A Challenge

Break into the house of my friend, who we shall call "Bruce", and steal the above pictured Redskins Superbowl rings. Now, this is no easy feat. For one, Bruce's house is a fortress. Second, there are two ferocious guard dogs roaming the premises. Third, Bruce himself is a raving lunatic. And finally, they are kept in an impenetrable safe. Who is up for this? Email the dentist.

What the fuck have I been talking about?

Does anyone know what the hell I have been talking on this blog so far? You got me. Last night I went to Adam's Morgan and played a 4 foot tall hispanic man in pool. He was wearing a three-piece suit and wasn't that good except that he was good enough to beat me. In fact, right when I lost, so did the Nationals to Philadelphia. Interesting enough, my friend Amos, who lives in Philadelphia, is a Nationals fan and recently played a midgit in ping-pong. So life is all woven together and shit.......

Is this a Galactic Satan?

These days I am starting to wonder if my athiesm is actually misplaced. While the bible is defintitely the greatest story ever sold, the concept of a big bang simply does not rule out a higher power. If such a creationist power exists, applying the law of physics could only mean one thing: Galactic Satan.

You can remove my feeding tube now.

This weekend I was in New Orleans. I stayed through Monday and now I am back at work and its Tuesday and I am officially braindead. Somehow I actually get work done like this. When I'm not braindead I am aware of how much work sucks. Right now I simply hate being conscious and doing work is like being dead. So be it. New Orleans is an absurd place. If you can escape the Bourbon street bullshit, it's an amazing city. On Friday night I flew in late, got hammered and lost my wallet on Bourbon Street, driver's license and all. Losing a wallet on Bourbon Street is like dropping a half-eaten doughnut into a pit full of rats. The thing is gone. Get over it. That is what I did. I went back to my friend's hotel where I was not even a registered guest and sat there dejected realizing no driver's license or anything means I am, by law, a "vagrant"...and I won't be leaving New Orleans on my flight either. After seeing in New Orleans some of the most depressing vagrants ever- literally dudes who were covered in dirt- I had the sudden realization that I was now going to be one of those people. Damn. Then by some miracle of God I discovered that some angel had found my wallet on the street, and using the small piece of paper on which I scribbled the hotel name, had brought it to the front desk of the hotel, who I had called (I still don't remember why I called them). Amazing. Although the cash was gone and I had already cancelled my ATM card, I was no longer a "vagrant". Soon I borrowed some cash and quadrupled it at Harra's casino. That process continued all weekend. At times I would find myself being transported instantanously from handing a stripper a twenty-dollar bill to being asked by a Blackjack dealer if I want to hit or stay. Of course, it was a bit confusing when I got the two scenarios mixed up and shoved a twenty-dollar bill down a blackjack dealer's pants and asked a stripper to hit me. She did. As I collapsed backwards, feeling somewhat aroused as I lost consciousness, I heard her say it..."Blackjack".

Pope John Sizzle

The following is a translation of the Last Will and Testament of Pope John Paul II.

I thank everyone so sit back relax else jacks get smacked. Of everyone I ask forgivizzles. I also ask dat da mercy of God may appear hustla 'n unworthiness like old skool shit. Dur'n tha spiritual exercises I reread tha testament of tha Holy Cracka Pizzy VI. Thizzat read'n prompted me ta write this testament. I leave no property behind me of which it is necessary ta dispose fo shizzle. As fo` tha everyday objects tizzy were of use ta me, I ask they be distributed as seems appropriate. My personal notes is ta be burned. I ask that this be attended ta by Gangsta Stanislaw (Eds sho nuff: his personal secretizzles Archbishop Stanislaw Dziwisz), W-H-to-tha-izzom I thank fo` his collaborizzles n hiznelp, so prolonged over tha years n so understand'n. As fo` all otha thanks, I leave them in mah heart before God Himself, cuz it is difficult ta express them. Hollaz to the East Side.

As fo` tha funeral, I repeat tha same disposizzles as were given by tha Holy Bitch Paul VI cuz its a G thang. (It dont stop till the wheels fall off: burial in tha bare earth, not in a sarcophizzles 13.3.92) but real niggaz don't give a fuck. "Apud Dominum misericordia et copiosa apud Eum redemptio." (betta check yo self: Latin fo` "wit tha Lord there is mercy, n wit Him plentiful redemption.")

Respek.

John Pizzy where the sun be shinin and I be rhymin' II
Rome, 6.III.1979

Breakpoints Word of the Year

Well once again the word Panties has been chosen as the Breakpoints Word of the Year. The word is intense. A lot of people hate the word. One of them is that bama on TV called Nick Lachey. I overheard him talking to his wife, supermodel Ashley Spears, and he said, and I quote: "Panties....I hate that word". Well guess what, Nick? We hate you. Panties is a beautifully crafted word. There are many variations too- just add these words before it: satin, thong, moist. It is so playful. I love it. Perhaps the weather has something to do with it. The Word of the Year is always chosen on the first nice day of spring. Today was 80s and sunny. That is panties weather. It is also Ducati weather. Can you hear them out there? Somewhere a beautiful girl is riding a Ducati. And she is wearing panties. Thank God for springtime.

1920-2005

No, I'm not a Cattle-lake, but I respek the Pope.

Oh My F*cking God....No he didn't!

I just was told that Bush has enacted a federal law naming March 31st "Terri Schiavo Remembrance Day". That is so lame. Will we get a day off work?