Lesbians will burn in hell

Today I got on the brown-line EL train in order to get down to the Daley Center and go to my Trial Ad class. I got on one of the newer carriages, sat down, and saw a lovely message written on the side by me.

The other side of the train had graffiti about the cubs that is too nasty to share

There were a few things wrong with this message.

1) It matched the fabric on the seats. I mean, if you're going to be offensive, you should not make your filth so aesthetically pleasing. The sort of nice writing, evenly spaced out, matching the fabric kind of lettering should really be reserved for meaningful comments.

2) Why use the word "lesbians"? You would think someone with such strong anti-lesbian feelings would be appraised of some nasty words for lesbians. Assuming it is a hatred just directed at leasbians, and not the gay community at large... why didn't the author use a word like "Dykes"? Now I have an image of a redneck, in a bowler hat. Refined slimeball.

3) Go back to Alabama you piece of shit.

Mike Paulin: A Terrifying Individual

Today I make a Public Service Announcement about Michael R. Paulin. This man is a terrifying individual and you should avoid him at all costs. I have known Mike for about a decade now, and not a day has gone by where I have not feared for my life or sanity.

Where is your God now?

Mike has been my roommate for the past 2 1/2 years, and my life has just become scarier and scarier. A few weeks ago, I was laying on the couch watching TV with Meg, who was sitting in a chair. I started rocking back and forth for some reason, looked over to Meg, and she asked me if we were having an earthquake. I noticed that Meg was rocking back and forth not under her own power. Beyond Meg I saw the light stand and DVD rack rocking back and forth. Turns out we were not in an Earthquake, but Mike was rocking the entire apartment from his bedroom. He was moving me and Meg back and forth where we were sitting, from the other side of the building. Mike Paulin was getting his freak on, and it was earthshaking.

Feel the super retarded power of Mike's manhood

So that's it basically, Mike f***ed both of his roommates, Meg and I will never be the same. We live in constant fear. You think I'm paranoid? Here's a message I got today from Mike via gmail:

Hey Ed, let's play hide and go rape tonight.
You hide.

I might be the only thing stopping Mike from being unleashed upon the world. I think I might deserve the congressional medal of honor. Meg should probably get a purple heart too. Pray for us.

Winning his favourite game...

A Rant about someone's Penis and Balls

So we all know about compensation right? It's where a guy is upset about the size of his penis, and does something to counterbalance that by putting forward an obnoxious display of power. Some people do it by working out until their penis really doesn't show, some people do it by being really arrogant, and some people do it by buying larger cars than they need.

The Germans have been doing it for years

Last week I saw the biggest compensation device of my life as I was driving to the dentist. I pulled up behind a LARGE SUV. There were a few stickers on the back of it. One was an Army sticker, one was a firefighter sticker, and one was a Jesus sticker. All three of which were clearly for compensation. He also had something done to his wheels apparently, had those big rims going on. Poor guy, I wonder if he even has 3 inches worth?

Then I saw something that made me feel horrible for the guy. Usually when you compensate, you are upset about your shaft dimensions, and so you do something really over the top and phallic to make up for it. Clearly, he had done that. However, there was something more... something... terrifying. Hanging from the back of his SUV were a pair of balls. Not like, spherical balls. These were TESTICLES. Yes, roughly human sized metallic testicles. It was like looking at an not neutered bulldog from behind.

Where did these balls come from? Is it a southern thing? I bet it's a fucking southern thing. The poor bastard not only has an itty bitty peenie, he also has TINY BALLS! I for one would be glad to have tiny balls if I had a tiny penis. Certainly, there would be less of the peeing all over your own gonads problem, right? This guy however was not satisfied with mitigating his lack of penis size, he felt the need to also let the ladies know that he was sorry for his lack of ball mass, and he would try extra hard to be a jackass to make it up to them.

Why the south will never rise again

Jason Voorhees, a reflection

Last night I saw Friday the 13th (the new one) in theaters. I've never seen any of the movies in the Friday the 13th series, but having seen this one, I might be interested to. It wasn't really a "scary" movie per se, it was kid of gory at times, perhaps a little disturbing (see: girl cooked alive inside a sleeping bag), but overall not a very nightmare inducing movie.

