Funny Graffiti.

The picture is awful, so I'll help you out.

Someone defaced a bathroom stall with "Toy Story 2 was OK" and a little smiley face next to it. Funny to see this next to some repulsive phrase about male on male anal sex. I guess movie reviews can be taboo too in Ogallala, NE.

G'Damn Sity Slickers.

Like'n the great cuntrymusic star (Luke Dodge) says, I's lucky nough to be frum a little slice of heaven called South Dakota. I think me and Luke could make some damn fine kickin' kountry if we got together and did a little thinkin' bout songs and stuffs. I grew up just like every little kid out in the country, doin chores, ropin' steers, lyin' on the riverbank, painting our names on tha watertank, miscountin all the beer you drank. I played a little baseball, helped out on Grandpa's farm.

All that's great, but I think the song already got wrote. I'm'n thinkin that Luke and I need to focus on my favorite activity, shootin' shit. Luke and I'll get to that ventually, right now I need to talk about a little pet Peav of mine. Every year I pack my things and head east for the Christmas season, I usually get to go out and shoot shit at least a few times while I'm home, Pheasants are my most favorite. Every year before I leave, someone asks me to "catch them a bird or two," or when I get back, someone says "did you catch any birds while you were home?" You know what I said? I says to the guy, I says, "You gotta be a goddamn moron to ask me a question like that with a straight face." Or I says, "You must be the dummest sumofabitch I ever seen to think I catch birds, don't ever talk to me again."

You folks really think we look like this when we head out to bring home supper? Or do you think we catch'em like this?
Hey look he caught a trophy, look at the tail feather, he'll look good flyin on the wall above the davenport in the guest room.
This dumb Pheasant thought he could sneak out the end of the field.
Well, enough about that, I'm gonna go catch me a big one.

The Next Big Thing (Me)

Through what I originally believed was an accident, I woke this morning to a local radio station that plays all of today’s hottest country hits. I say that I originally thought it was an accident because it may have actually been something more—possibly a greater power at work.

As I laid in bed, not quite ready to face a Saturday filled with crappy-ass movies on TBS (“Richie Rich” in case you’re wondering) and unfulfilling meals consisting of spicy bean dip and Fritos Scoops ®, I listened to song after mediocre song. The one consistent factor from artist to artist was that they all had names that were perfect for country music.

I hypothesize that being a successful male country musician is 8% talent, 12% American pride, and 80% having a great name. So why not me? I spent much of the day developing a sophisticated mathematical formula to uncover the perfect name. I won’t disclose the actual formula (NASA may be interested) but I think we’ll all agree that it works.



My ticket to stardom is a name: Luke Dodge.

It’s the perfect name for a male country musician. Fans of the genre wouldn’t love me more if my name was Tracy Bowhunter, Cody Nascar, or Casey Bassboat.

I will become a huge star despite that fact that 1) I have limited (if any) musical talent and 2) listening my songs will be less appealing than drinking that vase of rotten vegetable juice Bip used to “cleanse” himself.

First I’ll need a band. I will nab the boys who play back-up for Kenny Cordova and we’ll become Luke Dodge & Ye Olde Honky-Tonk Rebels. We’ll play gigs in northern Colorado (Rafferty’s mostly) until discovered by a slightly overweight man wearing teal sweatpants who has “big ties” in the music industry. Those ties will come through in a huge way when me and the Rebels land a spot on KRFC’s “Live at Lunch.” A masterful performance will leave the host with only one thing to say: “Derr gonna be out derr listning to dat.”

When it’s time to cut my debut album I plan on collaborating with South Dakota native Corey Carlson. Together we will write a powerful ballad about life in his home state with meaningful references to the open range, Mount Rushmore, a half finished tribute to Crazy Horse, Deadwood, and Flintstone’s Village. It will be the hit single that propels my record (“Dodge City”) to #1.

Before no time I will be making out with Carrie Underwood in the back of my tour bus and rubbing elbows with hot shots like Tony Romo and Kid Rock. Then I’ll probably get really drugged out and/or become a drunk. But whatever. Carrie Underwood is hot.

Kids say the darndest things.

My group is having a joint concert with a high school in town, and at rehearsal the director asked us to talk to the kids mixed in among the group. Like, find out how long they had been playing, tell them how long we had been playing... here was my attempt at talking to the high school kid sitting next to me.

