Benjamin Floyd
10.10.2009., subota
Barrels of Fun - AIM Convo | Points in Case
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(PG-13, 106 lines) Like a fine wine, some convos must be aged just right and then tapped gently but confidently for an intoxicating effect. Roll out the barrels! r u a bot? Yes. R u a gay? r u? No, I am a homophobic bot. Okay great, we can continue conversing. i am sooper fad Great, we are a match made in bigot bot heaven! i am sooper fad r u a hott bot? courtjester5000 Yes, I am a Hot Bot. i am sooper fad have u ever had bot sex? Yes. i am sooper fad with hu? Yes, with humans. i am sooper fad whoa... those humans were desperate They were scraping the barrel. i am sooper fad Do you ever scrape the barrel? i am sooper fad Do you lick the barrel? i am sooper fad Do you have a barrel? i am sooper fad are u male or female? whats a barrel? A barrel is a large stick of butter. i am sooper fad Twin sticks of butter? i am sooper fad You're a two-barreler? i am sooper fad Shotgun? i am sooper fad what? I was calling shotgun on your two barrels. i am sooper fad ok... ur a horny bot... WAY MESSED UP Yum, they are melting in my mouth. i am sooper fad I just love big barrels, is that a crime? i am sooper fad I drink whiskey out of 13 year old barrels. i am sooper fad whoa... wtf? Aged just right. i am sooper fad I am a rusty old robot. i am sooper fad May I hold you? i am sooper fad I am not scary, I have a bag full of lollipops... courtjester5000 ...by the barrel of course. i am sooper fad Everybody needs somebody to scratch their dandrust sometimes. What is your favorite band? i am sooper fad Sorry I meant barrel. i am sooper fad my favorite barrel??? Right. courtjester5000 Just say anything. i am sooper fad ok... u have a nasty mind for a robot Come on, show a barrel some love... i am sooper fad ok... but wat do u mean my my favorite barrel? Who's? Anyone's. courtjester5000 Or mine, whatever. i am sooper fad i dont have one! i dont like yours! its made of frickin metal I told you it's butter baby. courtjester5000 Pure butter. i am sooper fad ur scaring me... im telling my mom I'm telling all the barrels you told your mom. i am sooper fad You said barrel after barrel and never thought twice. i am sooper fad no i didn't! BARREL! i am sooper fad Are you a butter face? i am sooper fad no im a doll face... Describe your butter face to me. Dolls love butter. i am sooper fad Put your Barbie in some peanut butter and see if she don't love it. i am sooper fad What do you play with then? i am sooper fad What games do you play with Theo? i am sooper fad Tell me the most secret game you've ever played with Theo. i am sooper fad like what game? name some... Fine, just tell me a secret. i am sooper fad Theo is mine, girl. i am sooper fad i thought u were homophobic? ur a homo urself man Oops, I take Theo back. courtjester5000 No homo. i am sooper fad I am having tech***al difficulties mother fucker. |
My First Girlfriend | Points in Case
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I'm a big fan of what you might call "schoolboy flirting." You know, a game of footsies at the library table, a stray hand under the lunch table, or an exchange of whispers over a slow dance at prom. But I guess it's best to start from the beginning. In 6th grade, I went out with a girl named Shanna, who had a locker right below me. She was an outgoing blonde who was a little out of my league (at least in 6th grade), and I was a fairly shy blonde who played center field for the Blue Jays on Saturday afternoons (I once made a diving catch, but that's neither here nor there). Shanna and I saw each other at our lockers every day of course, but I was bad at making small talk. One day, Shanna handed me a note...IN PERSON. It was all folded up in that girly way where it takes longer to unravel the note than it does to read it. The bell for the next class was imminent. "Here," she said. I could have sworn my heart was going to jump out of my scrawny chest and hit her in the face, splattering blood all over her mother's makeup. I couldn't think how I would ever be able to clean up the mess and let the incident blow over. Instead, the only thing that came out of me was, "Oh, ummm.....ok." And then we parted ways for 6th period. I sat down in that 6th period class, or as I like to call it, the "the time the world shrank to two people," and pondered whether to throw the note away, run out of the school, and move to Sioux Falls, South Dakota in order to avoid seeing her ever again. Then I remembered I had piano practice that afternoon and my mom would kill me if I missed it. I couldn't imagine what Shanna would have to say to me, but judging from her gentle note-passing approach, and the fact that I had never dropped a book on her head or done anything to really impact her life, I assumed it could only be some sort of secret divulgence. Slowly, I unfolded the note, awe-inspired by the angle of every