YOU listen to ME damnit.

Guess what? I'm absolutely hammered.

I was bored, and perusing facebook like I always do, and I came across a Cracked.com article where some asian chick pretended to be drunk and write an article. I then thought, "I CAN DO THIS BETTER". So here I am, an hour later, completely trashed, and writing an already better article.

What is this article about you ask? EVERYTHING IN THE ENTIRE FUCKING WORLD CONDENSED INTO WORDS.

REASON NUMBER ONE: Cats still bother me.

I'm allergic to them. They're also rude motherfuckers who care only about themselves. No creature on this earth is as selfish and deserving of a punt across the room as the feline. Theres this one cat, it's really long. They call it "long cat". Fuck that cat. Cat in the Hat? He's a mischievous prick who fools children into letting him squat in their house while their reckless parents are at another one of their swinger parties. The cheshire cat? He's just trippin balls all the time, always trying to fuck with cinderella or whoever that broad is. Garfield? He's a lazy prick out to fuck the world. He hates everyone, even Odie, who's loveable and adorable.

Point being, is cats are awful creatures.

CHAPTER TWO: I'm eating Cheetos again.

This shit is like CRACK. My fingers are orange, and I continuously need to wipe them on the pile of papertowels beside me, but I'm in heaven. So cheesy and puffy. Also, did you know paper towels are not actually paper, nor towels? NEITHER DID I!

THIRD: What is the definition of being an alcoholic?

I think, that when you're missing teeth and lying beside the RBC, urinating in the envelope dispenser at the ATM and asking people what time Jesus will arrive, you're an alcoholic. That in itself is a very difficult word to spell. I kind of wish I was a travellin' man. Pack up my VW bus and hit the road, travellin' around. People could write a book about me and my travels. I bet I'd end up with syphillis though. Nobody really wants syphillis. I mean, unless you're on a quest to acquire all of the STD's and syphillis is your last one. But who does that? Not me. No sir.

44444444: How difficult is it to make Shepherds Pie?

I'm hungry right now, and I've got an itchin for shepherds pie. I can't even spell shepherds. I need to spell check it. Anyways, I know I need potatoes, and corn, and ground beef. It can't be too difficult. Maybe I'll try in a bit.

I wish I could add pictures, but google won't cooperate.

I'm done. Totally beat that asian chick.

Clusterfuck boredom pineapple cat explosion.

I haven't posted in a while. I'm sure you're all aware of this, and are probably twitching with anticipation, checking the blog every hour, and breaking down into a sobbing mess in a dark corner when you discover I still haven't posted. It's okay, I do the same thing.

I could tell you I haven't posted because I've been busy saving kittens from burning trees, or that I've been having sex with women non-stop for the past two weeks, but the truth is, I've been bored.

Yup, just bored. See, boredom restricts my creative abilities and renders me as useless as a toaster in a knife fight. I'm not remotely interesting. I'm even less interesting when I'm bored.

Then I thought to myself, "Mike, why not bore the readers with tales of your boredom", and then I thought to myself "by golly, you're a fucking genius". True story.

Here's a list of some things that I do when I'm bored, to counteract the boredom.

1. Watch videos of cats.

Cats are highly entertaining. I hate them, with a passion, mostly because they're fucking useless and are selfish furry motherfuckers, but also because they think they're the shit. They jump, all nimbly bimbly, from tree to tree, and they drink milk, and love life. I find it hilarious when they meet the cold hard cock of reality, and it launches them from a cannon, or puts them in the middle of a pack of friendly, bouncing, hyperactive puppies. Cat videos I enjoy are not of the "cute cat eating pineapple" type, they're of the "cute cat gets hit with pineapple".

"GREAT shot Carl! Got that fucker good." 

2. Look at pictures of cats.

Much like the above, I enjoy looking at pictures of unhappy cats placed in situations that their owners believe are cute. Then they put a funny caption on the picture using "lolspeak" or as I like to call it, "future-english". In these pictures the cats are normally very displeased. Like if someone put a pineapple on a cat because they thought it was cute.

Like this.

3. Eat Pineapple.

Pineapple is fucking delicious. I eat it even when i'm not bored.

That's part one. I'm bored of this now, maybe i'll continue it later, but this gets me off the hook for not posting. I bid you adue, and am off to buy some pineapple.

Written while listening to this.

Oh Hey...

