Monday, July 31, 2006

Yet Another Complaint About The Weather  

Three months ago, the Heat was too busy pulling in their NBA Championship. With that goal accomplished, and a couple months of off-season staring it straight in the face, I'm beginning to think that the heat has made it a personal goal to torment me.

That's right, I'm blaming the heat for the stuff falling off my car. What stuff you ask? I don't know because I don't know cars. But I DO know that when double sided duct tape is holding things together, no matter what car you are driving, it is officially ghetto. And when half the muffler is dragging along the ground, and the other half needs to be kicked off so that the muffler can be placed in the trunk for the rest of the drive home, then no matter what car you are driving, it is frustratingly ghetto.

On a side note, I'd like to take this opportunity to blame the heat for making me lose my keys, including the key to my ghetto Jetta. I'd also like to blame heat for global warming (I don't care if it's supposed to be the other way around).

The main reason I am losing this battle against heat is because of the lack of information. Yes, I plead ignorance. If we make such a concerted effort to educate children on the perils of drugs/alcohol/sex, I don't see why we can't start spreading the word on how to counter-act deadly heat.

And to fault are the friendly, but rather useless weathermen and women of the world. So allow me to conclude this post with a list, because I haven't done one of these in a while and everybody loves lists:

Three Things I Need To Know That I Don't Know That The Weathermen/women Should Know To Let Me Know:

(what?)

1. The ACTUAL temperature.
It's a rather simple concept. But go take a look at weathernetwork.com. You see the temperature? Yeah? OR DO YOU. Take a look to your right, and now notice the "Feels Like:" line. Apparantly weather has small print that needs to be read carefully too. Look at all that excessive junk. Honestly I really could care less if the actual temperature is -20 degrees but because of the effects of massive global warming and whatever else it'll be warmer. If it's going to feel like 50 degrees, tell me STRAIGHT UP that it'll feel like 50 degrees.

2. How many minutes it'll take me to fully cook a medium sized chicken by placing it on a rotating stick in my car.
Because I'm telling you, it's an oven in there, and if I don't want the heat to get to me, then I better be well distracted. And what's better than rotisserized chicken? Outside of free money, there really is no compelling argument to be had.

An addendum to number two is:
2a. How many minutes my A/C needs to be running before I can safely enter my vehicle.
Because nobody likes a guy with permanent burn marks scorched onto his body at every contact point with his car. On the scale of attractiveness, this is the equivalent of a person that cannot do simple addition. Seriously. If you cannot add 3 and 5 together, you need to stay away from me. I may hit you, in the throat.

3. How much water I need to drink to prevent hallucination due to dehydration.
Haven't you heard of those stories where people are dying of thirst in a desert and they see a supposed oasis ahead of them so they exhaust their remaining energy crawling towards it, and upon reaching their destination, they discover it was just another dune of sand? Same idea, but replace desert with my oven-car, and dune of sand with brick wall.

I just thought of one more.
4. Players I should select in my fantasy sport pools.
It's my list, my name is ButtugMcOysty and this is Stupefying Stupidity.

Did I really just link to myself twice in one sentence? That really is fantastic.

I seem to have catastrophic luck with the players I draft. For example, everybody I decided to rest my hopes upon for this baseball season decided to get good at another sport, whether it be the sport of STRIKING-OUT-EVERY-OTHER-AT-BAT or the highly dangerous sport of CONTRACTING-A-MYSTERIOUS-DISEASE-THAT-HAS-BEEN-EXTINCT-FOR-500-YEARS.

I have shared, and I have cared.

Read More...

posted by Buttug McOysty . 6:00 PM .


Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Crazy Cowboys  

Call me a chamaeleon if you will, or perhaps the Pokemon "Ditto", but my blogging style has evolved over the years. I know I have flip flopped all over the place in terms of how I structure a specific post (you call it indecisiveness, I call it versatility). Also I seem to have become extremely long-winded during this aging process. But in terms of actual content, I have exerted an extreme amount of extra effort to not post about "who I hung out with today" or "every-other-detail-that-never-needs-to-see-the-light-of-blog-day", along with amazing alliterations and allusions to all things pop-culture.

For better or worse, the years have taken a toll, and my hard-liner stance has eroded into a softer style. And because I fully believe that sharing is caring, let the sharing commence forth hither (if the use of these words in combination with each other are very offensive to you, feel free to go away now).

