Everybody always makes money in Vegas always.

Thoughts on Lost

Watching Lost regularly, I try to avoid the hype or "the experience" as much as possible. There's no sense wasting additional hours on a television show that you can't even trust the writers on. For instance, didn't Charlie conquer his fear of death last week? And of course, the foot. A sketch from the guys at Olde English embody how I feel.


That said, I do have some predictions. They aren't based on any advanced search, like I said, I don't partake in the online cryptology. I really just want to have these posted for braggin right if any come true. I wanna be able to say "told you so" if anything is correct.

First: John will join the others, if he is not indeed one already. He wants so much to belong.

Second: Desmond is an agent of the others. His clever visions of Charlie's death may be something more. For instance, the tagged bird he grabbed, what if it was island domesticated? His gunshots to scare off the birds was to scare off the actual migrating birds that could have carried the message. The domesticated bird is not fearful in the hands of humans, and will take Claire's message all the way to the other island, and no further.

Third: And this is the big one. I hope someone else has formulated this theory before, as it should be obvious.

Jack's Dad is the Leader of the others.

He has intertwined with a large amount of backstories of folks from the crash so far. Also, they never found his body in the coffin. What if it was a ploy to get Jack to Australia, to get him on board Oceanic Flight 815, to get him to the island. The "visions" Jack sees of his father are actually real.

Anyway, that's what I'm thinking thus far. Let's see if one day I can say "I told You so." Either way, I really want them to address that foot statue.

In one hour, I will be born....21 Years Ago.

Followup to 3/9 (3/12)

So I found out the name of the kid that punched Derek for attempting to high-five him, then suckerpunched me when I intervened. Tom Murphey is the douchebag's name, so I looked him up. He's a senior, he's irish, and he loves sports, but he's not in a frat.

My mistake.

I think a frat would have at least taught him the simple probability of challanging three guys to a fight who are bigger than you with no provocation.

Apparently, he was going to the party we were leaving. I was telling my story at the ISR dining hall today, and a large number of people at the table were at the party I was orginally at. They drew the connections when I mentioned a short, raspy, d-bag, who enjoyed calling people pussies.

I'm happy to report he showed up without the girl. This leads me to believe the girl hates d-bags, or even if she gets hot for hyper-masculine behavior, his failure lessened him in her eyes. Either way, thats long term victory #1.

When he showed up at the ISR party, he was claiming he was jumped! Haha. He also said he woke up from being knocked out in the mud. Perhaps I did knock him out, and maybe he forgot all about how the fight started, and only witnesses three kids leaving the scene.

And, according to the people I was talking to, he was going around slapping girls' asses, and picking fights with guys at the party. Apparently it was Tom Murphey vs. the world.

They threw him out of the party, and when he didn't leave, they called the cops. World on the street is that he spent the night in jail. Victory #2.

If I see this guy again, making a ruckus at some party, I fully intend on subduing him, and then literally teaching him a lesson about the way the world works. Like really drain in that just because he's short, ugly, and balding, he can't just go around picking fights against innumerable odds.

HAHAHAHA

Historical Comedy

I want to write a comedy movie based somewhere in America's Early History. Possibly Declaration of Independance time (1492) or something.

Regardless, it is going to be grossly historically innacurate.

I'm going to touch on the subjects of Revloution, Slavery, and Manifest Destiny.

And there will be one scene where I need to get somewhere quickly, so I throw some woman out of her horse and buggy, Grand Theft Auto style.

She will shout : "You can't do that!"

And I will respond: "I'm a white, male, land-owning citizen."

"I can do whatever the fuck I want!"

Trapped in the (Water) Closet (3/10)

I went to my friend John's coctail party last night. He has a wonderful single bedroom apartment; very posh, very classy.

I was holding it down with some cranberry juice, when it finally worked its urinary tract magic and I had to pee.

I enter his bathroom, and proceed to spend nearly two minutes messing around with the latch to get the door locked. It was a really wierd mechanism in which you had to spin a disk counter-clockwise to lock the door. I additionally had to manipulate teh door so the lock would fit in the slot.

After I do my business, I washed up and prepared to head back out to the party. You can guess what was in store for me.

