Strike First, Strike Hard, No Mercy, Sir! Part the Third

Orientation week is almost over. Just tomorrow. No sightings of V.I. Melanin though Tuesday's Polo Bear 7-11 trip was much appreciated.

THE BRIEFING:

So, Michel and The Stache Update: Still, douchey. Still unaware of their own douchiness. I HATE THEM. Like, I REALLY HATE THEM. It's hard to feel bad for them. (Even Royale With Cheese [who is also among the nicest people I have ever met in my life, except when it come to Shitfucker {we'll get to him later}] had this to say: "I just don't get where he comes off. You can't be that pompous as a freshman." (Ed. note: In all seriousness, you have to earn a sense of superiority or else you just end up like the 11030 Mob.)

So, Freshman Best Friend Update: Electric Bugaloo still dancing and presumably still smoking six packs a day. Scrappy Doo and Me '11 have almost edged out Electric Bugaloo, almost. The tall kids are starting to like me. Success!

The kid who broke his wrist (heretofore know as Pity Party) came back. I still felt really bad because like he couldn't even hold a pen so someone had to write his name in his Bible for him. Pity PARTY!

Spawn, stop talking and corrupting Mountain Lion.

Drink Me! was super nice to SL 1J today. Which is surprising because normally the only time he goes out of his way to talk to a student is when he has an erection. He did it boner-free today. Good job, Drink Me!.

Despite my Bobby Knight-esque coaching skills, the Jedi have only won one game. Tomorrow, the (w)reckoning.

Strike First, Strike Hard, No Mercy, Sir! Part the Second

I actually said that today to one of the tadpoles. A tadpole whose cousin is an a-hole. More progress, more swearing. Seriously, if I had a nickel for everytime I said "Fuck" today, I wouldn't have to work 3C. I would own my high school because I would have so many nickels and I'm sure this will payd off in the long run, right?

Also, it was my dream to get a freshman best friend (Electric Bugaloo) and a freshman enemy (success! there's two: Michel and The Stache.) I also walked away with a sophomore enemy (Staff Infection) and Kevin the Red has been upgraded (downgraded?) to frenemy status. Normally, I wouldn't shit on someone I didn't know (unless your name is Kelly Anne and your interests include "hookin' up"), but I mean, seriously Michel and The Stache? Really? Like it's only your second day of high school and you are so far behind you might as well just quit now. And they aren't even friends with each other so they can't even rely on each other's patheticism. Cut the shit and I don't like sass, The Stache. Also, razors are neither expensive nor hard to use. You look ridiculous. Your parents must hate you. And Michel, just from looking at you I can tell you are an only child and both of your parents have always worked in the city and they probably don't speak to you much because they just don't want to answer your questions about what they're jobs are like because they're too angry because they never see each other and the counseling only made matters worse and you are their son and they're stuck with you and your never directly looking at anything EVER and seriously, you didn't realize there were no girls? I probably won't speak to you ever again just to avoid hurting myself.

Reason why Electric Bugaloo is my new best friend: He and his friends video tape themselves break dancing and then post them on Youtube under "partyboysproductions." That is, when he isn't to busy with karate or drumming. How could I not?

Today was not as bad as yesterday, thank God. Mostly because of a game of war and then bullshit. And fuck you Staff Infection, Electric Bugaloo was totally in the end zone already.

Strike First, Stike Hard, No Mercy, Sir! Part the First

There are some really intense fourteen year olds out there and I just imagined a bunch of them stating--nay, demanding-- that before I led them into Dodge. I go to a retarded Catholic high school that has A LOT OF MONEY (blind item!) and I, Id A, Class of 2008, am working the Class of 2011 orientation. Which is a week long. Because my school is, in addition to being wealthy and retarded, fucking retarded.*

This whole day was long and hot and exhausting and sad. First, I thought I lost a kid (more specifically a Korean kid, which in my school... what I guess I'm saying is that being Korean, or, rather, just un-white, is kind of like being one of the coloreds in the movie Pleasantville. Everyone kind of avoids you at first because you're different from them and they just not used to having all those goddam coloreds around, but then they just realize that maybe being colored [like in Pleasantville, not like, Rosa Parks] is just a-okay!) But it turned out he didn't even show up, so, point Id A. And point Nyunhoon (Joseph) Na. Like, that's how it was on the attendance sheet. I swear.

Then, all the freshmen hated me because I wasn't as good a coach at volleyball/dodgeball as The Schmelter, but then I realized something. The more you just make fun of people and say "fuck" and "douche" the more some 14 year olds will like you. TRY IT! IT WORKS!

Then, I made a joke about retards that got a laugh and then they finally started talking. (Note to self: Only ten of them are actually named Mike or Con(n)or!) Also, I'm pretty sure God doesn't a lisp. Because if he (sorry, He) did, JeSuS? Really?