Forgot to do my little "Yay two months!".

So, um.. "Yay two months!". I'm 6 days late (heard that one before).

Here's the statz for the past two whole months.

lolz @ nokia

Glad people from all over the world accidentally found themselves here. Makes me feel all important and shit. 

In closing, here is a dog wearing a silly hat.

Smokin'

So I quit smoking. Two days ago to be exact and it sucks, just like I remember it. I'm irritable, but not as bad as  I was last time I quit. This time I bought one of those "E-Cigarettes" all the kids are talking about these days, and it's helping quite a bit. I got the "low" nicotine stuff with it, so I still feel like I did when I was on the patch, except I don't want to kill everything yet. Here are some observations I've made since quitting:

When you quit smoking you regain your full sense of smell and taste shortly after. Today that change started, and I kept a list of things I ate today that tasted different. Here are my top 4:

Coffee

Used to taste like: A euphoric blend of "BAM" and "ZAP" mixed with awesomesauce and topped off with some bland flavouring. Hints of joy can be tasted by the more experienced connoisseur.

Now tastes like: Someone shit in my cup. Hints of tree bark and musty carpet can be tasted by anyone. Tried to drink it three times today, almost threw up over the last one. Holy fucking bold taste. Freight train of columbian sweat all up in my mouth.

Apple Jacks

Used to taste like: Bland apples and milk. A perfectly balanced sensation delivered to my taste buds.

Now tastes like: Artificial apple flavoured ringlets of cheerios that fell on the floor, then dipped in pig shit. No wonder it's "Limited Edition". IT DOESN'T EVEN HAVE A MASCOT.

Milk

Used to taste like: Bland.

Now tastes like: Bland... with a pinch of AWESOME. This shit is like crack. No homo though.

Tim Horton's Plain Bagel (toasted) With Herb and Garlic Cream Cheese

Used to taste like: Heaven on a bagel. Especially when they toast it lightly enough so it's crispy but still soft on the inside.

Now tastes like: Heaven. On steroids. With Jesus playing the electric guitar and two slutty angels going down on each other on the cloud stage.

I have also determined that weight gain associated with quitting smoking is a myth. The gain is not from nicotine withdrawal, but rather people discovering shit tastes different and then going on binges to discover what food really tastes like.

On top of these most noteworthy changes in my taste, I've also regained my sense of smell. This was not an asset today as my dog and I took a road-trip to Kitchener, and she had brutal gas.

Here are 3 random things that have (or haven't) changed in my day to day life after quitting smoking for 48 hours:

Hulk Boners


Remember a few posts back when I mentioned how awesome it is to have a penis? Remember when I noted that it can be used as a towel rack? Today, I lifted a towel. With my dick. I expect this ability to become easier in the next few weeks, but essentially I can now hand myself a towel... using myself.

It's truly incredible what Google will find for you. 

I Still Can't Run


Today I took my dog to the dog park. We tried to run. I cannot run, and I fear I never will be able to. This may not be a result of smoking, but rather poor genetics, as us Ross' suffer from "flat foot" syndrome, which makes us look like retards special people when we run.

We also tend to wear inappropriate bright coloured shorts while doing so

I Have More Energy


I'm unsure how this is a benefit, as I had trouble using up the energy I already had while smoking. However seeing as I should be studying for a Statistics test tomorrow and am instead writing a blog post, with the intent to resume studying after I'm finished, clearly this is not a good thing.

Dance Rave anyone?

That's all I've got. 

Written while listening to this.

Today I feel like:

Four Reasons I Would Be An Unfit Parent

I was in Wal-Mart today, buyin' lightbulbs, and there was this kid in front of me tugging on his mom's skirt (not hard enough unfortunately, she was a 6/drunk 8) about some toy thing in the checkout line. It dawned on me at that moment, that I would be a terrible parent. I'm not sure why this struck me then, because nothing actually happened, but I spent the rest of the day pondering it. I also pondered other things, like what would happen if I ate a bottle of alka seltzer tablets and drank a bottle of coke. I think I'm gonna try that.

Anyways, here are 4 reasons I would be an awful parent:

Reason Number One: I wouldn't feed them.

Life is tough. There comes a time when everyone has to fend for themselves, when the nuturing shelter of your family no longer reaches you. This time would come quickly for my offspring. I figure the sooner the better, right? Plus it'd be hilarious to watch a 4 year old hunt squirrels with a crossbow in the backyard.

