Hamletcan

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He walks up to the back door, because that’s what he always does. Sean is silly like that. He hears the babble of chatter and laughter inside, and sees the faint outline of what appears to be Nick Lossino, just inside the door, through the distorting class. Nick has a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Sean knocks. Nick fiddles with the handle and pulls the door open. Then it’s a colorful burst of cheering and a chorus of “SEAN!” he steps inside, and everybody stands. “Take my seat, take my seat,” shouts Bear-trap, wait, no, Bear-trap isn’t there, this is my fan-fic.

“Take my seat, take my seat!” shouts Cara. “No, take mine!,” says Jake day. “Also, I wrote a song for you. Do you want to hear it?” Sean smiles at him warmly and says, “Maybe later, Jake.” Jake looks slightly downhearted, “No, don’t look so sad, I can’t wait to hear it, but maybe when there are less people, so I can hear it better. Now, where can I find a beer?”

Again, he’s met with a sudden outburst of offers “Take mine!” they shout. “Mine is imported!” He hears. Everyone reaching out to hand him their beer. “No, it’s okay, I think I’ll just take one from the fridge.”

Once he’s in the other room he opens the fridge, and starts shuffling the beers around on the shelf labeled “SEAN PATRICK GOGGIN” in golden, glittering letters. Everyone had gone well out of their way to donate the best tasting beers for his shelf. He selects a Franziskaner. From behind him. Paige shouts “HE PICKED MINE!” which is quickly followed by Nick P. shouting, “NO! I bought him one of those too!” They start fighting, Paige kicks Nick in the balls, and he drops.

“Guys, guys, stop!” He interjects. They hastily stand up, Nick still slightly doubled over. “Now hug!” They hug loyally. “Sean your cookies are ready!” Stephanie shouts from the kitchen. “Chocolate chip and bacon!” Just the idea makes his mouth water. Everyone clears a smoky path, pressing their backs to the walls to allow him entrance. Stephanie is there, wearing an apron, and big red cooking mittens. She presents him with the tray, beaming a smile. He takes a cookie. Delicious. Never before had he tasted such a savory cookie.

He puts his hand on her shoulder and tells her, sincerely “Fantastic, Stephanie.” She melts.

The other girls start going wild. “Sean, make-out with me!” and “Sean, can I give you a back massage?” the girls start forming a line, as they proposition him for sexual things.

“I’m sorry, ladies.” He winks at a girl or two who he likes more than the others. He also gives awkward looks to an “eat-it”-drunk chandler, and Jake Day, who are also in the line with the women. “Yeah… I’m sorry, everybody, but I’ve got crime to fight, with my machine gun… But not until I finish this beer, these cookies, and listen to Jake Day’s song.”

Good times were had by all, and the bacon/chocolate chip cookies were a hit. They lived happily ever after.

The End.

Alright, I’m tired of this shit, I’m done with Yahoo answers as a friend on tumblr. You are a joke. “I do something weird and sexual” “My friend does something weird and sexual” “I can’t spell” “My father rapes me with a whole soda machine, but I still love him.” Fuck you. This is ridiculous. People realize what you’re capable of now. And they try to be silly, and they are wrong. They are so wrong. Your secret is spoiled Yahoo Answers, like your lunch. Gone bad, and you’ll never get to eat it. Never. I’m gonna stop being friends with you, and make friends with strangers. On the internet. You’re being replaced.

Well, the title pretty much sums it up. I hadn’t planned to, but I did it last minute. I’m positive there will be pictures. But in the end, after putting my comfortable man-pants back on, hanging out with friends, and reflecting. It was all totally worth it.

I decided that the only way I can be happy, stop grinding my teeth at night, and not have headaches all day, is to get a Yak-Back. Dealing with the crippling hormone/friend/addiction/hormone-based friend-addiction problems that I have, isn’t important.

If I had a Yak-Bak, I could just click play as I lay down to sleep every night, and Rusted Root’s “Send Me On My Way” will lull me into my dreams, and I can be happy.

Like in Matilda. Only, my happy endings will end when I wake up.

“Buh-bihda-seh-buhbi-dee-uh”

So, over the course of the day I’ve seen several people walking around with guitars slung over their shoulders. I don’t blame them. I even found myself in my room, fingering my stringed phallus, trying to play a Smashing Pumpkins tab I found. I think it’s the spring time, it makes me want to procreate(which I associate with rock music.) and thus I’ve been getting into trouble. Extremely complicated girls, the urge to reproduce, and the idea of being a rock god have been causing me to decompose like Layne Staley, but somewhere around my gut region.(I still have my  face.) Not to mention I just sat down at work, and The Song Remains the Same is playing.

Shit, Jimmy Page and Robert Plant can wear the most ridiculous shit. A sleeveless denim jacked that probably belonged to a 12 year old girl. (Hopefully not one he confused with his own after an underaged orgy.) Pants that hippies wear. It’s awesome. I want to be able to do that(not the 12 part).Basically, I want all of everyone to stare up at my glistening metal-god chest and think. “Shit, he is everything.”

There are only so many things I would elect to do over watching Jurassic Park. And from now on, I say, sleeping is not one of them. I’d like to choose never to sleep again, if given the option.

Andrew W.K. does so much coke. He needs to come to Hofstra, and actually step onto campus.

So, when an art show in Calkins escalates into a wine party in Calkins, all is fine and good. Continuing on after that, however, starts to put you in the gray area of fine and good. When you start to scrounge around for the dregs of whatever alcohol and mixers you can procure in your room, in order to drink more elsewhere , it’s a bad sign. A sparks from December, and an already-mixed rum and coke from March are not meant to mix with several cups of red and white wine.

