fucking pwned.

if i ever get convicted for my sins i don’t know…i don’t want to be hung…..saddam kinda looks like my grandfather…….it’s been weird feeling cuz i have this weird power called empathy.

yeah he might have killed a bunch of kurds in a revolution.

bush might have killed a bunch of americans in 9/11.

i like to think im anti abortion and anti death penalty but fuck.

oh well, guess we all gotta die. it’s saddam’s fault for not fighting back during his capture.

just like america is the indian’s fault because they didn’t fight back with guns.

i just need a website to tell me where to stand on stuff like this.

i’m just glad that we’ve avenged 9/11….oh wait hm ugh i don’t care anymore…got enough problems….have fun with your world people…it’s all office politics when you get down to it

owned by wakenut

i dunno why im writing about this but i find it slightly humorous.

Me and my good buddy **** were coming back from lunch today and a cop starts following us. The cop makes several turns after us so it’s obvious he’s following us. We get to the gate, quickly show are badges to the brave $10 an hour Wakennut.

The cop pulls up and the guard talks to him for a second, the cop backs up and drives off. We’re like “wtf” cuz **** didn’t break any laws or anything and it’s weird that we’re being pursued.

It got me thinking. Is our property like some foreign embassy or something? Can i go rape and pillage and then just run back to the sanctionary?

I mean i’ve heard of company perks but this is fucking great.

You can keep your company cars, i have a license to rape!


So today i found out my contract has been extended if i want it until May. I’m honestly not feeling like leaving new orleans so i think im going to stay put.

I left work today, ran 4 and a half miles at the gym, blaring the first mars volta album on my idildo. I’ve been experimenting with different music while running lately and have found that mars volta really gets the anger going. Highly reccomended.

I stop at the Savacenter to buy some dog food for marla. And by dog food i mean, 3 frozen pizzas, a handle of whiskey, a bottle of wine, a 12 pack of tecate and 4 oranges. I’m standing in line and a older gay couple looks at my collection of wonderfulness on the little conveyor belt and comments that it’s the perfect college diet. I laugh and say that the oranges cancel out the whiskey, beer and pizza.

Fucking fags. Dunno how anyone can judge my diet when they have a cart full of bread.

Carbs are the devil.

Whiskey is jesus.


what to write about…..

so many things happening….

so many stories of recent…..so many i can’t post here…….

i think it’s time to password protect the site again….

i don’t think ive even mentioned that ashley has been living with me for 2 weeks….i feel so sorry for her. she says she doesn’t like being on crackhore. i don’t like being on crackhore either.

tomorrow i get to put on a suit and tie because someone big is coming and i have to look like im not a loser. I had to put my palm tree rug, pillow and placemats in case he walks down my aisle.

I like fitting in.

Nothing to see here. Just a little graphic designer working his heart out. Nothing out of place, no dirty secrets, no crippling addictions, no bitterness, nothing.

my weekend

Okay so i leave the office friday, go work my little skinny ass off at the gym and come home. I iron one shirt, fuck it up, find another shirt, iron it and head to the ***** christmas party.

I pull up, feeling so clean, tie, collared shirt, etc. As soon as i walk in i realize that i need to be really careful. This is one of those christmas parties you can’t get out of control at. There are “higher ups” here so high up that i have never even seen, heard or smelled them.

But it has a open bar.

I put on 100% of my charm and talk with all my co-workers, walking around with a glass of wine in hand, trying my hardest to be “sweet and charming” instead of “drunk and angry”.

I have several conversations with several people i shouldn’t. I almsot wet myself when my boss gives me my chirstmas bonus that i wasn’t expecting. I sit next to one of my bosses towards the end of the end of the evening, trying to charm the woman he’s talking to.

This is where it gets funny. I leave the resturant and end up in my car. Im driving towards my apartment but i end up in Metarie in a parking lot. I’m so cold, confused and tired that i crawl into the backseat of my car and sleep.

I wake up at 5am like “wtf”, drive around and finally find a street i recognize. I drive home and josh finds me walking in like “wtf happened to u”.

I go back to bed.

I wake up Saturday and do freelance stuff all day, drinking beer and consuming carbs in preperation for the race sunday. I walk marla in the park, listening to boys for pele on my ipod, stumbling around singing and loving life.

A girl from hot or not asks me to come to a party. I respectfully decline. I want to go out, do things that i shouldn’t do but i don’t. Because i have changed. For the beter. *repeats into mirror*

I wake up at the crack of dawn Sunday for the race. My good friend **** from *** picks me up and we head to the race. It’s cold. Like seriously fuck off cold. I got on pants, a tshirt and a hoody and im still feeling underdressed.

The race starts and i shove my way towards the front. Running races like this is always guess work because you have to judge your ego. Am i fast enough to be this far ahead or am i just a fool?

Anyway, the first mile goes pretty well. The bisexual ipod i bought recently is kicking ass. I’m listening to the new mars volta which is making me so angry and upset that im running to try to kill the person in front of me.

Mile 2 is always the worst. I get a little water and i just keep going. The pain in my legs just makes me more angry. How did i ever i get this lazy? Come on and give it to me, come on and die. I just keep going. And going. Each step feels like a eternity and i just keep chugging along. I have this perverted angry look on my face, trying not to scream along to the music.

I get the mile 2 marker and it’s time to stop fuckign around. I look around at everyone and i feel the inner loathing of my species come full circle. Everyone around me is just as good as me and the only thing seperating me is if i finish before them.

I get the arms going, really feeling the mars volta. I look at the guy in front of me, what he’s wearing and instantly hate him. I can’t let him beat me, he’s a dork. He’s probably listening to…something i don’t like.

When i see the cars at the parking lot and the finish line i decide it’s time to just see how hard i can push myself. I really get the arms going and just go. Passing asshole and loser by asshole and loser i lose all caring.

I know i must look like a mad man, face expressing my anger for myself and everyone, arms pumping, legs burning, soul screaming.

I cross the finish line, sit down on the sidewalk and feel every cell asking why i have done this, again.

I’m not going to tell you my time since it’s not that fast. I shaved off a minute from my last race. I felt like jesus on the cross the last mile and i have ascended and died for my own sins. Or something.

I really need to start running more often.