Me: How old are you?
Kid: 14.
Me: Oh... I've been playing longer than you've been alive.
Kid: Yeah, I figured as much.

Thanks for re-establishing the fact that I'm an old woman, kid.

Tards everywhere "Super concerned" about writer's strike

Well it's been 3 weeks now and there's still no sign of any agreement between the writers and the execs. I'm afraid this is bringing us to the inevitable. Maybe not next week or the week after, but at some point in the near future, they're going to run out of new episodes of "2 and a half men." I just don't know what I'm going to do without Chuck Sheen’s razor sharp wit and uncanny acting ability. I mean, when I first heard about the strike I said to myself "It's no big deal, I'm sure they have plenty of episodes of "The Big Bang Theory" in the can. This whole thing will be over soon enough and no one will even remember this whole thing happened." However my fears were realized when last week during sweeps it was yet another rerun of "How I met your Mother." I mean it just makes me so angry. How can these selfish writers deny their fans of all the brilliant work they do. I mean, even I was skeptical about that Caveman show, but come on have you seen that show? There's some AMAZING writing going on there. I mean, you would have to be some kind of genius, or really, REALLY high, to come up with an idea as hysterical as that. I just hope they get it ironed out in time for the Oscars. I think I speak for everyone when I say that the timeless banter between that one guy from Desperate Housewives and the unflappable Tom Bergeron can't be missed.

I guess I could look at it on the bright side, this is giving me a chance to run through my Becker collection on DVD again, since there's nothing good on TV anymore...

R there N E good guys out there??? (city) - 37

I like reading personal ads for one reason: I'm an asshole and they make me feel really really good about myself. I don't know if the type of people who create personal ads all follow some inane jack-ass guide or what, but all the posts seem to follow this pattern:

Step 1. Ask "where is alls the good men".

Step 2. Go on and on about how you tried this before and how it only attracted the shitty kind of people who would respond to a personal ad on craigslist.

Step 3. State either:
a) your eye color
OR
b) your heighth and your eye color.
Either way it is important that you leave the weight portion off. I'm sure this is to dodge all the superficial men out there.
Step 4. Talk about how you hate "games" and you're just not gonna play them no more. You're looking for a nice guy, not like that Greg asshole who tried to nail you on the side of a Goodwill donation trailor. Nope! No fuckin' way! Not again! You deserve someone better and you're ready to list out all the things you want. Tenderness, compassion, respect, optimism, stability, chivalry, money, athleticism, piercings and tattoos (oddly enough), good communication, empathy (but not sympathy....you aren't a pity case), and someone who's okay with talking until 5 a.m. "just because".
Step 5. Take a digital picture (shotty webcam shots of you typing are also acceptable) using the lowest resolution you possibly can of yourself in your bathroom. This shows us:

Select from the following:
a) Your filthy fuckin' bathroom
b) Your inability to work a camera without a mirror
c) Your head mimics the shape of a rugby ball
d) You biting your cheeks in a desperate move to become attractive

Step 6. Repeat steps 2-5, however, replace "where is alls the good men" in step 1 with "lets try this again."

p.s. The block over your eyes makes you look like some crazy 3-weinered person getting there picture taken for medical textbooks.

I just wish I could find someone as honest as I would be were I desperate enough to write one. The following is a good example of both what I look like and what I'm looking for:

"My name is ____ and I'm 6'3" and 155 lbs. Not only does this make me extremely lanky, but it also makes any sort of small fall a life endangering event. My forearms surpass the mass of both my biceps and triceps put together (think popeye only not as large), and my ribs are easily countable when I take off my shirt (there all there ;) ). My 8+ years of smoking filthy cigarettes have stained my teeth and make me smell like a dive bar at all times. In addition, my feet smell terrible and I only clip my toenails if it's gotten to the point that my feet hurt inside of shoes. I have an average sized penis and don't have the arm strength to support being on top for more than 10 minutes.

I'm looking for someone who is far more successful and ambitious than myself who finds me to be tolerable. It would also be great if the girl could be hot but have low enough self-esteem so she wouldn't realize that she could do a lot better. She should not be into "anal" or "master" (still don't know what that means). A Rachel McAdams would suit me fine.

Back to me. My nose over the years has taken the shape of a beak and my facial pores are big enough to use as storage containers for food during the winter months. I have an odd muscle under my jaw just above my neck that I can flex outwards to resemble amphibions.