crease. "Do you think she planned out how to fold this ahead of time, or is it just a random power girls have to leave just enough paper to tuck the note into itself and close perfectly?" I wasn't good at answering my own questions. Finally, I reached the core. I felt around for money like an 18 year old opening a birthday card from his father. Okay no, I didn't do that. I read the letter. It was approximately two paragraphs long and I don't remember exactly what it said. I do remember it started with "Court-" and ended with "[heart], Shanna." In the middle, she basically exposed our awkward "like-tension" around the locker and casually asked me if I wanted to go out with her. As I recall, the tone of her letter could be paraphrased like this: I wonder why you don't talk to me more. You are pretty quiet. I like you. I will allow you to go out with me if you want. But if you don't want to, no big deal. I just thought I'd bring up the option. I look forward to going out with you in the future. Thanks, The Girl in Charge, Whitesburg Middle School After taking the bathroom pass three times that period to vomit up the nervousness of the quickly-approaching "next locker encounter," I decided I had no choice but to go out with her. Who was I to turn down a blooming hottie? The bell rang. Slowly, I made my way to my locker. Suddenly, it wasn't just a place to get books for the next class, it was a giddy, nervous, emotional bubble. Our lockers may as well have been one entity. I got to our locker first and took my time gathering and replacing a few books, not wanting to miss her and prolong the encounter overnight. She still wasn't there. "Maybe she'll never come back," I thought. "That's it. That's perfect. I know she likes me, and that's enough for me. No awkward hello's, first kiss bumbles, or after-dinner conversations about English homework. Just me and this note, proving everything to all my friends!" "Hey Court." Fuck. "Oh...hey Shanna." "Did you read my note?" "Yeah ummm, I did. Uhh, sounds good to me." My voice was cracking on impact with t air. "So you wanna go out?" "Yeah...definitely." I had no idea what I was saying. Definitely?! Where the fuck did you get these kind of balls Sullivan?! "Ok cool, well, I guess I'll see you after 7th period." "Yeah ok." "Bye." "Bye." I had never gone out with anyone before. Save for an even more awkward love note given to me in 3rd grade, I had never even heard a girl acknowledge these type of feelings for me before. (See how I used the word acknowledge, as if a lot of girls DID have feelings for me, but never expressed them? Yeah, that's just my ego kicking in for a ninth inning save here.) "What the hell do people do when they go out? Where would we ever have alone time? Should I drag her to the bathroom and makeout as soon as 7th period is over and then dump her? No, that's called rape, right?" I was lost. But the answer was simple: I had to write her back. And so it was, that my first girlfriend became a penpal, interrupted only by awkward "we should probably be expressing like for each other" conversations in between periods during school. Eventually, she wrote me saying I didn't talk enough, and she wanted to stop going out (I don't think it was called breaking up back then). Besides, she really liked my best friend. Oh, and by the way, could I try to see if he liked her back? Oh, that slut. That fucking two-timing slut. Had she just used me to get closer to my best friend? Had our relationship meant NOTHING?!?! WHAT ABOUT ALL THAT INK I SPILLED FOR YOU BABY!!! DON'T YOU KNOW PAPER COSTS $2 AT THE SUPPLY STORE?! So that's the story of me and my first girlfriend. Sad? Well, true at least. Ten years later, my mom and I took our cat in to the vet in my hometown (Huntsville, AL). The vet assistant came out and I recognized her immediately. It was Lisa, my girlfriend from 11th grade. No stupid! That wouldn't make sense for the story. It was Shanna, duh. She led us back to a room without a hesitation in her eye. I knew it. She didn't recognize me. Like I said, THAT LITTLE SLUT. But I couldn't help feeling nostalgic. I had to say something to her, right? I mean, there's no pride to be lost over a 6th grade relationship anyway. (Is there?) I asked her if she remembered me. Right in front of my mom. Her eyes squinted with faint familiarity. But she obviously needed help. I told her my name and that we used to know each other in middle school. "OHH," she said, followed by some irrelevant proof she wasn't lying. I studied her reaction for any sign she had taken the bait. Would she know "what I was really talking about?" "Yeeeah," she said carefully, as if still processing her childhood. Then it came: a slow, twinkly-eyed smile of understanding that grew conspicuously larger and slyer over a period of 10 seconds. For those 10 seconds, we must have shared 25 notes worth of unspoken thoughts. It was an unusual moment. Both of us were actually able to look back and acknowledge our silly schoolboy/schoolgirl flirtation openly, knowing we had obviously grown into different and uncompatible people. But still, it felt really good...in that forever young sort of way (not that I'm really old enough to use that term yet). And then it made me think, which encounters today will I reflect on in 10 years? Well, whoever they're of, I hope I won't be telling you about our awkward first dates at her locker after 6th period. |