Tomorrow, another day, another dispatch.

*Just to give you some reference, my junior-year Christian Humanism teacher, and unfortunate moderator this week said this (direct quote)**: "Ninety-percent of gay relationships fail because of a tragedy like AIDS or breaking up the relationship."

**You might be saying "Id A, how do you know that's a direct quote if junior year was at least two and a half months ago? Huh?" I wrote it down literally as he was saying it and then it just sort of played over in my head, Clockwork Orange-style.

Fucking Poor People.

No, seriously, you guys, I am like such a good person. Yesterday, I was with Lightweight Paper, Pony Party, and Thought Thief in Huntington Village. (Ed. note: That may just be one of my least favorite places on Long Island. Just, not a fan.) More specifically, outside Wild By Nature. So yeah. Anyway, we're chatting about how they're all leaving for college and Figure It Out, naturally, and this black lady pulls up next to us in her minivan (sad.) You see, she's driving out east and has no money for gas (!) and asks us for some. I was pinned down because I was closest to her and she was LOOKING AT ME THE WHOLE TIME while giving her schpeel (in a Southern accent or maybe she just goes to church in a basement, either-or) and I just wanted her to go away because... (well, you know). Long story short, I, Id A, gave her ten whole U.S. dollars. Right? Like, I know. She told me that God was watching over me and that I was such a "nice young man." SAD! Then this... like the second she put her (sad) minivan back into drive...

Id A: I hope she doesn't buy meth with that.
Pony Party: I guess I've just grown to ignore homeless people.
Lightweight Paper, Thought Thief: Yeah, definitely.

I LOVE US!

No, seriously, get a job poor people. You are gross.

Back to the Gulag

Or: The Reunion of the Two Greatest (and Most Pretentious) People... EVER

So yeah, yesterday was the annual summer Owns Me (or: the paper) meeting and let me just say it would have been a total "SHITFEST '07" had it not been for standing outside in the rain with Royale With Cheese and V.I. Melanin who was sporting a new messenger bag that he totally bought from a Hollister-type (read: Banana Republic) store.

Id A: Do I have to get to know the underlings' names or can I just assign them numbers? (Ed. note: Like in a concentration camp.)
V.I. Melanin: I know, we're so much better than they.

This little snippet of conversation pretty much sums up my friendship with V.I. Melanin. Because, he brings that side out in me. Also, it is, for the most part, true. Especially if they can't hear us talking about "them."

Also, this little gem which was overheard during dinner:

V.I. Melanin: WE'RE NOT DEBATING, WE'RE GENERATING DISCOURSE!

One more year left, better cram my obnoxiousness and bigotry all in before college.*

*I know, RIGHT!

Ew. (Decide Which!)

Produce Pete: I was hungover this morning.
Id A: I have nothing to say about that. That is a first for me.
Produce Pete: Do I get a reward or something? Like a blowjob where you actually seem interested.
Id A: Yeah, because normally, you know, sooooo bored. Like, I'm thinking about like what's gonna happen on The Hills.
Produce Pete: So about that...
Id A: I think this personal growth for me.
Produce Pete: (...)
Id A: My penis, I'm talking about my penis. But I'm curious to know what's goin' down south of your navel.
Produce Pete: Water.

Get it. Because ships are in the navy and they go on water? That was the worst joke ever. Ew.

Samesies Sex Marriage

Let's recap the night of August 17, 2007, shall we...

Id A needed food.

(Welcome to Camry)

Uday (You Mention Me A Lot) Pulaski needed green tea because he's only drinking green tea and water. (Sidebar: Id A has only had water for the past month.)

Produce (You Need To Mention Me More) Pete needed a belt. I literally gave him the one I was wearing because I AM SUCH A GOOD FRIEND.

Johnny and Gio needed "some shit to get fuckin' hammahed, ya know?". Id A then imagined the lives they share because it looked like they were on a date since they were both sitting the backseat of a car alone and we didn't see them with anyone else the rest of the night. They also didn't like us because Produce Pete caved to Uday's and Id's peer pressure and put his brights on them in the "fuggin' pahking lawt." They are my new best friends. Uday will probably bump into them in Montreal (where Id A wants a t-shirt from) because Johnny and Gio want to celebrate their love the way a "conventional" couple does by getting married. We almost sat next to them at....

Superbad which needed nothing. It was awesome.

FRIENDLY'S!!! (Story about Nipple Rings to be told at a later date.)

Sexual tension. Like, more than you would think.

Id A demanded to know who "Number One" is. Seriously, I'm number two?(!)

That was pretty much it. But more shit happened.

P.S. Id A has no idea why the time stamps on every post are off by like at least three hours ALWAYS.