Please write me back ASAP!!!!!"

Yes, this kind of sucks.

Okay, I know that you’re not supposed to go back-to-back. Whatever.

You may or may not know that my travels back to the front range for Thanksgiving involved an eight and a half hour train ride from Grand Junction to Union Station in Denver. You also may or may not know that train rides across the state of Colorado can be quite scenic and that the conductors are known to point out things and make commentaries along the way. Kind of like airplane pilots—“If you’ll look out to your right you’ll notice…”

The thing that struck me about the conductor on my trip was the way he would tell us about upcoming points of interest. Even though he was the only one talking—clearly not carrying on a conversation with anyone—he was starting off most of his comments by answering “yes” to questions that no one was asking. He was frequently following what I call the “yes, yes, and yes” format.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are approaching the Moffat Tunnel. Yes, the tunnel is 6.2 miles long. Yes, it does accumulate a lot of built up exhaust from diesel fuel from freight trains. And yes, there are potential health risks to you the passengers if we do not completely seal off the openings to each car.”

Not too weird. Not too funny either. But what about when he starts answering “yes” to questions that no one would ever ask? (I’m not making this up…)

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are approaching the community of Bond, Colorado. Yes, this is the area where much of the movie ‘Under Siege 2: Dark Territory’ was filmed. Yes, they also used Denver’s Union Station in the movie. And yes, that movie did star Steven Seagal.”



As if there is some die-hard Seagal fan sitting on the train looking out the window going “Hey, this looks familiar. Like really, really familiar…”

How about this:

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are approaching the community of Bond, Colorado where the movie ‘Under Siege 2: Dark Territory’ was filmed. Yes, this movie was an absolute piece of shit. Yes, your only hope of finding it anywhere is on VHS tapes at the Mile High Flea Market. And yes, the Mile High Flea Market is eighty paved acres open weekends and Wednesdays.”

That’s all I got. Yes, it’s kind of a short post. Yes, it’s moderately funny at best. And yes, maybe you had to be there.

Sword Stores

I am planning on going to graduate school in a couple of years to get my MBA. This may end up being a little way down the road, but I have already decided what my thesis will be titled: Don’t Open Sword Stores.

Sword stores are bad business decisions.

If you ever see a sign that says “Sword Shop” keep looking—you’re bound to also see a sign that says “For Lease” or “Space for Rent.” Weird huh? Wouldn’t you expect to hear nothing but sword store success stories? Well, unfortunately archaic weapons don’t sell like they used to. Believe it or not, people just don’t need swords, daggers, and nunchuks anymore. They don’t need wizard statues either. They can get their Zippos elsewhere.

Worst of all, should a person be in the market for a sword they need not seek out a sword store. They can acquire their weapon for pennies on the dollar. How? I think we all know how. As long as those long-winded bastards on QVC aren’t cutting themselves on live TV—so badly that they need “emergency medical care”—they will be more than willing to put together a nice little 47 knife package at a price that can’t be beat (sheaths included).

So right now I am going to carry a lawn-chair down to my car. I’m going to keep it there. And should I ever see a sword store that is actually in business, I am going to get my chair out. I’m going to sit there and I’m going to watch. My money says that within two days I will see a fat guy wearing a faux-silk dragon shirt and some pewter rings waddle out and paste a “going out of business” sign in his store window. Sword stores are bad business decisions.

on getting carded.

What is it about purchasing alcohol or boarding a plane or basically any task that requires that a stranger look at my Driver's License that invites people to comment on my appearance? I haven't exactly been keeping a tally, but this has been happening with an increased frequency lately.

The stranger in question tells me that they like my hair better short.
While at first glance, this almost seems as a compliment... wait a second, a backhanded one. Clearly, I look nothing like this currently. Undoubtedly, I was more attractive in the past, dropping $35 every month to look like this:



I talk a big game, but I would love nothing more than to tell them they'd look better with their natural lip color instead of that phosphorescent crimson. It tends to be ridiculously hideous women with mustaches and curly fake nails that unleash this gem on me.


Thankfully, the man checking my ID when I was trying to re-enter the grand US of A from the Hell on Earth that is Tijuana (a land in which, by the way, my current appearance was deemed attractive by filthy salesmen who offered me free jewelry and Mexican boyfriends), wasn't nearly as particular with my appearance. Though I'm sure that anyone standing in The Line Ride for two hours looks the same: like shit. And nothing like their license.

