Monday, May 30, 2005

Tengo Tired.

I'm so excited right now. I checked my e-mail and I just found out I'm eligible for a free Dell PC. Also, sent me an e-mail notifying me about a potential 500 dollar shopping spree at my nearest Foot Locker. Mariah just sent me an e-mail saying she heard from her friend Stephanie that I was a cutie and wanted to strip for me on her webcam.

I'm not making this up people!

If you haven't figured already, that's fucking sarcasm. I don't understand what these spam mail geniuses are thinking. People kind of have this tendancy to not buy or look into products being sold by people they hate. And last time I checked I wasn't e-mailing these jackasses back saying, "Hey thanks for the heads up. I love Foot Locker".

Horrible strategy. Fuck spam mail.

Speaking about advertising, I went to Fox Hills Mall today to take advantage of these ONE DAY ONLY!!! memorial day sales. I needed a new pair of swimtrunks. Now Fox Hills Mall is one of those malls I used to go to as a child, and I have fond memories of the stores there. There was the Misses Field's cookies and Orange Juliuses, the KB Toy Store and that pet shop with the cute little bunny rabbits in the window. Then the black people came and took the mall over, pushing us white folks north.

So looking around in Macy's for trunks I could not believe they only had two of them in the entire store. Then it hit me - black people don't goto the beach. Macy had their demographic down, and stocked accordingly.

Nobody even know what the fuck I was talking about when I asked where the board shorts were. And I had a frightening conversation with a gay guy at the perfume counter.

"Excuse me sir, where do you carry board shorts?"

"Board shorts?"

"Yeah um, like swimwear"

"Are you looking for the latest bikini tops?" (Cups his man tits with his hands and gives me a "fresh" smile)

Hit on by another homosexual-wishing-I-were-gay. Yeah I know I should be flattered but really the line must be drawn somewhere. I don't take it personally every time a dog decides to hump my leg instead of the next man's. The issue is however, I don't want my leg being humped by non-females, its just that simple.

It's gotta be the tan.

Thursday, May 26, 2005

My answer

After posting my last entry, it occured to me that there's just been too much penis on this site lately. Not that anyone would ever get tired of penis, but I like to be diverse, and it seems that the only diversity this site has experienced is the diversity of different penises, with a post about music in the middle. So you may read my last post about bum penis if you'd like, it's short, slightly comical, and will serve you well if you haven't gotten your fill of penis for today...

Otherwise I have come up with the answer to the question I posed a few days ago. Would you rather be smoking hot or genius? My answer: smoking hot.

Sex kind of helped me figure this out with her most recent, thoughtful post. I figure that if money were the quintessential end and genius or beauty were the means, they're both suitable ways to acheive it. If I were beautiful I could model, not only that but beautiful people in general are more likely to be favored in the job market, or if all else fails i can marry a rich woman. If I were a genius, well, I don't have to say much there as far as money goes... So money isn't a problem either way.

If happiness were the end, as I believe it is, then I suppose neither beauty nor brilliance garauntees it. Wisdom and prudence, ya know all that buddha shit, are paths to happiness in my book. Neither are garaunteed by general intelligence, as they are intelligences in themselves - smart people commit suicide, case and point. Beauty does not garauntee happiness either as it's pretty stupid to think someone telling me, "you're hot" will make me one self-actualized motherfucker.

But "you're hot" does make me feel pretty damn pimp. And what about when the genius gets told, "you're smart"? They're a fucking genius, they'd probably be sitting there thinking, "yeah I know, i'm a fucking genius. If you only knew the half of it bitch, but in the end these brains aren't gonna make you wanna give me head so get out of my sight". And it's that whole prisoner of their own brain thing I'm weary about.

If i saw the world on some completely different level, and thought about crevaces of life that people didn't even know existed, what fun is that without anybody to share it with? Nobody would understand wtf you're talking about. That's some prison shit, especially considering how most geniuses are literally incapable of or averse to thinking about the simple things, or chattin it up with small talk. Sure there are other geniuses to exchange information with. But they're no fucking party.

And most people look up to geniuses and think, "oh that must be so fascinating to be in their brain". Well yeah if you were taking a fucking tour. Otherwise the genius knows one thing - how it is to be a genius, and from their perspective its all rather ordinary. And as they say, it takes one to know one, so the only people who would recognize your true genius is another genius, but you'd most likely be in competition with him so he's not there to suck your dick and buff your ego, he's trying to outsmart you.

I saw screw all the competition. Just make me hot, keep it simple, and fathers, bring me your daughters.