You're food. 

Reason Number Two: I'd spend their college money on cars. 

I have an addiciton. I spend too much money on cars. It could be worse, the reason could be "I'd spend their college money on mail-order Russian brides and they'd have 15 mothers/sex slaves". Try explaining THAT to their teachers. Anyways, I'd probably save up the money for their education, but eventually I'd have to let them know that their future was spent building an AWESOME ride. For me. Kind of goes back to the whole "fend for yourself" thing, except they'd spend half their lives assuming they'd have a future. SURPRISE! Mc Donald's for life bitch.

You could have been a doctor, but daddy needed a Supra. 

Reason Number Three: I'd get bored of them. 

Kids are boring. They eat, they sleep, they poop, they take your money. You can't play fetch with them, or train them to listen to you without argument. I have a short attention span. I feel like by the time they outgrew their cuteness, I'd be ready to move on. Start fresh. Problem is, you're stuck with them. I'd likely come up with some ingenious plot to get rid of them though.

Relax, asian baby Mike, in 27 hours you'll be in Shanghai. Here's $50 for a cab.

Reason Number Four: I'd forget about them.

Yeah these are all kind of the same, but deal with it. I'm a forgetful fella, and frankly I feel like at times I'd forget I even have a child. You know, I'd be at Wal-Mart watching some kid tug on his semi-hot mom's skirt, wishing he'd pull a little harder, and... wait... do I have a kid? 

Meh.

That's all I've got

Written while listening to this

Guff

Guff is the new "gruff" which was the new "grrr".

So, I'm going to take this time to fill everyone in on what's been going on in my life. Seeing as most of my recent posts have been of the "article" variety, I feel a change is due.

I'm going to be a foster daddy. A single parent. I'm fostering a dog. Initially, this was going to be a lab cross that was previously living on an immigrant camp and only understood spanish. While I was looking forward to the shenanigans of owning a strange dog that didn't speak english, turns out he got taken in by a lab rescue group or some shit. Better that way I guess. Anyways, my new foster child is an 8 month old black lab pup with no tail. Poor thing woulda been euthanized this Friday. I feel there will be a love triangle between myself, this dog, and Atticus. Time will tell. Stay tuned.

In other news, I have returned to my roots of spending the winter being an anti-social car geek. I rented a shop (read: small ass storage unit), and while its crowded, it does the trick.

Fuck this post isn't funny at all is it? God I've become that boring blogger person. Ummm.. Quick save...

Yeah i've got nothing. Deal with it. No pictures either.

I didn't even listen to anything while writing this. What have I become?

Movember

Yeah, I'm doing it. Not just so I can offer moustache rides to strangers (NEVER accept a moustache ride from strangers, kids) but because a close family friend has been diagnosed with prostate cancer recently, and I know personally I've never been checked because I don't want two fingers shoved up my ass. BUT, this is a real threat to our man-junk fellas, so I encourage you to willingly request to be probed in your rectum ASAP, as I will be doing the same. I'll update here as my man-stache develops.

Plus, I'll get mad play from the bitches. 

OH, and yeah, i'm doing this legit. Made an account and everything. They wouldn't let me use "iammikeross'prostate" though. Lame.

Please donate!

An obscure number of reasons why having a penis is amazing - Part One

Here are some things I think make having a penis better than not having a penis, in no particular order. I also will refer to it using a different slang word each time.

4. You get to piss in any direction you want.

This one's my favorite. If you have a vagina, you have to squat, and it sprays out like when you put your finger over the hose. It's incredibly hilarious, but highly inefficient. If you have a dick, you can piss any direction you want, and it's a solid, strong stream of superiority. I have literally pissed in an upward (and slightly forward) direction. Try that with your vagina (please film it). Also, you can write things in snow, and pee on your buddy's shoe while you're at adjacent urinals. THAT'S ANOTHER THING! Urinals. Specifically, urinal cakes. People without a purple-headed-yogurt-slinger don't ever get to experience the joys of urinal cakes.

Delicious, and you can erode them with your pee.

17. You can put it in stuff.

Anything you like, to be specific. The beauty about having a one-eyed snake is that you can put it wherever you want. It hangs, it swings, and it's flexible. Meaning if you ever have an urge to put it into a random household appliance, you can fucking do it. Try doing that with your clitoris, ladies (also film this). From a practical, every day perspective, this isn't much of a benefit, however having the satisfaction of looking at a toaster and knowing that you can stick your shaft in it, is absolutely priceless.