Tonight, I met up with a dear old friend of mine, gosh I must've known her for forever, as FAR back as I can remember, all way back in ... high school.

My memory is as short as a certain ex-housemate of mine. About 5 feet, on a good day.

Of course, when meeting up with long-lost friends that you have not seen for a few years, other than a few small encounters that included a "Hi" and a "We'll catch up sometime", one must prepare for the inevitable trading of five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred questions, prying into every small nook and cranny of the other person's life.

And there's always that one nagging question that comes up, the one that causes everyone to beat around the bush, searching for that elusive "right time", because it is slightly embarassing and may alter the course of the friendship forever.

Tonight, I was asked that question.

Jokingly of course, and I took no offense. But I know y'all will find it plenty amusing.

"Buttug, are you gay?" (names have been changed to protect the innocent me)

NOT A GOOD LOOK.

Apparantly I couldn't stop gushing about how great it was to live with four guys that bonded pretty quickly and how we had our spats but in two years we never had a major falling out, coupled with a lot of late night talks and how we supported one another through hard times with hugging and the occasional hair-stroking that NEVER HAPPENED, and how we could spend all the lazy afternoons together just kickin it, and even if there was a silence, it would be one of those "good" silences and not an "awkward" one, signifying the comfortability around one another, and how we will be friends forever and how we were perfect for each other and everything else mushy.

Stop me. Please.

Hence, forthwith, the phrase "No Brokeback" will now be used regularly and spectacularly here at Stupefying Stupidity.

Pretty self-explanatory, but just for refernece, it'd probably go a little something like this.

"Hey everybody minus you, go check out that Lupe Fiasco - I Gotcha joint because it's hot. I LOVE that Lupe Fiasco. Ahem. No Brokeback."

You have just been edumacated.

Read More...

posted by Buttug McOysty . 11:59 PM .


Friday, July 21, 2006

In Honor of Stupid Childrens!  

Stuttering while talking to the girl of your dreams. Walking into a pole during your fifteen seconds of fame because you were too focused on waving to the camera while walking past a taping of the news on your local television channel. Scoring "very feminine" on one of those very retarded Internet test thingies, while your friends intently watch on. Proudly and loudly yelling out "5" when answering the question "What is two plus two?".

Embarassing.

But more embarassing than all of the above - watching your own baby videos in the company of people you know.

Watching by yourself would be considered sad. Watching with others will send blood to your face faster than said girl of your dreams telling you that "she loves you lots".

Under no circumstances are you to watch your own baby videos. Actually, any video of you before the age of social and self consciousness should be stored away in the vault with all random gross collections of toenails.

I need a moment.

Okay let's go again.

There is one big exception, that being the video will cinematically exonerate yourself. Walk with me.

My dad had been spreading stories about how I was such an idiot when I was younger, that one time I decided to go down the slide feet first...

...on my stomach.

So you know when you reach the end, how the slide levels out (just like a hockey stick...is it sad that I'm thinking about hockey in the middle of July?). Apparantly if you go down on your stomach feet first, your forehead gets introduced to the leveled out section of the slide. Think about it, it's simple physics. The force of gravity coupled by the displacment of an idiot kid equals work a job well done.

Watching the video, I cringed everytime I watched myself slide down the slide, thinking that that would be it. I must've gone down the same slide twenty times, in five minutes. Yes, the golden years when I had the energy. Now when I glance at a slide, I get tired.

And then, it happened.

My brilliant brother goes down the slide, on his stomach, feet first. Then he proceeds to smash his forehead into the level section of the slide and then starts bawling.

Did I mention how much I loved my baby/kid videos.



He may be smiling now, but in about two seconds, there's going to be some smashing good fireworks.

Smashing.

Read More...

posted by Buttug McOysty . 9:44 PM .


Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Smells like Dessert, or Should I Say ... Deserted  

I realize that the only acceptable excuses for not updating my blog regularly would involve Guantanamo Bay, or my career as a hip-hop artist, or the Internet committing suicide.

My excuse, I have relatives that came all the way from Orlando (with a small stopover in Calgary, Alberta) and thought it'd be funny to surprise me at my doorstep.

My BLACK cousins.

It officially makes me 1/125th blackenese.

It doesn't have to make sense. It has to make dollars. Unfortunately, because I skipped out on the previous family reunion, I do not have very up to date photographic evidence. All the old stuff is practically glued to photo albums over which my mother would club a baby seal before letting me rip a photo from there for the purposes of proving it to my online friends. That's you.