Oh the horror.

Things done/seen in the last two days.

1. Started up my sideproject blog.

2. Saw a bum with his penis dangling out of his pants.

3. Sped past a cop going 60 in a 35 zone. He didn't even bother to turn around and pull me over.

As you can tell my life is very simple and void of excitement - if these are highlights. With the exception of number 2, I suppose? Here let me expand on that one.

I was driving home from school and off on the sidewalk I see a bum doing what looked like football jukes at a tree. I suppose the tree really was trying to tackle him, who am I to assume. Regardless, I'm driving closer to him and he's still juking the tree with these sort of jazz hands waving about in front of him, ya know, trying to distract it. But as I pass parallel to him i notice a skin toned third entity, a long snout looking object, that just so happened to be hanging where his penis should be. Me being the intelligent individual I am deduced that this may actually be his penis hanging out of his pants and gave a quick turn of the head to see if this were true. Then I shouted, "Holy shit that dude's dick is hanging out!"

It was very long and hopefully the cleanest part of his body. Wretched bum those inches are going to waste, give them to me!

"Dude let me have it"

"No man its mine"

"Dude but you're a bum all you do is masturbate"

"So man, its mine and I don't want yours"

"I'll let you keep your testicles"

"What part of no don't you understand? Now go away this tree is trying to tackle me"

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

Can you feel my mojo?

So as some of you may know my internet was fucked for a rough total of 1 1/2 days - just long enough to allow me to realize how pathetic I am. I am Whitney Housten and this here internet is Bobby Brown. Co-dependant, if you hadn't caught that already. Possibly a crackhead, if this bullshit keeps up. But most likely I'll leave the torch and the crackpipe alone, cuz I fixed the muhfucker myself and it ain't about to break.

Well I exchanged the modem. Wasn't that hard. Regardless, I fixed the fuck out of this thing.

Say it with me though, a big fuck you to Comcast troubleshooting hotline. I don't care if they're 24/7, the dude on the phone was stuttering at me like my deep brassy voice made him nervous, and at every turn he'd pass the buck to me as if it were MY fault my internet wasn't working.

HIM: Uuum I suggest you run Norton Utilities it sounds like you h-h-have a virus
ME: But my computers are networked and they're both being affected, how would a virus on one computer affect both?
HIM: Well, v-v-viruses have the tendancy to be very potent.
(Potent? We're not talking about my farts here buddy)
ME: Okay I'll run Norton.

So I ran Norton on both my dad's computer and mine. I personally came up with 5 at risk files, my dad came up with SIXTY-FIVE! And I thought I downloaded alot of porn from shady websites. But in case you are wondering, no it doesn't disturb me to think of my dad downloading loads of filthy, slutty, hardcore bucking pornography. We're all adults here. My parents having sex on the other hand. Fuck it hurts just to type.

But they don't do it anymore. Never did, never will. Before you ask - I was bred in a petri dish, duuuh.

I one the other hand, will fuck my wife every night when I"m older, and I don't care if my baby, child, adolescent, young adult, college borne children hear. Fucking is a natural part of life, and I'll be damned if me and my future wife, A.K.A Natalie Portman, act as if we have something to hide. Apes aren't afraid of fucking in the vacinity of their children, and lest we forget out roots....?

But I'll try to keep the whole, "Oh my fucking lord i'm gonna cum all over your titties" to a suitable volume. At least until they're in high school. I'm no psychologist but I figure its best for all. Right?

Monday, May 23, 2005

pretty stupid

If you had a choice to either be a genius, or utterly beautiful, what would it be? Me, I'm sorta torn on this question and of course, I need more details. So for the sake of simplicity I'll whittle it down - if you were a genius you'd be of moderate looks and if you were utterly beautiful you'd be able to add, subtract, read, all that, probably a bit more but its not like any of that matters you beautiful motherfuck I'll smash your fucking face in. So what would it be?

Ever since I was little I wanted to be beautiful. I remember being young and always wearing my mom's makeup, her stalkings, her high heels - I just wanted to be beautiful, and it wasn't until my mother informed me I was heading down the wrong path that I decided to change my ways. I'll always remember that concerned look on her face when I walked into the kitchen that one night. She wiped her brow as she told me about teams, batting, the correct way to swing. I wondered why she was so worried about baseball. She finally told me she wanted her things back, so I took off my panty hose, gave her back her mascera and never wore them again.

Instead I resolved to become better at little league baseball by knocking balls at the batting cages and correcting my swing.

But the longings never ceased...