Sorry honey, it's just burning off my pubic hair from this morning's "random insertion hour"

68. You fuck with it. 

Cocks fuck vaginas. It's never the other way around. The simple fact that one is going inside the other, means that the vagina is always getting fucked. This will never be disputed, and there are no arguments. Why? Cause me and my pork sword fucking said so.

There's not really any pictures that support this point, so instead here's a fat spiderman. 

11. You can do the helicopter.

That's right, if you have a wang you can spin it 'round and 'round. Like a helicopter. This is more than entertainment, it's male ritual. A celebration of the glory of having a bologna pony. Rumor also has it, if you wanna impress a chick, do the helicopter-dick (that was one word).

119. It's a portable towel rack.

This one comes in handy all the time. Have you ever gotten out of the shower, and not had anywhere to put your towel while you brush your teeth? Why not leave it on you ask? Because I've got a portable towel rack, right here. All I've gotta do is think about Zooey Deschanel, and bam - my man-muscle is ready to hold that towel! Try doing that with your vagina (please film it). I don't have a picture for this, google images fails to provide me with a related picture, and frankly I'm sort of grateful.


That's all I've got for now.

Written while listening to this

lol.

When you take a closer look at cereal mascots... Part Two

Moving along, let's take a gander at three more of our childhood icons...

Count Chocula (Violent Psychopath)

Vlah! I am levitating these marshmallows while I wait for my next victim at the nursing home! 

Count Chocula is a dangerous motherfucker. It's no wonder his cereal has been discontinued. At first glance, he seems like a harmless, delusional misshapen poor soul, just looking to find acceptance and love from your children. Why wouldn't you trust him? I mean, nobody has ever made this mistake right?

Uhh... Right. 

Aside from his obvious predatory tendencies, this guy actually believes he's a vampire. How far he goes, we still are unsure of, but rumors have it he sharpened his tooth so he could drain cartons of chocolate milk with ease. His next step? Jugular veins. Keep an eye out for this guy.


Lucky the Leprechaun (Paranoid Schizophrenic) 

They be over the crest of the hill! Hope those kids like bear traps!

Lucky is our first (and only) non-violent, harmless cereal mascot. The reasons for this could be a number of things that I make up, but I'll be honest here and admit it's because I like lucky charms. This dude is still fucked in the head though. Those commercials you saw? The ones where the kids were chasing him? Yeah that never happened. They're the delusions of a homeless man living under a bridge in Chicago, with a bunch of brightly coloured pieces of dried bird shit and... actually, that's an awesome addition to the Cereal show I've been working on (see the second post I've ever made)... anyways, harmless as can be, but he smells like a septic tank.


Sugar Bear (Stoner Kleptomaniac)

What you don't see is the joint in his left hand and the Rolex hidden in the cereal.

 Arguably just as harmless as Lucky (but he isn't because I said so) this bear literally spends his days getting ripped off bong hits and breaking into a "cereal" factory to loot god knows what, and cure his munchies. Is this really a cereal factory? Well the official answer is nobody knows, but my answer is no, in fact it's a secret weapons facility in Soviet Russia, and the C.I.A recruited this klepto stoner bear to steal documents in exchange for an xbox and unlimited Doritos. Also, he rapes kids.


That's it for part two!

Written while listening to this.

When you take a closer look at cereal mascots... Part One

You discover the sick, twisted truth behind them all.

"But Mike!" You exclaim, as you curl up with your giant stuffed Tony the Tiger, "They're not real!".

This may be true, and I have no argument for that, so I'll pretend like I didn't hear it. Moving along, lets examine these so called "mascots".

Tony the Tiger (Rapist)

Seriously? Do you need a caption here? This guy screams "fucking sicko"

Take a second and look at this guy. Firstly, pay attention to the fact that he's got a bandana tied around his neck. Not only does this tell us that Tony here is linked with the Bloods, but it also is used to cover his face when he's abducting children at the Zoo. Secondly, he rapes kids. Need I say more?


Dig-Um The Smack's Frog (Pedophile)

Look at me! Now I'm here, now i'm over here, and... CHLOROFORM SURPRISE!

