its no different than a girls gone wild episode. I guess I had high hopes. At least it made for a good story.

Annoying Shit

2010-03-29T01:23:00.000-07:00

You are now Breathing Manually...

Comprehend that statement. Gets me every time...