I recall watching Beakman's World and Bill Nye the Science guy, secure with my looks but now insecure with my knowledge. I wanted to be smarter, a well of knowledge, like Bruce Willis in Die Hard who always just knew what to do, or Dustin Hoffman in Rainman but without the speech impediment. I wanted to be brilliant. I started reading books, or at least attempting to, only to realize that after a couple of minutes I was no longer comprehending what I was reading. I'd read the same sentence over and over and over, and if I overcame that sentence I'd soon be tripped up by another. Frustrated, I concluded I was an idiot and gave up reading all together.

(True story, so Sex, this is why I can't do your book survey, because to be quite honest I've never finished a book in my entire life. I recall reading parts of Catcher In the Rye and The Great Gatsby for high school though, boy that Ryan Caufield, what a fucking psycho eh? Where do all the fish go, grrr I wanna murder them all! What a cuck (c-oo-k), huh???)

I later realized that being dumb required a bit more than slow comprehension skills, and I still had a chance. Delighted, I became extremely pretentious and suffered from occasional illusions of grandeur. I was also hella high and self-assured that my thoughts were better than everybody else's - but aren't we all? Just nod.

Now I'm all fucking scared of the idea of offending someone's intelligence by telling them something they may already know, to the point where communication sometimes seems pointless to me unless some sort of new information is being relayed, and when the fuck does that happen? Where the fuck is this post going, hold on...

(Artificial segway)

In conclusion, what would you rather be. Genius or smoking hot?

Sunday, May 22, 2005

Blog Homework

Amber passed me a baton so I'm obliged to answer five questions about music. But I suppose, since I try to avoid this topic at all costs, I'll take this opportunity expose myself for what I truly am - a pirate and a music fanatic. Yes, screw you reader, I am no longer sparing you. Me and Music have been going steady for a good long while, and I'm gonna talk about us.

First things first, it's time for a lesson in the history of mp3s, from my point of view. I hopped onto the mp3 scene a good 3 years before it really started getting attention, back in 7th grade, before Little Dick Lars started crying about Napster. Back then the trade was mainly for kids who knew how to work IRC, which stands for Internet Relay Chat. Basically you'd go into IRC chatrooms - turned file sharing havens - and download music off scripted personas called "bots". There was no search engine, the selection wasn't all that great, it wasn't user friendly at all, and if you needed help nobody gave a shit because they were too busy being "leet" to bother with helping "noobs".

Around this time the mp3 scene actually started to become organized. Not too unlike the software pirates, mp3 groups started to form, ripping quality mp3 albums, tagging them with their group name, and ensuring the shit got around. Which is why you may sometimes see something like this "50_Cent-The_Massacre-2005-RNS". Whenever an album leaks before its store date, 99 percent of the time these groups on IRC are responsible. I was actually part of one of these groups freshman through junior year, and as a result I had access to hundreds of albums released on any given day by all the various groups on the IRC network. Those were the days...

My claim to fame on the piracy network was when I released Linkin Park's first album, Hybrid Theory, weeks before it came out in stores. Pre-releases are golden on the mp3 scene, I got plenty of perks and nerd props for that one. In total I released 35 albums and eps. Go me.

Napster of course popularized the fruits and labor of this "hidden" piracy network, and about 2 year ago the FBI had enough information to make a huge bust on the mp3 piracy scene, arresting the most well known distributors and crippling the main channels. But IRC is public domain so it wasn't hard for the groups to scatter and find new channels, new passwords, and new servers. I left after the first major bust because I figured I didn't want anybody showing up at my door and jacking my hard drive.

As far as being a music fanatic goes, I have roughly 170 gigs of music on my computer right now. Fucking buttnuggets, I gotta throw away albums everyday in order to download new ones, I'm down to 200 megs of space on a 210 gig harddrive. I'm a pirate, I don't buy music at all unless I"m at an indie store. The last cd I bought was Yield by Pearl Jam, because I had a gift certificate.

03. Song playing right now:

Constantines - Young Lions

04. Five songs I listen to a lot or that mean a lot to me(in no particular order):

1. Jeff Buckley - Grace (At the end he holds a note longer than I though humanly possible while his band goes nuts, it just kills me everytime)

2. Radiohead - Street Spirit (It just sounds like one of those divine songs that wrote itself)

3. Interpol - Untitled (I love arpeggios and these guys really know how to show restraint in their song writing)

4. Smog - I Feel Like the Mother of the World (He tackles the subject of religious violence, especially in the Middle East, says so much in so little words "Oh do I feel like the mother of the world with two children fighting".)