This guy here, well... I don't really need to get into much detail. Clearly we have a mid thirties frog, dressing himself like a pre-teen. There's your first clue, all you super sleuths out there. Secondly, everyone fucking hates Kellogg's Smacks. So that's reason enough for this jizzbag to molest children. Lastly, he's a frog, and everyone knows frogs are pedophiles.

Captain Crunch (Sadist)

Little known fact: He not only wrote "Saw", he lived it. 

Oh, Captain Crunch. Where to begin? For starters, this guy clearly has some repressed control issues. He dresses up like a friendly Captain, yet he has no ship, no crew, nothing. What he does have is a friendly, luring smile and a pretty blue uniform. Once he has you, he fucks your mouth. Literally. This guy is all about bringing the pain. One mouthful of his cereal can be compared to chewing a box of tacks and then gargling with lemon juice.

That's all for part one.

Written in silence.

Life is punishing me.

For my "So many fucks" post.

Since that post, I have:

-Written off my work van, in an accident that was entirely my fault.
-Fucked up huge with school
-Had my car payment NSF twice due to bank error. I'd be okay with this if I actually didn't have the money, but I did.

Bad things happen in three's right? Like the Harry Potter movies should have, or Twilight.

Anyways, to put a happy spin on this, I'll talk about my newfound love for acoustic rock/folk/alt country music. If you've never explored indie music, check out 8tracks.com. It's a wonderous invention, and forces you to discover new music that you probably would never have given a shot.

I'll write a real post soon I promise.

Written while listening to the traffic on Dunlop St.

One month in...

So exactly one month ago, I made all of your lives better by starting this blog. In that time, there have been 208 views, including 11 from Russia, 5 from Germany, and 2 from the US. Go fucking figure.  Hopefully they learned something valuable, or were horribly offended.

Anyways, there is little point in me actually writing this post other than to celebrate the one month anniversary of my beloved blog.

I leave you with this:

I really have no witty comment for this. Let's just enjoy the simplistic hilarity.

So many fucks.

I should be studying right now, but I don't want to.

I always seem to get sucked into deep thought in traffic jams, there's something somewhat inspiring and calming about being surrounded by angry motorists. Today, while sitting in ridiculous 401 traffic with my sidekick super dog Atticus, I had a few startling revelations...

Today's Revelations

1. I am in love with Regina Spektor. She's not stupid hot or anything, modestly pretty at best, but something about her voice, it's absurdly attractive. 
2. It is very embarrassing to be a guy sitting in traffic listening to Regina Spektor with your windows open. People look at you differently, to say the least. 
3. My dog also enjoys Regina Spektor, possibly more than I do. She's in love. We're eventually going to have to battle for Regina's love, and only one of us will live to blog about it. Hopefully it's me because Atticus cannot spell, and she also does not have fingers.

Or a penis. Major advantage for me. 

Finally, I realized that over the past few months, I have completely rid myself of road rage. I have also brought myself down from an "8" to a "4" on the "Danger to others while angry" scale. This is really the only true revelation I had, as I already knew my love for Ms. Spektor existed, and always suspected Atticus of being my primary competition.

To build further on this, most people who knew me a year ago, know I was a bit of a stress-ball. I had a short fuse, and my kryptonite was stupid drivers, and ignorant people. Also, Kryptonite. They'd always set me into an uncontrollable rage, and I'd end up huge and green and half naked. I'd also go through clothes really quickly.

So what happened? Well, I'm not entirely sure, but I speculate it's because I threw away all of my fucks. What's a fuck you ask? It's difficult to explain, so I'll use this clever analogy I literally just thought of:

Imagine me holding a basket of muffins. Blueberry ones. Those are all of my fucks. Now, when something annoying or bad would happen, I would give one of my fucks away. This displeased me greatly. Now imagine me throwing that basket of muffins into the forest, and a bunch of hungry forest critters eating them all. Maybe some of them got left behind and went all mouldy and gross. Who knows, who cares.

That's what happened. I fed my fucks to forest critters, and now I have no fucks to give. Make sense? Too bad. 

Anyways, my point is I simply don't give a fuck about stupid drivers anymore. Mind you, I still mutter threats under my breath (or loudly if someone else is in the car, because it's sort of funny) and I still admit that if I ever develop kinetic powers, I'd use them to explode the colostomy bags of slow elderly drivers in front of me. That'd be awesome. 