They'll be gone soon, and not coincidentally, I'll be back here soon enough.

Read More...

posted by Buttug McOysty . 11:27 PM .


Thursday, July 13, 2006

Outta Core Control  

You won't be productive for the next 30 minutes. Go for coffee, come back and read this Buttugly-lengthed post, edition number I-lost-count. That might be a running theme.

I rarely post about the mundane events that occur in my daily life. Once upon a time, I decided to write down only the most outrageously extraordinary events here at Stupefying Stupidity.

Like today, when I ate a salad for lunch.

Voluntarily

Please hold your applause until the end; I still have a lot more post to get through.

Allow me to quickly take you through an outline (aka I cut out the crap for you) of a typical day in the life of the most highly aawesome ButtugMcOysty:

20 minutes of sitting in the car on the drive into work, battling my tendency to fall back asleep
4 hours of sitting in my cubicle jail doing work, battling morning cheeriness in other people
30 minutes of sitting outside in the sun and scorching heat for lunch, battling my sweat glands
4 hours of sitting in my cubicle jail battling itis*
30 minutes of sitting in the car on the drive home from work, battling bad drivers and TTC buses trying to merge
7 hours of sitting in front of the television/computer/drum-kit, battling the deafening silence in my house
7 hours of lying unconscious on my back, battling dragons, political correctness, and misuses of the phrase 'Catch-22'

What the heck. I have 40 minutes of my day un-accounted for. Someone's cooked my books. I had nothing to do with anything. You can't pin this on me. Screw it, if Ken Lay (the Enron guy) can die an innocent man, then maybe I will follow suit.

Just kidding. Come back, sit down, I haven't even started yet.

Yes, the hugely obvious common theme that runs through my typical week-day is the fact that I get fat because I do a tremendous amount of sitting. Sitting in and of itself is not harmful, just like clubbing. But when you couple the tremendous amount of sitting with the tremendous amount of eating I tend to do, bad things happen. Just like when you couple clubbing with drinking.

You get fools dancing to songs like Lil Jon's "Snap Yo Fingers" and 50 Cent's "Candy Shop".

Neither here, nor there, nor anywhere, but probably a future post.

I finally took it upon myself to do something about my expanding gut, and today for the first time ever in the history of organized sports, yours truly, ButtugMcOysty stepped foot into a Core Control class.

I thought I told you to hold your applause.

I proceeded to get owned for the next forty or so minutes (so THAT'S where the missing 40 went). By (from the looks of it) forty year old women no less.

I was just waiting for the moment the instructor would call me out for not doing the exercises properly. "Hey, hey you in the back, the Butt-Ugly one. That isn't a glider (actually makes sense if you know the position your body stays in for this particular exercise). That's a sit-on-your-lazy-@$$."

I have fourteen more months. I'll improve.

Walking up four flights of stairs after the class was a pain. You see (get ready for another edition of Buttugly Mathematics, where I learns you good):

4 flights of stairs, each flight consisting of 20 steps is 80 steps in regular math
4 flights of stairs, each flight consisting of 20 steps is "do you have a calculator" in the math we now teach our childrens
4 flights of stairs, each flight consisting of 20 steps, after you take a core control class for the first tie, is, and correct me if my math is off, 37 bazillion steps too many, and then an elevator ride up the last two floors

My math is mediocre. Once again, I have fourteen more months. I'll improve.

To finish up, let me just say that any robot competition where the object is anything other than completely decimating all other robots to the point of unrecognizability is not worth seeing. Period. I just painfully witnessed three rounds of clearing their allotted section of Lego blocks, but was obligated to refrain from heckling because the robots were designed and programmed by gr. 7-8 girls, who also happened to be excitedly cheering on their robots.

I will leave the crushing of little girls’ spirits to the educational system. The same system that taught me math.

Oh, an automated cleaning robot would be a great present for me, just in case you were wondering. Don't let the going-to-core-control-class thing fool you, I'm still as lazy as can be.

* I'm typing this up in Microsoft Word because it’s so much easier for me to catch my random grammatical/spellatrical/what-the-heck-this-isn't-even-a-word mistakes. Microsoft Word has decided to put a space between the word "itis" (see it just happened again, this would be much more exciting if you witnessed it, or gave it a try yourself) to make it "it is". I hate love Microsoft Word for trying to alter my message. I did not just strike out the word hate and edit in the word love. This thing is smart.