5. The Beach Boys - Wouldn't it be Nice (Just one of the greatest songs ever composed, even though I love The Beatles more)

6. Elliot Smith - Alameda (Forgot about this one. Just... Listen.)

05. Which 5 people are you passing this baton to, and why?

I'm holding on to this one, unless someone wants it?

Wednesday, May 18, 2005


Right now I got my hair down all shaggy covering my eyes, and I'm taking shots of Hansen's Natural Mandarin Lime flavored soda. I'm pretending ths soda is alcohol and that I'm washing my pain away. I even wince after every shot. Because of the carbonation though. Then I slam my cup down and pour another shot from my can, while I look despondantly at my computer screen. I just let out a long sigh right now. I'm drinking my pain away people.

What pain, you motherfucking ask? I had to wake up at 7, after going to bed at 3 the night before. That's like um... 4 hours of sleep. Then I had to write five pages of pure utter crap on the Aztec Indians, as if I didn't fucking learn about them in 5th grade, goto school, then tutor. That's like 3 things to do in one day, each of them clawing and taking chunks off of Greg's energy meter. Okay, I understand that some of you out there are moms and in one day you do ten times the work I just did. Here's a goddamn cookie. I'm spent people.

If you all haven't caught on, this is my attempt at a post with nothing to say, in hopes that it turns you all on. Is it turning you on? Are you "wet", as they say? I'll keep going.

Maybe I should stop directing my posts towards women and write for guys. What's up fellas? Beer. Cars. Tools. I'm scratching my balls right now. Fuck. Shit. Testosterone. What a delicious piece of ass. If you could only see the motherfucking titties on her. I'd fucking fuck the fucking shit out of her - okay I think I suck at this guy talk.

I've never been a guy talker, I have bros and shit, but I"m definately not a guy talker. I could talk about pornography and various porn stars for days, that's about it. Tawny Roberts, Taylor Rain, Monica Sweetheart, Amber Lynn, uum who else. AHAHAHA, just playing Amber, but I'm sure i'm not the first to tell you - you have a beautiful porn star name. I'd sell the rights to it on ebay, I'm sure an up and cummer would love to buy it.

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

HI my name is Greg this is my ramble albiet one with a point and highly entertaining as per usual

The porn industry needs me (as a director, not an actor, I'm asian remember?), but they don't know it yet. See, I'm a revolutionary. I have what some would call the midas touch - I turn shit to gold. And I know what you're thinking, you're thinking, "Greg you touch shit?". But if you're gonna bust my fucking balls about it then I guess no shit ornament for you. The porn industry needs me because they are an industry with no vision, infamously rehashing tried and true methods simply because the business is so lucrative in the first place, why risk anything?

What we're stuck with then, is the same old porno, over and over again. The same old:

"Oh no, the pizza man is here yet I have just stepped out of the shower. Let me go answer it in my towel".

"Hi ma'am, I have your pizza".

"Oh no pizza boy, you forgot my sausage".

"No ma'am I didn't forget your sausage. It's right here".

Sometimes pornos get so corny there's chunks of it left in my stool. Am I the only guy left on this planet that demands realism? Or maybe I'm just one of those fucking high-brows. All I know is, everytime I watch a porno I can't help to think, "Damn I could do better". And it tantalizes me to think of what'd it be like to jerk off to my own pornography. Me spanking it to my own realized vision. It would be a beautiful moment followed by an even more beautiful feeling. Followed by a mess.

I'd go on about the various aspects of my pornographic vision, and how I'd create the perfect porno, but I don't feel like it. I'm just trying to figure how to make some damn money. I suck with business and finances, I'm dyslexic when it comes to numbers, I'm slow to comprehend words, I have the attention span of a shit flinging monkey, yet everytime I hear people talk I can't help to think of how stupid everybody is in comparison to me. Okay that came off as being horribly pretentious, I should show some classy humility. Oooh noo look at me I'm so young and have so much to learn, all I know is I know nothing, please someone teach me something, blah blah blah...

Although occasionally I'll pick up a book on astrophysics, just to know what it feels like to be stupid. Then I tell myself it's the astrophysicists that are stupid because they don't know how to make the perfect porno. Then I tell myself I should stop reading on astrophysics because this is probably why I don't have a girlfriend.