"I don't know what happened! One minute Grandma was doing 85 in the fast lane, and the next thing I know, everything was covered in shit!"

The other advantage of this, is that being so high strung would have probably taken an easy 10 years off of my life. Combined with that time I ate a giant box of lucky charms in 48 hours to see what color it would make my poop (green, FYI), I'm sure my life expectancy would have been 30. Meet the calmer, gentler, longer living Mike Ross. 

That's all I've got.

Written while listening to this.

*sigh*

Okay, so I completely forgot what the hell i was talking about in my last post. Seriously, no idea at all. Over the past 48 hours, I have consumed:

• 10 Large coffees
• 4 Peppermint Teas
• 6 Monster Energy gut-bombs (Or "drinks" as they call them)
• 4 Dr. Peppers

No joke. I've also had a combined 5 hours sleep over this period of time. So, can you really blame me for not remembering shit? Exactly.

Over the past few days, my Facebook news feed has been bombed with this picture and story:

"Hey Ted, c'mere I'm gonna teabag this little fucker"

To be honest, it's rather touching. I mean, if you read that story, look at the picture, and don't feel anything, it's probably because you're too preoccupied with daydreaming about the TV-movie they're gonna make about you after you hijack a bus full of nuns, pack it with explosives, and drive into a children's hospital. You sick fuck.

But, lets be honest here, after 5 minutes of thinking about it, and re-reading the story, then thinking about it some more, and then smelling it, it smells a lot like bullshit....

Because it is.

And I'm a little pissed off about it now. This shit's old. Like really fucking old. However, on the bright side at least something other than the latest iPhone whale was being shared on Facebook.

This brings me to the next thing I want to touch on. It's something that has royally pissed me off in recent years. Some of you know that I'm a bit of a closet photo-phile. Back in the olden days, when people took pictures with film cameras, there was some class, and exclusivity involved in photography. Now, everyone and their cat is a photographer, and anyone with half a brain (unless it's a cat, they need a whole brain) can take an "amazing" picture.

Photojournalism is something I have always dreamed about pursuing, except for the whole compensation element of it (can't be a baller when you get paid in bread crumbs and urinal cakes). However, now it's a profession that is almost completely dead. Nobody gives a fuck about a real "amazing" picture. Nobody gives a shit about true photojournalism. It's all about Internet memes, cats, and de-motivational pictures of bros pissing on eachother.

I prove with the following:

How many people have seen this picture?



or this?



this one?



These are all incredible images. All captured by people who still give a fuck about photography. That last one is literally a man who lit himself on fire and jumped from a building in Budapest. Think about that for a second. Somebody took that picture, and half a second later, the guy hit the ground. Then someone probably took his wallet, emptied it out, and bought themselves a bottle of coke or an AK-47.

These pictures are of things we should all be shocked, and captivated by. Nobody knows about them.

Instead, everyone who reads this will have seen the following:

"OMG Karen look at this amazing picture! Someone put a fruit helmet on their cat lolz. Go grab your DSLR and Sgt. Puddingtons, I've got the pineapple - we're gonna be famous!"

Anyways, my point is that there are a ton of jaw-dropping, mind boggling photographs in existence out there, spread that shit! Like peanut butter or Nutella.

I leave you with the recommendation to watch "The Bang Bang Club" - It's a great movie, and based on true events/pictures. Watch it. Also check out this website for more epic pictures.

Written while listening to this

Change in direction.

So, 46 seconds ago I decided something.



You'll see soon enough.

cooooooool.

Thoughtful.

Well if we take all these things and we bury them fast
And we'll pray that they turn into seeds, to roots and then grass
It'd be all right, it's all right, it'd be easier that way
Or if the sky opened up and started pouring rain
Like he knew it was time to start things over again
It'd be all right, it's all right, it'd be easier that way.

- Brand New

Rant.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Goddamnit.

I was driving on the 400 today in the middle lane, when a transport truck in front of me blew a tire, and sent the retread hurdling at my car. I swerved enough to miss most of it, but when I got home I saw that it had still clipped me.





The scratches are down to the primer, so I can't even buff them out. Headlight is loose and the fender looks a bit dented.

All in all, I have no choice but to deal with it. It frustrates me to no end that someone's carelessness has damaged my car, and I am the one left to pay for it.