Read More...

posted by Buttug McOysty . 8:57 PM .


Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Dis-Con-Tin-U-Ous  

It's been a quiet week.
Here on the blog, and in real life.
Too quiet.
For some reason, my MSN habits are starting to spill over into other facets of my life.
No, I don't say "LOL" even though I tend to laugh out loud from time to time.
I mean come on, I'm frickin' hilarious ten hundred and two percent of the time.
And when I'm not, I still am.
Can't Stop Won't Stop.
Can't stop I, from drinkin Mai-Tai's, with Ta Ta
Down in Nevada, ha ha, Poppa, word life

Word Life - The equivalent of "I promise", thuganomically speaking.
I think I realized why I have such a hard time listening to Southern rappers.
Other than Field Mob, I think they're superb.
Souther rappers tend to make up so much slang that half the time they don't even know what they're saying (they probably make ish up on the spot), and the other half they're HIGH.
Not here, not there.

On MSN, I tend to hit the "enter" key two billion times before I can finish a thought.
So you get disjointed messages, that are interuppted by messages from the person I am chatting with.
And this works decently when I'm only talking to one person.
But on the rare occasion I have the priviledge of indulging in two conversations at the same time (I know, very counter-intuitive, but hey the Internet is all about breaking down borders, Hi China), I tend to leave thoughts unfinished.

No clue how this blog post will turn out.
I usually type it up in big, overly-long and superflous paragraph format.
We'll all discover together.
Come on, take a ride on the Yellow School Bus.
That slang is brought to you by the Bay Area, courtesy of the Hyphy Movement.
Which is dead.
I think.
Last time I checked.

The Bayview/Sheppard area in the GTA region has now been dubbed the Yay Area.
Represent.

One more for your money.
Did you check out Dave Chappelle yet?
Well, WHAT ARE YOU STILL DOING READING THIS.

Read More...

posted by Buttug McOysty . 9:44 PM .


Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Dave Chappelle Is A Genius  

Listen carefully now.



Brilliant.

Read More...

posted by Buttug McOysty . 10:21 PM .


Chicken Little Says "The GST is Falling!"  

In case you haven't noticed, the G.S.T. has been at 6% since July 1st. That's right, down one whole percent. Thank you very much Canadian government. You have made the mental math much harder on me, or at the very least you are forcing me to learn a new way of calculating the tax.

Can't teach an old ButtugMcOystey new tricks.

Look at that, it's time for a sidenote. Why can't venders put the ACTUAL price on the item, after tax and all? That would make my life easier. Let my brain think about more important things, like things to say to my new cubicle mate all the way from the United Kingdom.

Yeah, jolly good fellow is he. He'll be around for a week (or two if I'm lucky and charming enough). And hopefully now I'll have interesting work related stories to post up here.

Where was I. Right, the tax cut.

Of course, I appreciate any free money that comes my way in any shape or form. But whereas my Tim Horton's medium double double coffee came out to an even $1.25 before the tax reduction, it comes out to a more-awkward-than-my-social-abilities $1.24.

So after one hundred and twenty five coffee's, I will finally feel the effect of the tax being lowered and have a double double on the government.

That is, if I can only quit throwing my pennies at little kids that have suddenly invided my place of work and into my cubicle garbage can when I'm really bored.

Tomorrow, the cup of coffee is on an Intern friend, who bestowed upon me a One-Dollar gift certificate to Tim Horton's, bless her good heart.

And you thought I couldn't make real friends.

Read More...

posted by Buttug McOysty . 12:39 AM .


Monday, July 10, 2006

Street Fighter - World Cup Styles  



Posting will re-commence soon. I still have lots to say, but no time to scrutinze over every detail. Once I find that, and Waldo, it'll be clear sailing.

Read More...

posted by Buttug McOysty . 5:51 PM .


Wednesday, July 05, 2006

My Momma Always Said  

And STILL says, "Put on your slippers. My floors aren't clean".

But mother, I KNOW they're clean, or at the very least, cleaner than 311 apartment 9, my place of residence for the past two school years. And you know HOW I happen to know them floors are relatively clean?

Well for one, my feet/socks don't come up black at the end of the night.

