Predicated on Perchance

Dearest,
How goes it out there? I'm sure you can't complain much, after all you are reading this, and as no major slight against you, despite the obvious fact that your probably really really really enjoying reading this (put that issue of US weekly down) if your taking time to read this odds are your not exactly in the midst of a high pressure situation.With the notable exception of former Enron Exec. Ken Lay (did you know you shared blog readership with a felon, well you do, then he stopped reading. who do you killed him motherfucker?) That is not to say, however, that this blog can't be the aid for incredible stress situations. This blog is a tonic for the 98 pound weakling, a aid in domestic diplomacy and drivel all in one. In other words a lot like Jesse Jackson, but with less Palm Oil. Actually I take that back. With the exact same amount of Palm Oil.
Over here, the skies are of the clearest blue, and I've been doing a lot of a lot which is when people (me) seem to be the happiest. What I can comment on with almost complete certainty is the setting in which my latest exploits have happened. The summer backdrop here is rife with things that remind of you of summers past. Often I'm tempted to propose sleep overs and, get this, there is a sega genesis in my house. Further reinforcing the fact that my life, unto this point, has been almost complete regression. At least in the penis category, but I guess someone has to carry the unfortunate nickname of "fourth grader." I just wish it wasn't always so fucking accurate in the locker room, maybe instead the cafeteria or something.
I am constantly reminded this summer, despite the insular fun of campus, of the company I keep and how outside the normal practices of the general populous the're/we 're activities seem to be lately. That sentence was not meant as a particular affirmation of cool, but more of an analysis of behavior. Not everyone thinks that pre-season football is good excuse for whiskey but perhaps those people lack true determination, but whatever those feel good wieners would cite as the reason for our excess, I would argue I'm just trying to be a little more like Jimmy Page, and in the end, I think that's maybe what everyone should be trying to do. Baby, I'm rock and roll.

It seems, that where ever
It is,
People know
it.
Lacking any fundamental knowledge,
acknowledgement,
or rusted reason.
Really the acidic thing is
it's there.
and I know it
and you know it
and she really knows it.
tetanus shots often come on the rocks.


Cheers all,
A.J.S.

Oh the great fish.

Yo,
I know it's been sometime since I rapped at you but seeing as how I've had some car troubles I'm sure you can understand. I know everyone out there has a story out there like this, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to share mine with you. So there I was out there driving along in the festiva, god I love that car, and I was on this drive because Marsha (you remember her) kept telling me that I was her boyfriend. Cept the thing is I don't ever remember signing up for that. That's just when I come over though, on the phone it's usually a completely different story with her telling me to get me fuckin MGD out of her fridge and stay out of her lie. But then we'll both be over at Chris house, all messed up, and BLAMMO we're screwing again.
Either way I'm cruising and what should pop on but some fucking Queensryche, now that is a band, and seeing as how I couldn't think of any better riding music, I cranked it up and kept pushin on. Slammin tunes and after four beers can make a man not notice an odor but I sure could hear that sound, I knew it was the fucking radiator hose by the way it slapped harder every third time. So I pull over and as soon as I pop the hood I can tell, yup its ripped.
Now usually I carry a roll of duct tape in the fest for just this occasion but now I was remebering how Paul had, last time we were at Chris, tried to see if he could tape the Jenga thing together that he made and he didn't give me back my roll. So now I was really up the creek.
Although, many men would have given into despair, you readers know me, and thought it a perfect opportunity to fire up the bowl. So I walk over to the tree by the road and put fire to green. Still mainly thinking about Marsha, but mainly thinking about how the fuck IM going to get home......





Often times I wished my life stacked up something like this. Although it would seem at first glance Jim Anchower is hollow on the inside there is soemthing, I think, to be said for the man whose main priority in life I MGD. Although I would take issue with the man's beer choice, to the best of my reasoning show me a man that can put beer before anything and I'll show you a man who could survive a nuclear winter.
That, afterall, I think should be the true test of a man. True, some men have accumulated much material wealth, true others still have worked for a muscles the likes of which arguably surpass what nature intended, but all that melts away under threat of nuclear winter. The victor of that race is not the bright, nor the muscular nor the particularly good looking it is the man who can and willingly could drink rat piss.
Considered a repulsion by some and deft tactical training by others, this mindset is of the highest admiration. When and if there is nothing left, a man who has no floor, no sense of self, aside from feeling good and staying alive, will survive (Note the similarities that has to the sound tag of a movie).
Andrew, you might be saying, I understand your point, and your satire has left near paralyzed with laughter and stimulated my imagination to the point of inventing a new political system, but what about the chicks?
To that good sir I understand. To the average man, drinking rat piss would certainly lower your chances with the average women. However, it is these Herculean Vermin Imbibers whom stand the best chance. In this haphazardly thrown together scenario full of logic holes and half truths, THERE ARE NO OTHER MEN ON THE PLANET. THEIR SHEER TENACITY TO EXIST HAS LED TO THEM TO THE HOLY LAND. They are the last men on earth. In the land of the blind, the man with one eye is a king. So also it is with rat piss.

Until next time the is WKRP saying BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGER! (Johnny fever quote, recognize)