Most women don't want a smart guy, they'll act like they do. Yet statistically speaking, guys who have the hardest time finding a girlfriend are either smart or gay. I stole that concept from a quote I read somewhere. It's true though. So in an attempt to flirt I've been trying to get in touch with my idiot side. Like the other day I was talking to this girl, and all the sudden I was like, "Oh my gosh look at that pwetty pigeon. AHAHA HEY PWETTY PIGEUN, AWAHAHA!!". She took me behind the bushes and gave me a blowjob on the spot.

Sunday, May 15, 2005

Oingo Boingo anyone?

I'm such a dumbass, I wore brand new white shoes to a concert on Saturday. I know - there's alot of feet at concerts, I'm not a dumbass. I wanted to go out afterwards so I dressed nice, figuring I'd preserve my freshness by standing with the other inanimate hipsters in the back. Besides it was a free ticket for Taking Back Sunday and Jimmy Eat World - catchy bands but I'm too pretentious to take that music serious enough to get my bounce on.

But the energy just got to me yo. I couldn't help myself. Next thing I know I'm on the bars with my hands up screaming, "JIIIMMY I WANT YOUR BABIES" like a fucking 14 year old. I had the stank of a million bodies soaked into my shirt, the mark of a billion soles stamped onto my shoes, and crowd surfing turds kept landing on my head like their entire M.O was to fuck up my hair. I sweat all the gel out of my hair too so I couldn't fix it back into place. My hair was unfixable. My entire being was unfixable. I was a wreck. A wreck I tell you! Marsha Marsha Marsha!!! Afterwards I stood looking at myself in the mirror and cried, then I started slitting my wrists.

So I called it a night a bit early. No drinky poo for me. I had other peoples sweat on my own goddamn body. That's just repugnant to me. I showered, washed in between my balls and my ass real good, and slept like a baby. It was still a very good night. Just a bit pissed about the shoes. I'll clean them but I know some permanent damage has been done. Marsha...

And talk about feeling like a damn pervert at that show. Taking Back Sunday brought in pounds and pounds of fresh meat, if you know what i mean. That Oingo Boingo song (see Sandy I know wuts up) kept playing in my head, "IIIII love little girls they make me feel so good..." I obviously couldn't tell if they had grass on the field as the saying goes, so my motto just sorta went like, if they have tits, um, look. Don't call me a pervert though, only I can call myself that. And before anyone gets judgmental up in this bitch, I was looking at older women too. I just knew they'd be harder to get into bed.

Friday, May 13, 2005

Hey where'd he go? heeehee.

Thursday, May 12, 2005

Things are gonna change.

To all my readers, I love you very much, but I cannot go on like this. Up until this point I've blogged under the pretense that we were all adults here. This was my say-anything vehicle. It was a place for me to be me, unrestricted, unrefined, uncensored and just 100% Greg. I'm afraid those days are over folks. I've been read by a 13 year old. F--k.

Her name is Lyndsey, and she is the quintessance of innocence. She appeared in my last commentbox and left her indelible mark:

"YOU HAVE BREASTS?!??!?!?!?!?!?!? OMG you are SOOOO Perverted."

Okay fuck what I said above, I just got dissed by a 13 year old. AHAH! I bet you this little turd isn't coming back and if she does, I'm gonna do everything in my power to make this bitch cry. Okay sorry that was very mean of me, she's 13, she doesn't know any better. But the little shitbag called me a fucking pervert. Ugh, I'm SOOOOO not perverted. And her blog makes me want to vomit.

Check out a poem she wrote for her super hot crush, Jonah!!

J for just so hott!
O for one I have crushed on since beginning of the season!
N for no other crushes on anyone else.
A for an awesome time with you this season and
H for hottie!!!

My favorite line is, "one I have crushed on since beginning of the season!". Sheer brilliance, let's all give little miss needy a round of applause. I'm sure Jonah hates her guts. I can just imagine her slipping him this poem in class tomorrow, written all cute on Hello Kitty stationary, flowers and hearts adorning the sides. Then my boy Jonah shows it to all his homies at recess and is like, "ahaha yo guys look at what this dumb bitch wrote to me". Then they all clown on her and throw things at her head.

YOU"RE NOT WELCOME HERE BITCH! And don't worry TG, I won't be hitting on her anymore. I"ve come to my good senses.

Wednesday, May 11, 2005

Keep him away from children...

Since I'm such a wonderful person, and since a fairly large part of my philosophy grade demands it, I volunteered to tutor an 8th grader for a few weeks at my old school. I have no problem with this though, be it that I'm a kind, warm, gentle individual; I care about people, I'm not your HMO. I share my college knowledge with this young girl and give her the tools of the trade so she may feed herself with fish for many a day to come. I like thinking about that potential impact. We have lifeguards, lifesavers, well what about life-impactors? That's me, I'm a life impactor. I'll leave a crater in your child's life.

