Kinetic

I'd also like to go on record as saying that the long post up there was not intended as an insult to Mik, who I have nothing in particular against. I'm just as desperate as any of you to join the growing legions of Bankettes and will stop at nothing until he acknowledges me.

That must be the public school education talking. It's not your fault and I forgive you.

I'd like to go on record as saying that I lead the jet-set lifestyle of a wealthy playboy. In the florid prose of the truly educated, I will now describe for you the unimaginable luxury in which I live my every waking moment: For one thing, my parents are both wealthy beyond your wildest dreams. Croesus blushes when he peers upon their bank statement, and much of that money has been earmarked for my use, thus ensuring that I'll never be forced to work in construction or textiles or grease maintenance like you bottom-dwellers. Their riches and social clout have allowed me to attend and graduate from not just one Ivy League school, but all of them. What's more, I could get an honorary degree from any school in this country faster than any one of you could get the clap from Drunk Suzie down the hall in your fetid state school dorm buildings. Did someone mention women? Well, I've had them all. I took pictures and posted them on the Internet. No, you may not see them. Like stimulated chimps, your fingers--all calloused and blistered from hours spent earning $2.65 impregnating barnyard animals--would creep down your bib overalls and begin engaging in something rather unsavory, as opposed to appreciating the artistry involved in my lovemaking. But rest assured that no amount of effort--no electronic devices, no sordid dates to the laundromat, no pills you ordered after seeing a terribly convincing infomercial on late night television--will ever enable you to pleasure a woman the way my mere glance can. I have pictures. And I've posted them on the internet.

"Leaping" springs to mind. There's also the non-catch in the 99/2000 NFC championship, which, while technically the correct call, was so ridiculous that the NFL actually changed the rule altogether during the ensuing offseason.

Well, the call against Tampa was a little more harmful when you consider that it moved one of the most accurate field goal kickers in the league closer to the goal posts after a rare miss. But it really comes down to it being a really atrocious call that never should have had to have been made in the first place, had Tampa been able to put up any sort of resistance whatsoever in the latter portion of the fourth quarter.

How many times does that shit happen and not get called? I'd wager to say at least once every game, and to hinge the entire outcome of a game on a completely asinine, nit-picky call like that is fucked up at best. Granted, this was the sort of fourth quarter collapse not seen in Florida since Ron Zook's Gators gave up a seemingly insurmountable lead to Miami a few weeks ago, but the game absolutely should not have ended with that penalty affecting the outcome. And all of this criticism of the Tampa Bay defense is unwarranted, as far as I'm concerned. One bad quarter shouldn't make all of their other many accomplishments negligible.

Minnesota Vikings Buffalo Bills New Orleans Saints Oakland Raiders Dallas Cowboys Seattle Seahawks Kansas City Chiefs Tennessee Titans Miami Dolphins San Diego Chargers Philadelphia Eagles San Francisco 49ers Pittsburgh Steelers Tampa Bay Buccaneers

Shit, yeah.

Agreed. When I saw the Fall a few months ago, I was hoping they'd play that song so I could heckle Mark E. Smith and possibly get thrown down a flight of stairs. EDIT: This is obviously in reference to Incandenza's post.

Incomprehensible.

One of the girls who attended the Spin the Bottle party took pictures and made a collage of them on her kitchen wall. I'm proud to report that my pictures are invariably the lewdest, most retch-inducing of them all. You just don't appreciate art, man.

Hey, now. There's context involved in all of that. The making out stuff was all within the confines of an extremely drunken game of Spin the Bottle. And I can't help it that I have no gag reflex.

I've made out with several dudes and have been photographed deep throating both a dildo and the leg of a table. But I'd consider myself not so much bisexual as just really fond of alcohol and attention.

I usually go through the painstaking process of explaining to people who I assume like and respect me that I met you guys on a wrestling message board, where I was actually something of a major player at one point. It's best to phrase it just like that.

With the exception of you and Flyboy, all of my Friendsters are people I know in real life. I think it's totally acceptable, in addition to just being hilarious how much more willing people are to talk shit when they're sitting in front of a computer screen.

She's on Friendster, which I discovered just a couple of days ago (her being on Friendster, that is). That I saw her this evening--the first time in six years--is freaky, man. Everybody's on Friendster. I ate breakfast at IHOP the other day with three people who were as good as strangers to me and the only thing we could really bond over was our shared passion for the internet networking service in question. We've become fast Friendsters since.

Yeah, and I was really hoping to contribute something memorable to the "One and Only I'm Gay Thread."

I think you did the right thing. And the fact that she didn't request a stool sample means she's probably gotten over it.

Do a lot of yuppies and frat boys really like Radiohead?

It's always nice to fool around with someone whose life is significantly more fucked up than yours. It keeps you grounded.

Have you ever considered hair?

Dear Blog, Today was the most amazing day. I was walking to the library when I suddenly discovered an abandoned pair of pants. "Those pants are too big for you, you stupid asshole with an ugly face," I thought. But I picked them up anyway, because you can never have too many pairs of pants. So I hid in some nearby bushes and tried them on and, lo and behold, they fit perfectly. I'm totally wearing these pants to the Winter Formal. Whether or not I wear anything else remains to be seen. I also got to thinking about the status of my love life. It seems that for too long I've been putting too much emphasis on my romantic relationships or lack thereof. Like, for instance, as soon as I broke up with Christy I started macking on Lacey. And when she made it reasonably clear that she wouldn't be accepting my doo-dad into her hoo-ha any time in the near future, I immediately went out and nailed Jenny. So, ultimately, I think non-monogamy may be the answer for me. I mean, why tether myself to one relationship when I can be sleeping with dozens upon dozens of mildly attractive girls? I mean, regardless of who I'm dating, I'm going to be drinking heavily, right? So why not maximize my potential by sleeping with any old girl who happens to be around when I'm drunk? It's a perfect solution! Plus, I don't have to give a shit about any of these goddamn bitches. I don't have to sit around and wait for them to call, or wonder why they haven't called, or wonder why they haven't returned any of my calls or any of that shit. I can just do my thing and make certain that I'm happy with who I am and where I'm going. And if that doesn't work out, I'll take up heroin. I think I'd like to have sex with Diana Ross. Is it just me or does my penis sort of resemble Abraham Lincoln? I'm such a fucking genius. Why I am not famous yet? I mean, even locally. My goddamn gorgeous face should be plastered on every light pole and brick wall in this country-ass town. I'm so much cooler than Jascha. Psssh...Jasha. That asshole. Sincerely, Daniel James Gregory

You know me too well.

Not really, no. It has a lot to do with the fact that I have it a lot more together now than I did when I was in high school, thus giving me the opportunity to hook up much more often. The fact that I'm not even in college currently makes the situation that much more satisfying. But high school girls....I still consider them the scourge of the earth. Their goddamn inane conversations, their fucking giggly-ass friends, their stupid tight pants, their fucking unsullied vaginas...God, I hate those bitches.

I have but one bit of advice: Save your money. I know it seems useless, right? What do you need that money for when Ma and Pa are fitting the bill for your fruit pies and dungaroos? But when you get into the real world, you'll goddamn WISH you had some of the money you made when you didn't have to pay for anything else. So put that shit in the bank and leave it there. It's the difference between steak another goddamn night of Oriental flavored Raman noodles and as many 40s as it takes to get to sleep on your bale of hay.