These things tend to get you involved in all sorts of trouble afterwards, not to mention that feeling you’ve got to suffer through calculus with at 9:30a.m. Do I see a schism coming, or is that a hallucination? At least my roommate and have learned some of the better definitions of a “Jibber.” (As opposed to “gibber”.)

So what the hell, am I getting drunk too often or not often enough?

cosmicfriend:

I saw I Love You, Man tonight and I liked it, but not as much as I thought I would. Jason Segel was as great as ever. It was cool to see him take on a Barney Stintson kind of character, but still with a Marshal spin on it. My problem was with Paul Rudd. I like to identify with Paul Rudd, because some of his recent characters were just more exaggerated, funnier and more attractive versions of myself. Unfortunately, so was this one, but not the side of me I like. In Knocked Up and Role Models, he was a cynical, sarcastic asshole. In this, he was an awkward, bumbling dork, and the movie never really let him develop into the cool, funny guy that Jason Segel assures him he is. He was just awkward all along and awkwardly ever after. And that’s not a positive message for me.

Rashida Jones still hasn’t proven any particular comedic talents, but holy shit is she attractive. To quote my black friend, “God damn!”

Paul Rudd is the poor man’s Ben Affleck. Also, not enough Rush in that movie.

Sometimes I can’t sleep, because I lie awake analyzing every movement I make, every placing of my arms and hands, and how everything is interpreted. And all I do is feel awkward, and fear. But I never really want to fall asleep either, because I feel like I might jump out of a too-real dream and punch somebody in the face.

Today I visited Austin and Loralei in Austin’s room. There were chickens serenading us as we played Champions. Live chickens. Outside, there were cows, pigs, more chickens, and goats. I always forget how different it is here. Here in Rhode Island, livestock is the same as people. So, I’ve come to the conclusion that people here are the same as livestock. I’m afraid, I’m bound to start objectifying people as if property, pushing them out of beds at night, and labeling their skin with a hot brand. And I’m sure I’m within the boundaries of the law. So, if I return to the world and start acting like an angry farm-hand around you, just remind me that I’m back to civilization, and that I can drink with my friends no matter what time of the day it is. That is all.

cosmicfriend:

I’ve seen your film “The Wicker Man” twice, in its entirety. It does not make any more sense in that form than it does in a spliced together Youtube video of its “best scenes.” Why did you keep having flashbacks to that thing with the car? Why did the events keep changing? Did any of that really happen? Why was that crow just sitting in the desk? Why didn’t any of the men speak? Why were you so obsessed with how it got burned? Why did the photographer have jars of fetuses? Where did they get such a finely crafted bear suit? Why did those twins look like Glen Quagmire? Why was there a girl in the titular scene wearing a bee costume that she got from Party City? Why did everyone take off their masks when they were explaining their plan to you, except the woman with the fish head? Why did you care so much about Rowan’s mother, even though she had big weird lips that looked kind of like a butthole? Why did it take you so long to start beating the shit out of these women? How did you never notice that they were erecting a 40 foot tall man made of wood? Why was James Franco in this movie? Why didn’t he realize there was something wrong with that blond girl?

I’m no James Franco, but even I don’t get desperate enough to ignore the warning signs when some dead behind the eyes girl who I’ve just met asks me to take her home. That bitch has killing on her mind. All in all, Mr. Cage, what the fuck?

Games who’s only fan-bases are based solely on the celebrity endorsements they’ve acquired are the greatest things ever. Remember Apocalypse? No? IT WAS FUCKING AWESOME! Bruce Willis breaking out of jail and killing monsters or something followed by a graveyard packed with zombies where POE lives, (the musician, yes, THAT POE.) Then she turns into a horseman of the apocalypse, and you fight her. TOTALLY FUCKING COOL. Also the president is a horseman, which is genius. Then there was Spy Hunter: Nowhere to Run with THE ROCK! Right? THE ROCK! I mean, I never played it, but I’m sure it was GREAT. What could be better than being Dwayne Johnson and showing some jabronie-ass spies what the peoples’ elbow tastes like.

You can see my obvious love for such genius marketing tactics. So when I saw that Vin Diesel was the main character in a game who’s only plot is guns, cars, motorcycles, and jumping off of motorcycles into cars where you kick the drier out while in high-speed pursuit, I creamed my pants. Twice. I had to put on a pair of jeans that I’d worn to box house, and consequently smelled like beer and cigarettes, cause I was out of fresh pants after that.

It’s called Wheelman. Perfect, and just in time for 4FAST4FURIOUS which is so awesome I had to put it in caps. The game’s graphics look pre-1995, and doesn’t seem to have a plot but it’s being released on all the major platforms, but hey, it’ll still kick ass. Remember The Sims? That wasn’t even a game, but millions of challenged idiots bought it, along with all of the 20 expansions. Hey, you know what would’ve made that “simulation” respectable? If Vin Diesel was the guy robbing your house. Or even better, if when your sims were having sex or in the shower, and you moved the bed or shower, because you can’t figure out porn and you like pixels, what if Bruce Willis was the naked dude, and POE was the chick? Eh? I’d buy that. Because sex doesn’t sell. Sexy actors and musicians sell. Sexy actors and musicians doing it.

I started on a different topic, I think… The moral of the story is, BUY WHEELMAN. You won’t regret it at first.

11 years ago, when I was 10 we’d packed up most of our house and my step dad drove off with it in a uhaul. All that was left was a bunch of furniture, my pets, and my mom and I. On april fools day we left Rhode Island. My sisters stayed there, and my dad and my step-mom. We drove 4 hours with my mother, myself, a dog, a cat, and 3 fish in the cab of a crappy old pick-up truck, to New York. Where we unloaded everything into a basement apartment, where I stayed on the couch and started school 2 days later. I realized it was April fools day at about 9:30 at night. None of it was a joke.