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ja sitten.... [26 Apr 2007|12:30am]
[ mood | tired ]

ei mitään ole tapahtunut kauan...

mulla ei oo jotain sanoa...

huomenna on juhlat ja mun täytyy juopotella, vaikka en oo varma jos normipäivä on korteissa.

tarvitsen vapaapäivän levätä ja tehdä Operations Research kotitehtävää.

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Basically, I'm awesome. [23 Mar 2007|08:57pm]
[ mood | horny ]

It's not a shame to admit how awesome you are.

You're not boasting.

You're just accepting the fact that you are, in fact, awesome.

Fuck all these pussies who can't admit how badass they are. Douches.

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They say a picture is worth a thousand words. [17 Mar 2007|01:58am]
whytze

Horse don't take no beef.
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Ole hyvä [13 Mar 2007|02:58pm]
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Raped chicks are damaged goods. [26 Feb 2007|04:14pm]
Let's pretend:

You are at the store and see a big hairy motorcycle dude drop a carton of eggs on the ground. The dude returns the eggs to the shelf.

Question: If you aren't allowed to inspect the contents the package, but you are in the mood for some eggs, is it immoral for you to pick a different carton?

Let's face it, chances are there's going to be some broken eggs in the carton. Once you get home and open up the package, there's going to be egg shit all over the place. Your faeux granite countertops, your linoleuom floor, and your credit card statements will all be smeared with the greasy residue of partial chix aborto-birth.

It's not the girl's fault, but there's going to be baggage there, due to the overreactive nature of our modern society to the victims of the crime.

Ever seen a little kid fall down at the mall? Nine times out of ten, the brat is perfectly fine, and it isn't until his mom starts smothering him with TLC that the kid is lulled into this idea that something is wrong with him. Only then does he start to cry. The crotchfruit was hunky dory until he was pussified by the societal expectation from his helicopter mom.



Fast forward to the 2008 elections:


Your choices are:

A) A black senator with a poor, disheveled muslim upbringing.
B) A white upper crust male who was born silver spoon in hand and groomed for the presidency.
C) A femme-nazi with a chip on her shoulder, who has had something to prove ever since the private details of her home life gracelessly fell into the public eye.


Who do you pick?

Answer: By process of elimination, you pick A.

B is scum of the earth.

C is damaged goods.

A teeters on damaged goods (being black and all), but goddamnit the fucker is charismatic.
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Hyvä on. [21 Feb 2007|08:48pm]
Today I was gawking at this chick on the bus. She had her jacket's hood up and was sitting complacently in her seat looking forward. Her right shoe was untied.

She took out a snickers bar, peeled back the wrapper, and began to eat it. I couldn't see her face, but she would put the candy bar up to her mouth, and when she pulled her hand back, a little less would be protuding from the wrapper.

She had mittens on.

Her jacket was snow white, and I was genuinely worried she would get chocolate on it.

In moments like that, it's as if the clouds in your brain part, and beams of light shine down on your face and chest. It elevates you off the ground, and it makes you thrust your arms back and puff your torso out as you try to accept as much sun as you can before the clouds swallow it back up again.

The bus stopped to let people on. After everyone boarded, the driver released the brake, and the bus lurched forward. Suddenly a woman ran into view. She wanted to get on. The driver opened the door, but he didn't stop the bus, so the lady had to jump aboard as the bus was in motion.

I smiled ear to ear.
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A Day In The Life [13 Feb 2007|09:52pm]
The Rancor drove home quickly. He wanted, as usual, to spend as little time in the car and as much time with his family as possible.

He darted to and fro between lanes, pushing the accelerator and pumping the brake. He gripped the steering wheel fiercely, digging his claws into his leather steering wheel cover. His eyes were set ablaze as he surveyed the traffic scenes sprawled out before him.

Like a game of chess, his position was critical. Openings between cars came infrequently, and the Rancor needed to anticipate a break in order to capitalize.

The Rancor plied his craft well. Shaving precious minutes off his commute, he arrived home in 15 minutes, 27 seconds: a new record.

He pulled into the driveway.

He removed the Colt .45 revolver from his briefcase and set it on the pavement before him.

He pulled down his trousers, and he laid a huge massive steaming dump in the middle of the driveway.

Then he shot himself in the head.


R.I.P. Tookie Williams
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This is me every morning. [12 Feb 2007|08:28pm]
When I get dressed, I normally put my pants on last. I like to walk around half nude and do callisthenics in front of my full length mirror.



My goal: Do a deep enough squat so my ween will touch the ground.
I better hurry up though... the koro waits for NOBODY!

CROW...Collapse )
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