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In Accordance With The Dictates of Reason

catsecks

Saint Patties Day ’07 was a bit of a bust, despite my best attempt of being green and mean the night will be remembered as the night I failed to celebrate my heritage coming home with unbruised knuckles and as many brain cells as I left with.

The same can’t be said for the evening at lovely Courtney‘s. The boys and I warmed up at Umpy’s house as a prelim. Brotha dawkness did what he does best, and faced the consequences dished out by the vengeful homeowner. Luckily his penis shielded most of the blow. We walked the streets in the cloak of night and into the pad of Courtney where everyone felt the need to pop shots elbow to elbow in the kitchen. I was quick to assemble with the fellas and strike a quick pose for the room full of adoring womens. Compare this pic with this one. Things started gettin nutty as the night progressed; Dawkness tried pinnin the tail on the Jenny and Dylan seized the role of the noise nazi.

Sashas partyThen there was Sasha’s, my favorite Russian chic. For this occasion I felt it necessary to come dressed with my favorite accessory, enjoy that corniness. she looks cute as a damn button there too. I fair well. So I spent the majority of that night bleeding profusely from the crater of the once proud pimple I tripled sliced with my fuckin Gillette Mach 3 turbo emo pain expression device razor. Half a roll of toilet paper later I was back in the game, beads of sweat clinging to each one of my ass hairs in the kitchen. It even looks sweaty in that picture. Sweaty Jimbo balanced shit on his head. Adam hosed puke off Sasha’s doorstep.

So I guess I never posted to the world about the aftermath of bambi colliding into my Celica, well it’s still in the family and I picked up a 1990 Toyota Supra, white, turbo, 5 speed, targa top, with about 105k miles. So I rock that pretty hard, its fast, its a tank and I love it.

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This Game Shall Consume You

Come get some bitch

Click this shit

I dare you to beat my score.

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The Cast & Constants of a Community College Classroom

Embarking on semester numero dos at the local “Harvard on the Hill” aka College of San Mateo I have become more and more saturated and seasoned with the culture and atmosphere of a community college. Throughout this saturation / seasoning process I have become acquainted and aware of many of the different stereotypical people who inhabit the same classrooms and auditoriums I. I share them with you now:

foolsThe Raging Dumbass (douschebagitus-tardspazis)

Sometimes known as the compulsive hand-raiser, this lil fella can be observed leaning over and repeatedly asking his fellow classmate for help something or perhaps me may simply remarking on the presence of trees outside. Raging Dumbass is the reason why teachers take forever to explain their grading policies. Raging dumbass is the person who believes whole heatedly that he/she is the only student in class, therefore, when the teacher asks a rhetorical question, Raging dumbass feels more than obligated to offer a less than revelant answer. Raging Dumbass is the Rod Farva of community college.

hyphy fool

Hyphy Squad ( macdrewannabea – speakerblownicus )

Next on the menu we have the Hyphy Squad. You assholes come in early just to occupy the nosebleed section of the auditorium, roughly 100% of you jerkoffs have the backpacks with the built-in speakers that sound like rhino ass blaring “That Go” on repeat. Your all loud. I know it’s hard to stay thuggin when teach is spittin bars about functions and exponents n shit. Thank god for the fusion of keek da sneak and jansport backpacks. Yee bitch.

tourettes Overworked, Over-Caffeinated Foreign Math Teacher w/ Tourette’s Syndrome (spazicus-manicuz)

God bless you man, your knowledge and understanding of elementary algebra is commendable, the same goes for your uncontrollable urge to spaz out and clear your throat and bat your chest with your wrist watch.  You work at three different community colleges teaching eight classes during the week, you stumble into class everyday like the fuckin Tasmanian devil on crack.  I have never seen you without big gulp-sized coffee in  your mitt nor have I seen you exhale.  You sir are a spazicus-manicuz.  Good day sir

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