May I have a Word with You?...and You...and You...
Dates are always confusing times, he thought. He hardly knew this person, yet here he was with a shirt tucked in, his hair combed, and his Skoal can screaming to him like a wailing siren wench from the unreachable confines of his bedroom dresser. No matter, hopefully it will be worth it. But dating is different these days, he realized. It used to be that you could count on buying the latest letdown off the Jack Daniel's Grill, chatting about how Friday night television has never recovered from the loss of T.G.I.F., and when things started to hit a roadblock, she would reach in her purse and offer you a piece of gum. Now his date had just polished off some lobster glazed in Winnie the Pooh-grade honey, the conversation drifted towards sexually charged bestsellers that would curl Carl Winslow's tie, and when she reached in her purse during the obligatory conversation lull. . .

. . . she pulled out a plastic board, a complete stranger arrived, and she started beating the ever-loving shit out of him in Hungry Hungry Hippos.

Her fists slapping against the resistance of the unknown adversary, her plastic hippopotamus lunged and chomped like humanity itself would never produce another plastic marble. Silently she smirked, amidst the cacophony of these hippos who were oh so very hungry.

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Farewell, Ryan Dunn
There are very few things that most of us purposely still own from high school. Outside of some trophies, pictures, and certain prom night rashes, almost everything from that seemingly "most important time of your life" has gotten thrown away and/or forgotten. The hand-me-down Civic got junked, any senior pictures retrospectively look like portraits of 14 year-olds, and the street value of that $600 class ring from Jostens was six Mickey's malt liquor grenades (I know a generous pawn shop.)

Getting rid of these material things from high school is like losing your baby teeth. Without this ritualistic shedding of youth, adulthood could never be attained. Those early incisors were good for chewing through chicken nuggets, but the adult version must come if you are to truly enjoy steak.

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Nu Metal

In an era of rap/rock, the man with a red cap is king. Relive the three-ring nu metal circus in this three-part feature.

Farewell, Ryan Dunn
Fine. He was neither a scholar, nor a saint. But he sure made me laugh.

Guestbook Latest
Dr. Frolf
While I agree that this is an interestingly set up blog with tons of atmosphere, I can't help but think it would be better if there was a a prince from Argentina allowing everyone their fair share of his $1,000,000 fortune. Would you not agree? I also wish I had a pair of Air Jordans, which could also be advertised dozens of times, right here, on this guestbook. . . . © 2012
Dedicated to The Stick