The Night before Thanksgiving

My pillow smells like Winterfresh, no one stole my camera, I got felt up for the first time, and I'm not fully deaf.

However, I got pwn3d.

Let me explain.















I have to admit, its been like 2 years since I've even listened to Thursday. So when my friend asked me to see them, one of the major reasons why I agreed to go is to see Circa Survive, who was opening for them.

Thursday was fucking unbelievable. I can't even explain it, so I won't try to.

The car ride was interesting. My friend Greg talked to my dad about the meaning of life for about 2 hours. For some reason, Christmas music was playing the whole time. I didn't even attempt to change it. I've come to a point in life where I blame all aspects of my laziness to senioritis.

We ended up arriving more than an hour late. Running through the casino, we found the music hall and proceeded to the security check.

They didn't allow me in because I had a digital camera. I stood there, cursing myself that I brought the camera. I was already late, I needed to get in.

I ran downstairs, against the traffic of teenage kids, most of which were dressed in either black clothes or band shirts. A bar or two of cell phone signal finally appeared (this is "shit in your pants excitement" when you are a T-Mobile customer). I was planning to give my camera to my dad, who was probably too immersed in the slot machines to give a damn about answering his phone. The show started at like 7, and at this point, it was circa-8:30. I stood there, speechless because of how pissed I was from wasting all this time. I debated about putting the camera on my crotch region, but that wouldn't work because the security people had those magical wands that detect things.

I ended up going to one of the bathrooms. It's funny because I watched Casino Royale a few days before that. In my head, I fantasized that I was James Bond.

I checked around for cameras. As far as I knew, I was clear. Discreetly, I stuffed a 300 dollar camera into the pot of a fake tropical plant. I actually had thought the plant was real, until I stuffed the camera into a pot of foam, and not soil. I was relieved that it was a fake plant because real soil would've made the case dirty, but I was disappointed at the same time... Disappointed that New Jersey couldn't afford real plants for Atlantic City.

Any shred of disappointment was then dismantled by how fucking realistic the fake plants were.

At least we got the top notch fake shit.

I prayed en route to the music hall. I prayed that I was smooth enough to not have anyone notice what I just did. Bringing the camera was a stupid idea, especially because I have a camera phone.

Well, the show was basically an orgy of sweaty people just feeling around and thrusting their bodies upon each other. It's actually very annoying, but after 10 minutes, you don't even care because you become one with the sea of smelly, drunk, joyous people. Once in a while, you get bonked in the head by the shoes of some kid trying to crowd surf.

There was this one chick that was trying to crowd surf, and she didn't even move. It was just a bunch of guys, holding this chick up, each grabbing a part of her body like there's no tomorrow. She was rolling around in the air, lying among a bed of horny hands. A bed of perpetual gratification. It was hysterical. Whether or not my hands were a part of the "bed of perpetual gratification" is up for debate.

I didn't get to shower after the show because I passed out as soon as I came home. Pretty stupid idea.

The morning after, I smelled like shit and I was pretty sore, especially in the tail bone region. I’m not exactly sure why I was sore there, but whatever. I got in the shower and I do my thing. I reach for the shampoo and as I sink my fingers into my hair, I notice this lump of gum stuck to my fucking hair. If it was fresh gum, the saliva would’ve assisted me in my attempt to take the gum out.

My mom bent my head over the kitchen sink, took some cooking oil that was already on the counter, and scraped that shit off. It was then I noticed that I have a lot of stuff to be thankful for.

pathetic

I've received complaints from Yogin the slutty nun and Ashu about not posting. So here's a post.







Believe it or not, this is my computer chair. This is what you get when you have no life... This is the product of hours upon hours watching break.com videos and mindlessly looking at AIM profiles. The fake leather wore away to the point where you see the yellow foam underneath. The chair screams pathetic. Recently, a potential buyer came to see our house, (if you didn't know, my house is still for sale.) and I remember them going into the computer room. I can only imagine what they thought when they saw the chair, among the other weird things in my room.

They are probably wondering, "what the fuck goes down on that seat..Do I even want to know?"

And...How is the hole so far in the front of the seat? I think its because I'm on the edge of my seat every time I play Gunbound. I don't play anymore, but I probably want to pick it up again because I don't have much to do now that I'm done with college applications. Thats usually how it goes with that game. Your interest in the game peaks, then it declines, and it repeats in a cycle. I remember 2 summers ago, when my brother, his best friend, and I used to fight over the computer just to play Gunbound. Like the mature role model that I am, I made a plan that would end all arguments. We decided to rotate...each person having 3 hours of computer time until the next person goes. Thats how bad it got. Good thing that was only one summer of my life... I lost interest when I realized that I was killing myself. Yea, it's pathetic. It's almost as pathetic as my costume for Halloween this year.



However, during this circumstance, being pathetic was the goal.