She's a charming, obediant student too. Quite smart, I think I"m helping her realize her potential. She reminds me very much of myself in 8th grade; doesn't give a shit about learning, highly distractable, just starting to grow breasts, but brimming with a very unconventional basket of smarts.

Or maybe I'm just a basketcase with smarts. Either way I had to learn her some capitalization skills and as it turns out, the English language is trying to deceive me. Did you know months and weekdays are capitalized? It's not "monday" it is "Monday", yet seasons are lowercase as I can write "summer", but not "Summer". This distinction was purchased at Arbitrary Assholes R' Us. And prepositions can go up, towards, over, in, onto - Hell. I was getting tired of plugging every word into the sentence, "The plane flew _____ the clouds". Fuck grammar.

I'm a bit of a word struggler too. When trying to explain certain things my cornocopia of mental imagery likes to avoid being summarized. Words are so restricting, they're like leotards, I'd rather use flagrant hand signals and make throat sounds like "eeehhh mmmsliiiiiike uuuuuuhhh sssnnyuuunoooo" to weave my tapestry of meaning. Who wouldn't understand that? Afterall they say something like 80% of meaning is in the body language. I think I"m really getting through to her.

I am so glad she is not stupid, or, without "mental restriction" for all you PC fucks. Teaching idiots is a lesson in futility, it is like teaching communists how to love or me how to appreciate a well shaped mullet outside of its comic appeal. There is no room for negotiation. I was teaching a Kindergardener once how to spell her name. Her name was Karen: one, two, three, four, five letters, how fucking hard is that? I give her the crayon. Okay cutie pie show me what you got.

...starts off with a backwards "K", thats not dislexic one bit... Yeah I see the pigeon too now what's the next goddamn letter... I suppose that object could pass for an "a"... your "R" looks like a stick figure porn star and while your at it Ron Jeremy should be lower-case... I've formally repressed what the letters "e" and "n" looked like in my head.

It was like trying to potty train a child. You just want to say, "but its all so fucking eeeasy." Pop a squat and let one drop, if you feel like you're going to fall in spread your legs more and if you don't wipe your ass properly the devil will visit you in your sleep. Young impressionable minds are so easy to mold, sometimes you just have to shift the tactics into 6th gear. I'd make an excellent president.

Monday, May 09, 2005


Everybody has their kinks they can't seem to help. We all have that friend who's laugh sounds like two goats fucking, or that buddy who cries and talks about existentialism every time he gets drunk. Those kinks bug me, but what makes me laugh are the sounds people make when startled. Like, if I suddenly threw a bunch of noodles at your head, what queer sound would you make? Would it be a "Waaaaa!"? How about a "Yiiii!"? A "Fuck"? Or perhaps an "Oh no I'm suddenly covered in noodles", if you're the non-reactive type. For the most part though, these sounds just fly out.

But here's some ginchy humor for you all. Whenever something startling happens to Asians, I swear to god the funniest sound comes out. It goes like this: "AIIIYAAAAAAA". Ahaha, isn't that shit FUNNY?? If you've heard this before, you're laughing. If you haven't, imagine a "HIYA" before a karate chop, but remove the "HI" part from the "YA" and replace it with an "AI" or e-y-e sort of sound. Then draw it out - eeyyyaaaaaaaa. And of course add the Asian accent. Its way funny.

I could seriously go up to any of my cousins and be like, "Hey there's a roach on the ground."

"AAIIIYAAAAA!........ quick, kill it for me!"

The "AAIIYAAA" comes out so fast, the ensuing words just trail behind all slow like Helen Keller standing in line at the DMV. I'm telling you, its the funniest reflex and it cannot be helped. Which is a bit disconcerting to me because today I spilled some soy sauce and well, I let out a little "AIIII!". It was little folks, trust me. And don't worry there was no "YAAA" afterwards. I suppose since I'm half Asian I only squeak out a half "AIYA". Makes sense.

Shit I just realized the irony of yelping like a Chinese man after spilling soy sauce. I didn't pick up on that. Kikoman is just so natural to me. I was eating with chopsticks too, fuckoff people.

But to clarify to those of you that may not know, I am half Chinese half Mexican, which basically means I'm smart, I wear glasses, and I tan well. I just want to make it clear that I"m not pure Asian. Not that I'm ashamed of my culture, I'd just rather not be associated with those people.