For two, I'M THE ONE THAT'S DOING THE CLEANING OF THE FLOORS AT HOME. That's right. You heard me. I vacuum, I sweep, I mop, and one of these days I'm going to take a toothbrush to this floor. I do take a certain pride in keeping my floors clean enough SO I CAN WALK AROUND BARE-FOOT IN MY OWN HOME. Comfortability. Hence, the saying, "the comfort of my own home".

For three, Ray Allen, all the way from downtown Seattle. His stroke is impeccable.

And another thing, you know the feeling when your throat is a little dry? And it feels like something's kind of stuck down there, that little bit of that guck that old people love to spit out into those cute, yet so nasty, handkerchiefs and (women don't know this) into urinals?

My mother, while brewing supposed cleansing herbal drinks in the kitchen, would yell "Don't eat anything that will irritate your throat, now put down that over-salted peanut" and "Here, I poured you another glass of water (the fifteenth one in the last half hour), please take a break from your computer and come drink it".

Well, my mother is currently family-reunioning in Calgary (while the rest of her real family is stuck in Toronto, YEAH I SAId IT, I'M HER REAL FAMILY). And today, my throat got to the point where I just couldn't take it anymore. So you know what I did?

I went and bought myself a bag of Original Baked Lays potato chips, and ATE EVERY SINGLE LAST BIT. I even did the ever so popular tilt-your-head-back-and-pour-all-the-chip-bits-into-your-mouth at the end to ensure that only the oil was left smeared on the inside of the bag. And if I had a pair of scissors, well, let's just say, that the oil would've transfered from the inside of the bag to the outside of my face.

And the best part was, my throat instantly cleared up. The oil must've greased the airway because everything felt fresher and clearer after that.

I really do miss my mother, because without her I feel like my regular eating of food will take a hit. Allow me to explore a random sampling of "things I have eaten these last three days" (she's only been gone three, but it seems like four-ever): a banana, a banana nutella sandwich, a pogo stick, a ham sandwich with cream cheese and mustard BLEGH (those two go together as good as Snoop Dogg would sound with Broken Social Scene), a Tim Horton's donut, and some frozen food mommy cooked up before leaving on that jet plane.

And I'm going to paragraph break here for emphasis.

A POGO STICK.

If you feel the need to send food to me, please do. In fact, I expect to see chicken's crossing the road to my house any second now.

Mr. Isaac Newton? Hi, Buttug here. I have a quick question for you, and require your expertise. It'll only take a moment. Thank you.

Why did the chicken cross the road?

"Chickens at rest tend to stay at rest; chickens in motion tend to cross roads."

And with that, I roll along. What a classy note to go out of this post on.

Read More...

posted by Buttug McOysty . 8:43 PM .


I Really Don't Make This Stuff Up  

Received: Today when I got into work

"For those of you who maintain an external presence on blogs, FaceBook, LiveJournal, MySpace, etc please take a minute and review the type of information you are posting for the world to see. Is it the sort of information you'd want your manager / co-workers / future employer to see? Have you posted revealing photos or comments that could be considered inappropriate?

The internet has a way of creating linkages that aren't obvious or expected. If you've had an active party life at school, documented on FaceBook or LiveJournal, and then happily announce that you've got a great job at I**, you've created an implicit link between the two. This profile can be searched by people you currently work with, or your next employer. Recruiters are starting to review these sites to learn more about potential recruits... are you turning them away by your choice of material? Please consider taking a minute to go over your online profiles and clean things up to represent a more professional appearance online."


-courtesy of the friendly folks at EYE BEE MMM

I have incredible, no, ridiculous, still not there yet, judiculous, there we are, 20-20 30-30 foresight. What incredible timing. I live for these moments when I can come back onto my blog and gloat at anyone who thought I was overly paranoid.

See. I was only A LITTLE PARANOID. And a whole lot right.

Read More...

posted by Buttug McOysty . 8:39 PM .


Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Four Day Weekend  

And not just your conventional Friday-Monday Easter-typed long weekend. I'm talking Saturday, Sunday, I-Hate-Monday, and Tuesday. Because the company is special like that.

Allow me to touch on a sidenote here for a second, because as you may have noticed from not skimming the introductory paragraph of this post, I referred to my place of work as "the company". Before I go there, if you're skimming the first paragraph, you're skimming the wrong paragraph, now go take your skimming and apply it to your milk.