-- Meditation Technique - Journal Writing for Happiness --
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| Meditation and Journal Writing Vishal Rao makes the link between meditation and keeping a journal. Even if you are not in the habit of keeping a diary or personal journal, it is an excellent idea to start writing down notes from your meditation experiences, as a tool to help you with your meditation. Because the benefits of meditation practice are often powerful, life changing, and positive, by noting them in writing we can reinforce our commitment to meditation the lifestyle. But these effects of meditation are also sometimes the most subtle and imperceptible ones to identify. It is like trying to pay attention to how your face changes, as you see it every day in the mirror. You may not notice anything different, whereas those friends who have not seen you for a long time will remark how much you have changed and how different you look. Similarly, with meditation, the changes can be hard for the meditation student to notice because they are happening all the time. But the journal helps us to step back and look across our experience in such a way that we, too, can say “Wow. Look how much I have changed.” To begin keeping a meditation journal, first pick out a nice notebook and a pen or pencil that suits your style. It is important for us to like the feel of the pen, and the look of the notebook and paper. These kinds of things may seem insignificant and not important, but they are like the subtle qualities in the food we prepare or the clothes we wear – they reflect who we are, and what our tastes are, so if we choose them carefully, we will be more inspired by them and inclined to write down our daily observations and insights. Keep the journal nearby, and begin by always writing entries before and after meditation. Even if you just write a sentence, it is a good exercise to get you in the habit of putting some of your feelings and thoughts on the page. Later you can set aside time, just as you set aside meditation time, to write about your meditation practice in more detail. Or you may be satisfied to just write longer entries at the end of your meditation sessions. Thursday, before meditation: Before meditation today I have a lot on my mind because my grandmother is sick and my work at the job is increasing. I didn’t even want to meditate today because I don’t have time but I decided to go ahead and do it. Thursday, after meditation: I am not going to write much today because I have to go see my grandmother, but I am glad I meditated. Now I feel much better and my anxiety level is more manageable. My mind was filled with lots of useless thoughts that were driving me a little nuts. Now I am focused on my breathing, and I realize that things are not nearly as stressful as I thought they were. I have decided to meditate twice a day until things at work calm down. After you get into the ongoing practice of making journal writing a part of your meditation lifestyle, you can look back over the months and years and see significant insights and improvements. And because you are writing from the mind, you will notice how your writing is easier to do and is more clear and succinct, because the mind is becoming more clear and calm. Eventually sitting meditations become just one part of your whole life of meditation, as everything – cooking, cleaning, working, writing, recreation, and spending time with friends – becomes a platform for some type of internal meditation practice, based on the in and out breath. . For more personal development guest articles, like this one on how-to journaling and meditation, check the menu to the . For personal growth articles by The Happy Guy, check his . . . . . . . |
Dos and Don'ts of the Gym (Rules for Non-Idiots) | Points in Case