Why hello there

I like Jason Voorhees, the hero of the movie, because I feel I relate to him on some levels. For one, he and I both own machetes and hockey masks. We both care for our mothers, we both had some trouble socializing during parts of our childhood, and we both have a problem with adrenaline apparently.

One of my greatest admirations for Jason is his proficiency and respect for the blade. Yes he's a psychopath hunting people down with a machete, but he has really refined his skill with the hacking cleaver into an art. He makes it look beautiful, and I have to credit him for that. Jason also makes good use of anything else cool to kill someone with, most notably tools/weapons of a melee nature, with which he shows a great proficiency.

Jason's expertise does not end here however, as he demonstrates in the most recent movie- he is an expert archer. He also shows that he is great with psychological warfare, and is a very resilient combattant.

This movie had a ton of boobs. Boobs everywhere pretty much. Perhaps Jason doesn't like boobs all over the place, and thats why he kills everyone who disturbs his den of evil? Although I like a lot of things about Jason, there was a worrying part of the movie RE: Boobs. The asshole of the movie said something like "I really like how your nipples look, and their placement on your chest". I fear that I might be the jackass in a horror-movie-type situation, and therefore die one of the more greusome deaths. It's hard for me to accept, but I might be the dudebro douchebag type that gets really selfish, abandons everyone, and then gets love made to him with a chainsaw.

We're fucked, bro

I was pretty worried about the prospect of being that dudebro who gets it hard, if/when my life turns in to a horror film. However, I know this won't happen, and here's why:

I am such a vengeful person, that as soon as a group of us/friends started getting attacked by a psychopath, I would just up the ante and go more psycho on him. In a Jason-like situation, I think I would find myself a machete and go at it... Jason Style, on Jason. Now, maybe I would die in the process, but it certainly ensures that I just get my head cut off rather than getting violated with gardening shears.

I've certainly been in many situations where a horror movie was ABOUT to start, and then failed to. It was as if fate was opening the door, preparing to usher me in to a horrific 24 hour long horror escapade, then realized who it was, and quickly shut the door on me. This might not have so much to do with me, so much as that every time I was about to enter a horror sequence, Mike Paulin was with me. Is he the one attracting the trouble... or making sure it doesn't happen? I don't know.

A few examples of horror about to start:
1) Driving to Minneapolis with Mike sometime in 2005, where we drove by a house in the middle of nowhere in northern Iowa. The house was completely dark, except for a spire that had a single light on. In the spire was some kind of person/creature rocking violently in a rocking chair. It was below freezing outside, and about 11 at night. Now, had the horror escapade not failed to launch, I'm sure Mike's car would have broken down, and there would have been a long tortured chain of events involving basements, and crypt monsters, and torture rooms. However, whatever was in the rocking chair apparently looked out at its prey, noticed it was me and Mike, and kind of awkwardly turned it's head and just hoped we'd go on without noticing.

2) At Mary's, with the screen... it's so hard to describe but anyone who was there will tell you there was something evil that wanted to kill us. Basically, there was a projector screen, and the projector lost power. So there was nothing being projected.... but there was still something on the screen, from no apparant source. It was an evil face, and it was about to suck our souls into a torture unfathomnable by mortals. However, it saw me and Mike and said "shit... fuck this".

3) 8 Years worth of Mike's Basement. The stale cheeseballs on their own could have started a horror film.

These are just a few examples, they happen all the time- usually with Mike around. It's either got to be that the evil spirits fear us, respect us, or can't be bothered with us. Maybe it's like a Union contract, and we're marked to become psycho killer horror fiends ourselves, and so they won't mess with one of their own. Either way, Mike Paulin is haunted.

The moral of the story is this: If anyone wants to go camping by a lake that is supposedly haunted, I think we'll be fine. 1) I can out-Jason Jason. 2) I am not actually the douchebag dudebro, 3) I don't have a penchant for getting my female friends to go around topless, 4) Mike will both attract and repel all evil spirits, and 5) Stella wouldn't stand for it.

Mike and Ed? I'm not fucking with those guys...