Dame ma' gasolina

Daddy Yankee is probably the greatest artist of our time. If you don't like him you're a fuckface, and here's why: Reggaeton is probably the only significant new music genre to come post year 2000. I really can't think of anything else. Some might argue that the "rap-metal fusion" movement led by such powerhouses as "Linkin Park" is also very signficant, but there's just one problem with that, and that problem is this: if you like Linkin Park, you lack a brain stem. In addition, you are undoubtedly obsessed with motocross, chewing tobacco, and hating black people. Having an afinity for Linkin Park means that God has played a cruel trick on you, which should piss you off and depress you, however, fortunately (for you), you are too dumb to be cogniscent of this fact. The world, as you know it, consists of finding the coolest 250cc racing machines known to man and thinking that girls with tongue piercings are "fucking hot."
But, as you may or may not have noticed, I have not explained why Daddy Yankee is the greatest artist of our time (although I have, I hope, explained why liking Linkin Park makes you a terrorist). The reason is quite simple: his songs are catchy, and they are all pretty much exactly the same. BUT, reggaeton still somehow mangages to persist and be wildly popular everywhere in the world (i.e. Latin America and my iTunes), a feat that most awfully repetitive music does not accomplish (with, perhaps, the exception of Crunk, but that doesn't really count, due to the fact that this is a discussion about music).
Speaking of Crunk, the one and only White Mike is flying in today from San Francisco, home of the Golden Gate Bridge, and Adell's Sausage. The evening will probably consist of moderate to black-out drinking and possibly talking to sorority girls that are clinically braindead (and coincidentally date frat guys that like Linkin Park!) Porque le encanta la gasolina!

hungover

im fucking hungover

the little green guys with their fucking hammers

8-2 is a walk in the park. it's almost fun. you get the 1-UP and you can play the rest of the level like you don't give a fuck, which is exactly what Zach did. Did I despise him for it? Maybe. Did I admire him for it? Definitely. Then you get to level 8-3 and you kind of want to shoot yourself. I cureled up into a fetal position on Barry's blue Ikea couch each time I suffered a heartbreaking loss of life a the hands of the little green guys that throw the hammers. There're like 8 of them.

Song of the Day: Flowers by Emilie Simon

Dislike of the Day: lack of cheez-its

Like of the Day: Natural light 18 pack

Dislike of the week: Natural Light 18-pack

Song of the week: anything by La Mala Rodriguez

Undecided of the day: Beer belly

Drinking Problem

I don't remember making the last 3 posts.

new shit

Song of the Day: Sphagnum Esplanade by The Shins

Like of the Day: Nubile

Dislike of the Day: Confused

Undecided of the Day: Herfy Burger

FUck!!!!!

Ok so i realize this blog has gotten pretty gay. that i know. really gay. anyway. I saw peter kickflipping the 5 stair outside of my spanish class the other day and was struck with a severe longing to be able to skate. It was awful. And it won't pass. Everytime I see someone more capable than me doing something that i want to be able to do i get pretty jealous. And also with hotties. There is a surplus of hotties as already mentioned. The only problem is that the majority of the them are braindead. I gave a ride to a woman in the shuttle today that was probably 35, divorced, and with a kid. she advised me to not get married till my early 30's. I shall consider this woman wise due to the fact that her husbad of 12 years whom she married when she was 24 showed up one day at the house they had built together and were raising a son in to say "I don't think i can do this marriage anymore." Where is the fucking shotgun with guys like this??? take this fucker out. anyway, fuck marriage until you're at least about 28. the moral of this story is that julieta venegas is marginally hot but more importantly that Tommy's is the worst place in the world and should be nuked into oblivion.
-Boosh Clown

Oh my god, he's like...

The girls are hotter in Spring Quarter. This is a fact. They come out of the woodwork, slinking their way behind the cherry trees out to the center of the quad where they tan their scantily clad bodies in the fresh spring sun. It is 63 degrees out but they are acting as if it is a sultry 87. Tanning. Tempting. It is as if God put them on this Earth to make guys like me feel frustrated and inadequate.
As I sit in my Studio apartment typing on my laptop listening to "La Bella Cubana" by the Buena Vista Social club I find myself thinking about what this quarter has in store for me. And what my life has in store for me. In 4 months I will have finished college and thus be thrust into the proverbial "real world." Which begs the following question: Why is the "real world" a concept that invariably brings with it the idea of the end of a beautiful carefree era? When people talk about entering the "real world" they generally do it with the kind of dread usually reserved for discussing colonoscopies. At least twice a week someone in the shuttle will say to me "Enjoy it while you can," or "do what you want while you're young." These are probably the most depressing statements I can imagine. But the worst part is not that these people resigned themselves to a life of working a job they don't really like. The worst part is that they actually believe they had to. For them the real world was something not only undesirable, but something completely unavoidable.
Which is why I want to renounce the real world. I hope to never live in it, whatever and wherever it is. The real world is made up of men in suits talking on their Blackberrys looking overly concerned about the strength of the Asian stock market or whether or not they got overcharged on the 2001 bottle of merlot that they had delivered for their dinner party. It is fucking awful. But, and I cannot stress this enough, what happens in the real world is not the worst part. The worst part is the people who almost happily resign themselves to working high paying jobs that don't make them happy but allow them to drive C classes to work and casually mention that they have Box Seats to the Mariner's game This is without fail what becomes important to you once you enter the real world. You can no longer drink too much Budweiser and make lewd jokes about wanting to have sex with Eva Longoria in front of Tony Parker's stupid french-ass while you barbecue Safeway polish dogs on your patio. No. Because this immature, and once you join the real world you have to be mature.