And I don't make fun of Mexicans cuz they may kill me.

Saturday, May 07, 2005

Am I crazy?

"I tried to have an imaginary friend when i was younger but I just couldn't fool myself, damnit. I tried very hard, I named him Max, but deep down i always knew he wasn't there."

"Max was there, babe, you just weren't looking in the right places."

What a sweet response, huh?

Brushing the insider metaphors aside though, I don't see myself embarking on a spiritual "journey" anytime soon. I'm what most would call "spiritually blind" or "spiritually stunted", if alliteration toots your horn. There is of course a certain part of me that would think it nice to believe death is only the middle - rush me to my grave, an eternal waterpark of slippery good fun awaits my morally unflinching soul. But what now... snap my fingers and believe?

I don't suppose I can. I don't suppose I'd want to. More importantly, I don't suppose I need to.

Whether God does or does not exist has no bearing on my life or emotions. I suppose one could ask how I could even know that, but I was indeed a believer at one point, and I know all too well the difference between a belief and an outlook, the latter being far more important. In a sense I do not care. Although I on one hand I do, because I love thinking about the possibility of God and higher reality, but its not a push and pull in the sense that most would think, where I want to believe but can't. Although people like that do exist and its an everyday struggle, I suggest they take up Tai-bo or something.

I like to let people be with their beliefs, despite all the flak I've gotten for my own, because to be quite honest I think I see certain things most people just do not see. I suppose a believer could say the same towards me, and this is probably where I'd get a bit pretentious and say, "trust me, I'm good at this shit". And I'm always willing to explain myself.

But what I don't enjoy is how people tend to play Freud. This angers me a bit. How people have their parsimonies, their projections, their hasty character analysis. It all somehow explains, quite tidily to themselves, why I haven't taken on their beliefs. And I don't like having my motives questioned! I've been called fearful, overly proud, ignorant, blind, a fucking idiot, the list goes on. But this all hurts me as much as it hurts Brad Pitt to be called ugly. It doesn't.

Regardless though, it's frustrating that I can't win because my intentions are constantly misconstrued. I'm "too young", or if I say "I don't care" people think I haven't given enough thought. If I say I've given it plenty of thought, people think I'm thinking too much. If I bring science into it, they say science isn't everything. If I say "blow me", they won't blow me because I"m an atheist. I can't win.

It's the fact that I can't convey my sincerity that disturbs me because like I said, I like to be understood, and I don't like to be misunderstood as one who misunderstands, because I am a very understanding individual. I understand the dangers of observer bias, ad hominem attacks, dichotomous thinking, which is why I'm nonpartisan - so I don't give a shit enough to be tempted to be fallacious in the first place. My approach to truth isn't to take sides and partake in the shit flinging but instead, to listen to both sides and think, "I could do better".

I was at the Ghetty museum with a friend, examining a painting by a man who's name I can't care to remember. We were discussing it. While he pondered the details, I imagined the guy with his brush clasped between his fingers, stroking his chin, pondering how he could make every stroke somehow relate to his genius vision. Or maybe he was simply going by feel. What was it? I looked to my friend and asked, "What does it mean?".

Later we were outside in the garden and I saw an curious looking flower. We stood there looking at it, taking it in not for its beauty but for something... everything else. Once again I turn to my friend and ask, "But yes, what does it mean?".

Being one of religion he smiled, but I was just humoring him. I guess I have my own private fascination with knowing that, perhaps some questions aren't there to be asked.

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

It's Chill Don't Even Trip

Every once in a while I get made fun of for using non-whiteboy lingo, but it's so natural to me I don't even notice. Like today I was tutoring this 8th grade girl at my old elementary school, coincidentally helping her with English, and I said quite naturally, "Oh that's chill don't even trip". She looks at me all inquisitive-like and says, "Damn are you ghetto or something?". Hahaha. I suppose I am... I suppose I am. Then I made her do 500 standards for giving me lip.

Actually I'm far from ghetto, I may drink the occasional 40 ounce and smoke an occasional blunt, but that's just how we muhfuckin' do it down here.

On the contrary, I also get lip every once in a while for using words that are too big. Fuck, get off me people. I don't even use big words, everybody else just uses dinky ones. I'm aware that large words are unecessary in day to day conversation, so using them would be considered pretentious, unless they were spoken with a British accent, because then that would just seem rather fucking cool and intellectual. But what some don't seem to understand is that I use whatever word comes quickest to me, and if that word just so happens to suggest that I am a vocabulary baller, so be it. I'll try to finder a smaller word, just so I don't come off the wrong way, but that takes a bit of time to think about. Then I gotta think, "What Would Honkie Say".