I usually have a killer first paragraph, that may or may not have anything to do with the rest of the post, but in theory, I have a good opening to make you read the rest of the crap that is for sure to come in the mid-section, or the gut, of the post.

But that's neither here nor there.

My place of work will no longer be mentioned here, in one of my first steps towards establishing anonymity here on the Internet. And yes, I know I'm fighting an impossible fight, and getting my butt whooped while attempting.

But remember, only you can prevent forest fires.

Especially in this day and age, any employer can quickly Google my name in conjunction with the company's name to hopefully get some dirt on me. Like my opinion on how uncomfortably disgusting it is to see my manager pick his nose while talking to me, yet me being helpless to say anything because, let's face it, hooting and hollering at the elusive fourth dollar digit (---->xxxx.xx) that magically appears in my bank account every two weeks is high up on the list of reasons why I have yet to kick a dog for my frustrations at work.

And I wonder if they have established the google name search as a screening process before even considering interviewees. I doubt it, but if I ever got high enough on the corporate ladder to have the power to hire, I'd implement this policy. Personally, I don't know how many times I've labelled myself a lazy no good using-the-company-for-their-free-pens-and-notebooks-while-taking-their-money-ha employee. I'd only correctly assume that others will show sides not seen in a job interview on their blog.

Again, neither here nor there.

Step two towards anonymity, when googling "Insert My Name Here", this blog no longer shows up as the number one hit. I recently addressed this problem by simply changing the registered name, and now the first real website that shows up is some anime geek that would probably be good friends with my brother because they both love Pop music in foreign languages.

Simplicity combined with effectiveness is a powerful combination. N! choose P is some confusing combinatorics.

Note the "Insert My Name Here" used above, I will never again post up my full name, and will continue to use the weirder, and so-random nicknames that have been bestowed upon me over the years. And I'll try to keep the third person perspectives to a minimum. But that's just how Buttug does it.

I will also personally edit any comments that contain my full name in there, not because I really think it matters, but because I can, and I will.

One more step I will consider taking is that anyone currently linking to me using my full name will be given a cease-and-desist punch in the neck. Although, this step may be under consideration for a while longer because it'd be very hypocritical of me not to remove those full names I have attached to the links over there on the left, and some linkers are not a punch-distance away.

The long road towards being the the ultimate faceless blogger. Fading into the black that is the background color of this blog.

Let me wrap up by pointing out how I have blogged three out of the four days during my long weekend. A weekend well spent.

I think I hear my television and couch calling.

Read More...

posted by Buttug McOysty . 3:01 PM .


Sunday, July 02, 2006

I Know, I Said I Would Post Less  

As advertised, a few of the musically inclined youth led the singing portion of the worship service at my local home church, the NY. CBC.

It's always interesting to watch younger generations start to take ownership of leadership positions you held in the past.

For example, you wonder if a couple years ago, you could sing those songs in those keys.

Those songs were as high as one needs to be while watching your beloved Colorado Avalanche stand idle while other teams stockpile quality players, at the same time having their own stars picked out from under their noses, and STILL think they are going to win the cup.

For example.

Read More...

posted by Buttug McOysty . 11:59 PM .


Saturday, July 01, 2006

Canada Day - Bring On The Fireworks  

I just witnessed two guys get out of their cars and physically beat each other because of a close encounter in traffic. The initiator (at least the guy who jumped out of his car first) was driving a jeep with a Brazil flag on the window.

The Brazilian soccer team had just been ousted in the 2006 World Cup, where they were considered one of the favorites. By the French no less. Yeah, the same French that refused to support George in his conquest of Iraq. Yes, the very same French as our fries.

So I'll cut him some slack. But this is Canada Day. Where I should not be seeing physical fireworks on a busy road, but fireworks exploding in a clear night sky. Where everyone should be celebrating the diversity Canada offers us. Everyone needs to be sharing in the moment, I think I see a baby that needs to be hugged.

And in light of hugging, I owe my blog a hug, because it has been sorely neglected this last week. I'll man up and appologize, I was too busy for it. Come September, when people have filtered back to their respective Universities, I'm sure there will be long lonely nights spent with this blog, posting bitter, bitter posts.

Don't get me wrong, I'll still visit this blog once in a while, Obsessively check the statistics, think over every event that happens in my life to see if it is blog-worthy and post accordingly.

Read More...

posted by Buttug McOysty . 10:13 PM .