My Sexual Peak Ends on Saturday.....

I read somewhere that the average sexual peak of a male occurs from ages 17-23. On Saturday I'll turn 24. Depressing? Yeah, it's fucking depressing. No more are the days of a poorly put together micro-suede/pine futon getting abused by my rompous sexual acts (I'm sure these were painful days for Matt in the room over). Two years ago I got a place by myself. The reasons were numerous, but mainly it was due to me wanting to play guitar without annoying anyone. The move was helped by my roommates Brian and Matt. When loading the futon mattress into the back of Matt's truck, I couldn't help but remember all the good times I'd had on it. As my thoughts drifted elsewhere Brian brought me back to reality:

Brian: "This mattress fuckin' smells"!

Me: "I know"

Brian: "Dude, what the fuck is wrong with this thing" (burying his face into his armpit as his arms were full)

Me: "I don't know" (big time lie)

Brian: "I can't fuckin' take this" (he drops his end of the mattress on the ground and walks away gasping for breathe)

Me: "You know, I can't smell it anymore. C'mon let's load it".

Brian: "Fine....(picks it up) it still smells"!

We loaded the mattress and Brian washed his hands staring at me in disbelief. "I've never smelled anything like that" he said. I told him that it was probably due to me breaking a few fevers on it without any sheets on it. Brian knows all about mine breaking fevers on shit. When we first moved to Fort Collins I slept on his faux leather (i.e. vinyl) sofa for the duration of a 12 month lease....needless to say I ruined it. 'Desimated' may be a better word. The seat of the stupid thing would constantly fall out and I would have to dig my hand behind the "cushion" to get it going again. I fear I've digressed too far though...back to the sex.

So on Saturday it'll all be over and perhaps...perhaps... I won't be so embarrassed of some of the partners I chose to schwerve on that old blue micro-suede futon mattress. Ok, yes I will. I've made some devastatingly poor decisions in the past three years. Since I've even gotten an STD test and guess what? I'm clean bitches! Despite Bedula and her crazy ways. The year of 24 will be the year of good decisions. I promise. I never in my life thought I would have to get an STD test and have promised myself that I will never have to for the rest of it (my life).

I look forward to the furthered intellectual things I might think about in replacement of sex. I want to know more about a lot of things. Some examples include: the origin of Nihilism, Latin grammar structure, and string theory.....G-String theory! Yeah. Peace out bitches.

-EB-

Tard in the loud shirt, yes we see you... and we don't care.

Oh, you may think that shirt says, "player on patrol" or "come get lucky in Kentucky" but what it really says is "I'm a gigantic douche." You may be thinking "hey, those vintagey shirts are funny, not to mention the chicks love them." That vintagey shit was cool and ironic 5 years ago, when it was actually a vintage shirt. Now you have to go and drop $35 for a faux old shirt with the oh so funny "sexy time" written on it. That horrible movie came out last year and your shirt looks like it's from 1974. Oh yeah, you're a big Doobie Brothers fan? That's why you have there tour shirt from 14 years before you were born. I bet that concert was so wicked sweet wasn't it? For every hilarious "meh." there's 3 horrible "i'm wearing camouflage, you can't see me" and ten ugly chicks wearing the self appointed "hottie". I can see your fat rolls, you’re not a hottie. I think I'll actually decide for myself who is a hottie. Take your beer bong and your "more cowbell" t-shirt and be on your way.

And Hawaiian shirt guy. Don't even get me started on you...

Trouble at the Teta House

yo bros, wat's up? i just wanted to clear thngs up cuz i know you guys probly heard about that shit going down at the house last weekend. the only reson the cops got called was cause ricky was all drunk and tried to do a kegstand and he felll face first into the keg and knocked himself out and lost a few teeth. anyway, angela let me see her tiggums while the cops were questioning talon, dexter, and chad so it was an awesom night. yeah, you better believe that all six of those collars are popped.

take it easy bros.

fratty mcbro

treasurer, theta beta teta

Ad Nauseam Launch.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN...

"so when you start to wonder about the pain in my throat..."

Ad Nauseam has officially launched. Look forward to a collaboration of memoirs from 20 somethings from different locations, genders, backgrounds, writing styles, and outlooks on the daily happenings of "lifes and stuffs."