The trucking industry has suffered greatly over the past decade, and many veteran truck drivers have been forced out of the industry by new young, and often foreign drivers willing to work for almost nothing. I feel for the drivers who are true professionals, as they now have to work even harder to make a living. A true professional driver would have noticed that their tire was close to a blowout, and taken the necessary actions to prevent it.

Hopefully karma finds that driver and gives him a fierce bout of diarrhea and a nasty case of herpes.

I also realize that I stereotyped foreign transport truck drivers as being careless. To the few foreign drivers who are not a part of this stereotype, I apologize.

It's rainy and i'm hungover.

So I'm chillin listening to 8tracks. Found this little gem, thought i'd share.



Love the raw acoustic/vocals, and the gradual buildup.

Absolutely terrible video though. Seriously, shit sucks balls.

Twitter.

I got twitter today.

In other news, I already regret getting twitter. The whole concept of twitter is still pretty silly to me, but i've been under some pressure from a Mr. Hammy Amherst (aka Graeme Harvey) to join the twit revolution.

See what I did there?

I guess now i'm a social media whore. Which has a terribly unclassy sound to it, so I'll tell people I'm a social media escort.

My life is fairly uneventful right now, other than some un-blog-worthy lesbian encounters, and arguing with some dumb girl in line for pizza about whether or not Sesame Street was pumping subliminal messages into us as children, I don't have much going on. I DID try making EasyMac with beer instead of water. Surprisingly, it tasted fucking awful.

That's all. If you want, follow me on twitter. I don't know proper protocol for referring people to my twitter account, i think there's some number signs and shit, but its "iammikerosss" - Please note that there are THREE s', because some asshole is apparently also Mike Ross.


Written while listening to this

Start your day fresh...

By setting this as your alarm.

It works.

Brilliance. Sheer fucking brilliance.

So today, while i was in the hour long line-up to get into school, it dawned on me that they have yet to make a show about cereal companies.

Think about it.

Imagine the dude who invented Lucky Charms. Just some marketing guy fed up with all these healthy cereals, who had a crude hatred for children, and a lust for success.

The show could be like Mad Men, except follows a cereal marketer. We can call him Carl "Lucky" Charmson.

I had a good 40 minutes of plotting out the first episode. Here's a teaser:

*opens with shots of busy office, people rushing around, cereal dispensers mounted on the walls, scantily clad receptionists*

*Pan to Carl's cubicle, he's busy putting the finishing touches on a proposal*

*Shot of Carl marching to the Director's office, co-workers murmuring and whispering as they watch him proudly stride towards the massive frosted (get it) glass doors.*

*Cut to the Directors desk, carl slams the file down*

Director: " Yes, Carl?"

Carl: "I've got it."

D: *sigh* "What exactly do you have Carl? Another "Lego-Brick-Explosion" pitch? You do know we're facing three law-suits over that, right?

Carl: No. No no, this is IT. *Opens file, slides box design towards the director*

D: *looks at design, then at carl, then design*

Carl: *Eagerly stares*

D: "Irish Blast..."

Carl: "Yeah."

D: "I see...are... are those marshmallows shaped like bottles of whiskey?"

Carl: "Yeah."

D: "And... hookers. These other things are marshmallow hookers?"

Carl: *with a look of pride* "Yes, yes they are."

D: *points* "and this one?"

Carl: "It's Colin Farrell sir."

D: "You're fired. Get the fuck out of my office."

----------

Follow Carl, and his quest to have his irish cereal produced.

That's all i've got for now. I'm going to incorporate the whole controversy about how it contains zero nutritional value, and likely is the root cause of severe digestive issues later in life.

On another note, if you ever find yourself in a room with a family size box of Lucky Charms, eat the whole thing and see what happens. I fucking dare you. Use skim milk though. I don't want you all getting fat.

Written while listening to this

Greetings.

Taking the advice of a few of my close friends, I have decided to bless the world with a page dedicated to my rantings, encounters, and opinions about controversial subjects which would likely result in me losing Facebook privileges.

Nevermind. I just changed my mind. Okay, this shit right here? This is like, my brain. But if my brain exploded and you could read it.

So expect more substance than I'm expecting. Most funny stories and such will be posted to the Big City blog. There will be repetition, because you're probably not going to wanna read TWO blogs.

Stay tuned. I'll start posting when i remember i started a blog.

Written while listening to this.