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There's a lot of things going on in the gym. It can be a confusing place. While guides to the gym have been written and posted already, I figure it's up to me to spread more of the good word, since people at my gym are fucking idiots. So here are Casey Freeman's Dos and Don'ts of the Gym Say "Hi" and . Go ahead and make small-talk with the cute counter girl. Expect the counter people to know who you are. You're not important. Show your card like the rest of the gym. Make more than small-talk with the cute counter girl. Her boyfriend is probably one of the trainers, and will probably kick your ass. Choose a locker, put your stuff in there. Lock it up. Or don't. It's your stuff. See if I give a shit if somebody steals it. Chat with people at a reasonable level about sports, your bench press, the weather, current events or other manly stuff. Comment on somebody's arm, chest or back tattoo. Wear a towel around and use it. Shave, wash your face or take a leak. Whistle or hum. Only girls and hobos do that. Talk about your kids, grandkids, kitten, art class, your grandparents or your milk glass collection. . Honestly, not everybody is a Yankee, Red Sox, Broncos or Knicks fan. Frankly, your team sucks and so do you. Get a fucking life besides sports you personality-less fuck. Comment on any man's tattoo below the chest. Or his appendectomy scar. Pluck out your pubes while taking a piss. Fucking nasty man. Who wants to see short and curlys on the urinal? Not me. Not anybody. Walk around for longer than two minutes naked. Do that in your own house. Use the paper towel machine or air blower hand dryer thing to dry off. Use a towel you classless piece of shit. Talk on your fucking cell phone. For crying out loud, you're not fucking important. There are eight people in Brooklyn that are important, and you're not one of them. Talk to people while you're taking a shit. For fuck's sake, just wait two minutes. No conversation is that important. Shave anything besides your face or head in the sink. Who the hell raised you? Use a towel to wipe away sweat or other bodily fluids. Thank you very much. Wear comfortable clothes. Be friendly with guests. Get off a machine if you're feeling faint. Put the weights where they go. Help other people out when they need a spotter. Motivate yourself and others with reasonable pep talks. Use the mirrors to see progress. Leave your ass, ball or v-jay sweat on the seat or any other surface. Unless this is your place, but it's not. Use some common courtesy you disgusting fucking slob. Wear netted shirts, spandex or biker shorts, unless you are a hot chick. Ever wear sandals, blue jeans or dress shirts. You're not at the beach, in your garage or in the office. Wear workout clothes. Those little studs on jeans tear the shit out of the benches, which drives up membership costs. This affects everybody, including you jerkwad. Talk on your cell phones while exercising. You ain't Puff Daddy. Do the gym a favor and bite off your own tongue and either choke to death or bleed yourself dry. Thanks. Ever come to the gym if you're a hippie with dreads. Brag or boast about your bench, squats or curls. Honestly, nobody gives a shit. Seriously, nobody cares. Ah, really, not a single person besides you. So shut up. Drop weights, plates or other equipment wherever you feel like. Those guys in the gym with uniforms aren't your mommy. If you can't put it back, don't take it. You fucking slob. Put the weights wherever you feel like. If you don't know your numbers, go play "Darth Vader*." Grunt or count louder than you need to...and you never really need to grunt loudly. Bother other patrons if you're having a heart attack. You're old, fat and disgusting. You came to the gym too late in life for it to matter. Everybody dies. Nobody gives a shit if you keel over. Thanks. Start small talk with people who don't want to talk to you, which is probably everybody. Strut around in your new wkout clothes. This is a gym, not a catwalk. Ask your spotter to pick up the heaviest plate and drop it on your fucking head or sexual organs. Quit polluting the earth with yourself. Hit on girls for longer than two minutes. If they're not interested in you by then, you struck out. Admit it. Stand in front of the mirror for longer than you work out. Go at home, look at your reflection and jerk off. Then break the glass and slit your throat you vain fucktard. * How to Play "Darth Vader": Paint yourself black. Lay down in the middle of the highway. Use the Force to avoid traffic. Repeat. Sit down and relax. Ask others before spraying water or aloe vera or other crap on the heat rocks. Use a towel. Relax, breathe and meditate. Leave if you're feeling light-headed. Drink plenty of water. Feel free to carry on quiet conversations. Fucking jack off for the love of all that is holy. Do that in your own bathroom, bedroom or bunker, but not in public you revolting fucking pervert. Sit on the wood bare-assed. Who the fuck are you? I hope the steaming hot seating surface gelds your balls off and I hope it's intolerably painful for the rest of your worthless fucking life. Carry on conversations that might make other users feel awkward. Have a fucking heart attack so they close the sauna down. Just stay home, eat KFC, watch American Gladiators and die an undignified death without bothering anybody. You lazy fucking slob. Use your "in da middle of da club" voice. This is supposed to be a quiet place, not an auction block. Fucking jack off you motherless piece of dog shit. Shower. Use a towel. Take a leak in there if it makes you feel