So thus the duality of Greg's vocabulary emerges. Somewhat indicative of the duality of Greg himself. I can fit in with many a crowd. For example, I was talking to a black person today. A black person! Haha I joke I've known many-a-black person, I live in LA for fuck's sake. I know Mexicans too. It's just bound to happen if you live down here. I mean, if I lived in India I'd know alot of Indians and I'd eat alot of rice. If I lived in China I'd eat with chopsticks and lose my girlfriend in crowds of people. Cuz they all look the same and shit.

It's just in the cards... It's just in the cards.

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Honkie Talk

This whole Honkie epidemic in America is starting to bug me. I hate honkies. Sure, they've always been around so its really the media's fault for making it seem like the honkiness has grown when its really just honkie coverage that's rising. But I'm not here to make amends. Screw ignorant honkies.

Earlier today I was thinking what it would be like to be ignorant. I'm curious to this subject because ignorance is so elusive to me. I tried to capture its essence by asking myself shit like, "What Would Honkie Do?". I'm not quite sure how to answer that. Would I drink my Pabst Blue Ribbon and beat my wife? Ask my sister to pop the whitehead on my back cuz, "It's prime time baby and they don't come that juicy everyday". Or maybe I would just scratch my balls and smell my hand. I dunno... It's a daunting question. What is it like to be an ignorant honkie?

I felt I should first ponder the antithesis to ignorance; awareness and understanding. Comedian Lenny Bruce once said something I liked, it was revolutionary thinking for his time in the 50's. He said,

"Now, I wonder about that other point of view. I figure that the reason I could lose perspective, is perhaps that I think a certain way, so naturally I don't get people to come [to my show] who think a different way. No art form ever attracts an opposite, so maybe there's a whole group of people that think this way, so its not correct thinking, its just a group thinking". He later went to talk about how he pissed in the sink.

Hell yeah Lenny you tell them. I wonder what the honkies would have thought. Time for another oxycontin? Fuckit I'm too tired to talk about how much I hate honkies. Plus its not like I can blame them too much, especially by my own philosophy, because if they had the ability to think non-honkie shit, they would. Stupid is as stupid does. I wonder how the world would be different if Buddhism was the predominant religion in the south. Probably alot less honked out. Or maybe Buddhism is too much to grasp for these crackers. Let the gay people marry for Chrissakes. Damn honkies.

On that note, click here. But don't forget to leave a comment on how much you hate honkies first. The old partner in crime, Hiro, started blogging again. He needs some readers. Goodnight children.

Sunday, May 01, 2005

Oh no he's getting all "chic" on us

I suppose everybody's biggest fear would be dying alone, as if dying weren't bad enough. Just a little recognition would be nice. A little mourning. I don't think I'm the first one to imagine what my own funeral would be like. I'd be watching in from above, listening to what kind words people have to say about me, everyone weeping uncontrollably, even the little babies would be crying, or maybe they just wanted their pacifier.

But I wonder how many of those people in the crowd would have truly understood me. It is such a liberating form of recognition; to be understood. To know another sees more than just a part, is drawn in by more than just some appealling mannerisms, or looks, and that they can take in the whole even if they can't relate to it or understand the whys. It was a good weekend, an excellent weekend, but interspersed between my moments of pointless flirting and drunken unintelligability was a thought. Just give me a nice setting, a cigarette, some coffee, and a beautiful woman with a beautiful brain sitting across from me.

We wouldn't need to be talking about profound things, by all means flirt a little, leave your brain at the door and don't look back. But I love the feeling I get when in the presence of someone I see eye to eye with. There is so much unspoken understanding and mutual acknowledgement. I'll crack a smile when carefully selected words hint at some grand understanding, as if precisely behind these symbols, tangled in some abstract mess where words serve no justice, a beautiful connection between two people lies.

I'm starting to hate this post because I'm basically saying, in the most roundabout way possible, that despite all my friends and all the fun I have, there's a part of me that just wants someone to connect with, and even more, to call my own. That sounds like such a chic thing to say, I do hope nobody I know reads this. I'm just ready, I suppose. Maybe I'm just trying to find some closure to my past. From all the repugnant shit I used to put into my body, and from all the loved ones I hurt by breaking their trust, over and over, the finances down the drain, the false friendships, the not giving a shit about anyone but myself. Fuck all that.

I want someone to tell me to quit smoking too, damnit.