I could not get the door unlocked! Being claustrophobic, I immediately began to sweat. I turn around to find there are no windows in this bathroom; no escape. I try again and again, twisting it in both directions. My thoughts turn to, what if I am stuck in here until a locksmith comes. I probably would have broken the door first.

I pound excitedly on the door. After a couple repetitions, the outside world hears my claustrophobic cries. Derek gets John in hopes he knows the secrets to his lock.

He doesn't.

Just as I get the most frantic I could become, I accept my linoleum mausoleum; my casket tub.

And this, my friends, is when the lock came undone.

Freedom never felt so sweet.

So of course I stroll out as if nothing happened.

Everyone is Crazy (3/9)

There was a pink ooze flowing under the streets of Urbana Friday night.

Walking to a party, Derek called for a high five from some Broseph, only to get punched in the stomach. I stepped between Derek and Brose Cuervo, trying to break it up, and when my head was turned, Bromagnun man SUCKERPUNCHES me in the eye. It didn't hurt and I am easily able to dodge this frat drunk's additional punches, I get a couple in, and we tussle to the ground. I'm on my back. When I realize he's not doing anything, because Derek and Stu were fish-hooking and tugging his hoodie, I throw a couple more in, and kick him off me. I put a choke hold on Brodney Dangerfield that I know for a fact is barred in pro wrestling. So I guess he starts to turn purple, Derek, Stu, and the girl Broner was with are pleading with me to stop, so I take him and throw him back in the mud. We begin walking away, and in typical bro-fashion, Broke stands up and starts challenging us again, walking towards us. I'm sick of his advances, and we just happened to pass an area rich in rocks, so, being without sin, I begin to hurl these rocks at the stupid Bromethius. I eventually peg him, and he eventually subsides, and walks away. Probably to bang or beat up that slut he was with.

Damn Frat Fucks.

So we're maxing at this party, I'm going around, bragging about my victory, icing my sucker punched eye for effect. Then, somehow, my friend Brock (not a bro term, new person) offends some stupid bimbo that happened to have big boobs. She follows him into every room, trying to verbally harass him, also trying to recruit guys to fight him fight for her. You should have seen this girl's eyes. She. Was. Insane. Well, eventually she is able to admit Brock is an engineer in exchange for him apologizing for saying she had big boobs.

I am as confused as you.

Then, as things are starting to calm down, some girl busts in to the party; asking if anyone inside can break up a fight outside. By now, I am a seasoned veteran of getting in the middle of fights, so I volunteer. I step outside to find two girls engaged in a harsh catfight, and no one is really stopping it from happening. So I grab the nearest girl to me and pull her back; trying to talk some sense to her. A particularly angry member of the opposing girl's team is on the edge of the porch, and we begin discussing how nobody wants to fight. He informs me of five hick friends next door that he doesn't want to have to call on. I repeat our earlier sentiment that no one wants to fight. But, I suppose at this point, the floodgates of adrenaline let loose, and he decides arbitrarily that Derek, in fact, wants to fight.

No he doesn't.

I have deja vu from about 2 hours prior and realize I don't want to be between Derek and another Douchebag. Meanwhile, the opposing girl is below the balcony standing in the driveway. She (an Asian girl) is insisting that I am a racist for restraining the girl (white) nearest me. Then a brown guy joins her rally, and adds that I am a member of the kkk. I have never felt more odd and prejudiced in my life. There's no way to persuade these people that what their saying is unfounded, because apparently I'm on team racist. I thought of a NOFX song from way back, so I begin singing; "I'll accept responsibility for what I've done, but not for who I am. Don't call me white, don't call me white."

What I don't understand is that they live at a house with supposedly five hicks waiting to fight.

So, being racially othered over my left shoulder, I turn back to the balcony, where the angry idiot from team Hick/Not Racist is jonsing for a fight. I'm pleading with this guy to not fight standing between him and Derek. I watch him grab a bottle and attempt to smash it on the side of the balcony. I am thinking "Is this happening??" His plan backfires, luckily, and the bottle falls out of his hand. Being without his phallic symbol lessons his will to fight. That, and the fact a police spotlight hits the balcony. I'm thinking "Thank God, the authorities, now I can finally leave this party." I zip up my muddy hoodie; hop a fence a peace out.