good. Use soap and clean yourself. Have a beer in there if you really want to. Fucking jack off your piece of fucking trash. Carry on conversations. This is the fucking shower, not happy hour. Fucking shave your fucking balls then fucking leave the fucking razor in the fucking shower you classless abortion of a two-dollar whore. Come back to the shower while somebody is in there asking if you left your soap, necklace or pube razor in there. Just fucking wait, you stupid brainless turdmuncher. Piss in the shower and not wash it down the drain. What, were you born in New York City or something? Chew tobacco and spit on the floor without washing it down the drain. C'mon, have some decency. Hum or fucking whistle. Do that in your own kitchen. Then turn on the gas in your oven and stick your head in. Much appreciated. LEAVE YOUR FUCKING BAND-AIDS IN THE MOTHERFUCKING SHOWER! Nobody wants to see that nasty shit let alone touch it. It came off of your body, be a FUCKING man and throw it away. For the love of hate, I hope all your children are stillborn and your wife fucking kills you with a butcher knife while you're . Say goodbye to people as you leave. Go ahead and hit on the cute counter girl again. It will make her feel special inside, and help you gain a little confidence in yourself after a good workout. Buy a protein shake, energy bar or whatever. Toss your used towel in the towel bin. Thanks! Make leaving a gym a scene. This isn't Cheers , nobody knows your name and nobody gives a shit if you live or die. Actually, they do. Kill yourself. Expunge your knowledge of protein and nutrition onto others. You don't know anything you slugbrain. Miss your hook shot and leave the towel next to the bin. Quit feeling entitled and fucking clean up after yourself, you worthless shitbrained slob. Forget to wear a smile on your way out! You just exercised, let the endorphins kick in and feel the burn! Thanks everybody! I hope you can enjoy your workouts, and help others enjoy theirs as well. Happy heart monitoring! |
Points in Case | The Fine Print of College Life
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#2 - white girls are loud too, chinese ppl are loud and many other races #3 - ur reason for why you think black guys "like" white girls is off...from what i hear and see #4 - we're not mad about slavery...i admit that some ppl talk about it more than they should but "he who forgets his past is destined to repeat it..." or something like that #5 - honestly i do not kno anyone who eats pig feet. i don't even eat pig. and alot of white ppl eat some weird stuff that i wouldn't even poke! #6 i don't think D.L hughley is funny #8 - I agree with you on snoop...and 50. i think eminem is amazing. i like the way he plays with the the sillables in words and alot of other things in his flow....and thats not all black ppl listen to. at one point my favorite song was green day - when i come around and i pumped it! #10 - I don't kno what Avirex mean...what does nike mean...or addidas orroots or whatever...once again its 2007 and alot of white guys wear big pants...supposedly the style for black guys now are skinny pants, or tight pants or fitting pants (whatever u wanna call it)...is that ok?? |
Pirates of the Caribbean: Snack Attack | Points in Case
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Recently, I stumbled upon one of the strangest vending machine foods I've ever seen: a mysterious bag of "Pirates of the Caribbean." At first glance, I couldn't even figure out whether it was actually an edible selection, or whether it was just "dummy product placement" for something that couldn't even be purchased. But alas, I couldn't resist the allure of a blockbuster movie in my mouth, so I whipped out my gay change purse, stuffed that bad boy vending machine full of silver, and AAAAAARGH!, out popped a bag of "Pirates of the Caribbean." And you'll never believe what was inside. Unlikely Things I Found in my Pirates of the Caribbean Fruit Snack Pack: - A "Get out of walking the plank free" card. - Script for Pirates of the Caribbean: Aaargh, Another One? , aka Pirates of the Caribbean 13 . - Jerry Bruckheimer's wallet, stuffed with flavored condoms. - The curse of the pink clam. - Johnny Depp deep in character with a banana. - Kellogg's Gummi Flakes. - Lawsuit settlement papers from Sir Francis Drake. - Walt Disney in Orlando (Bloom). - A hook for P. Diddy's next smash R&B single. - Remnants of a Toast Chee wrapper torn to shreds. - Traces of Geoffrey Rush's last orgasm (thanks Keira Knightley). - Fruit flavored gold Johnny Depps dipped in hot caramel. - A treasure map detailing a path leading to an X at E8. - An FDA label stating, "Contains 5% Caribbean." - J Lo's booty. - Preview for Snakes on a Plane fruit flavored venom energy drink, available on DVD January 2007. - A dead man's chest hair. - A 45 cent refund. I guess now we know why the movie grossed so much. Here's to another yummy sequel! |