Id A Is a TOTAL Whore

...for compliments. And gazpacho* if you have some. Specifically, mellon and cucumber topped with lobster. Yesterday was the biggest squee-fest in honor of him ever. (I know, enough with the third person. Maybe I should speak in first person plural like Uday Pulaski who totally has the most blog mentions despite the fact that he owns me money.)

Floppy Pony Tail and The Coot (collectively known as: Are They Married?) praised me like I had threatened to deport them unless they worked at my apple orchard in the blazing heat for no pay. They were down right subservient. When The Coot saw one of my drawings (drawings, no less!) I heard him say "Oh, Jesus." (not a pseudonym) And it wasn't like "Oh, Jesus. Another cat died." It was more like "Oh Jesus. I never thought something could be so beautiful!"

Are They Married? left me smiling and not an uncomfortable smile like when The Coot says something really terrible about Latinos. Different generation. Plus I mean, they ARE lazy. But seriously, even I was offended and I'm white(st). Like they told me eveything I wanted to hear and more. And you're saying "Id A, isn't that pandering?" Yes, it is. I loved it.

So, yeah, future. It's gonna be a wild and crazy year. My doctor may have his answer. Because he totally remembers me. Much as you remember that post. Adieu!

BONUS: Has anyone seen that part of The Hills (you totally watch it too) where Lauren talks to her mom about Heidi (SHIT BE GOIN' DOWN) and they say "LA" like 5249 times. That made me smile, too. Because its nonsense. The whole show.

*I love gazpacho. It's just a fact.

Fuck You, GIllette

I love not shaving. It has got to be one of my favorite things in the world. Only emphasized by the fact that I have an extemely heavy beard for someone my age. (Not as heavy as Uday Pulaski's, but I mean, does anyone?)

Not shaving saves me so much time because, when I shave, I do it right. I'm talking like not shaving for a week. That way people will be able to see the hair on your face and not thing your just going through puberty and haven't learned yet because your dad's not really in the picture and this all seems kind of redudant because seriously, how hard is shaving? If you've seen the Super Bowl, then you should know how to shave a face.*

I like rubbing my jaw and stroking my chin as though I'm making REALLY important decisions. Beware: I was stuck in traffic doing that today and this woman pulled up to me and gave me a really dirty look. I think she was just jealous. (Right, Kelly Anne!? [see previous post]) I like touching my chin (shit is a jungle) with my upper lip. Basically, I like looking like an American Apparel model, if only for the fact that it makes me look like a hipster even though calling yourself a hipster negates the fact that you are a hipster. Williamsburg.

Alas, I will have to shave tomorrow. Apparently, I'm corporate now.

*By, the way, I read somewhere that its totally "hotter (!)" to be au naturel down there, so... uh... that's some advice if your like me and your afraid of cutting SOMETHING.**
**Shaky hands. From all the meth, naturally.

Id A Has a New Non-Personal Nemesis

In that I have never actually met this person, but we are foes. This person joins the ranks of Tom Cruise, Michelle Malkin (Google it!) and Carlos Mencia (we get it, "beaners")

Congratulations Kelly Anne from the Real World: Sydney (yeah, I saw it,) you are a shithead! You may be hot even though you probably did a lot of terrible things with your mouth in high school so that guys would like you and then you convinced yourself all the other girls were just jealous of you because you had lost your virginity to a senior when you were a freshman because you blossomed earlier than all the rest of them who still had their "promise rings" on in the Texas high school where football was really important but you weren't a cheerleader because you're too indifferent to care about anything other than yourself except for, and I'm only guessing here, "hooking up." You probably also say "I just don't get why she doesnt like me, y'know?" ALOT.

Also, just from one episode I can tell you are a racist. Am I right Parisa/the-girl-who-is-way-too-smart-for-this-show? Not a racist like where you hate but are kind of just distrustful of anybody who is not white.

Also, you are from Texas, my undoubtedly least favorite state.

Lastly, you seem like type of person who thinks they should be liked by everyone.

Gooty-Goo-Goo

Id A: I don't think I could ever do porn.
Uday Pulaski: I'm too tired for this.

So, yeah, there's that. And this.

Like, I just think porn is kind of the funniest/saddest thing to watch EVER*. Especially if like you're watching soft-core porn on Cinemax and you know you're parents are still home and like when are they gonna go to bed? (Channel 372 for those of you with Cablevision iO)

But between the acting and the costumes and the names and the dialogue and the plots (YES, plots) I wouldn't be aroused, just amused. Like I heard some actor say (the context was a threesome) "And you get to watch." But, he said it like it was a punishment (unless you're into that) and that's ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT. The entire time, "Why did he say it like that? "Get to watch"?" I mean, I know you're not watching for the acting, but like, they're not even gonna try to act or write a script.

So much of porn is just kind of un-sexy. And you know that if you heard those people whining on Real Sex: Going Down in the Valley. Which you totally watched. First of all there's like all these people around and since you're the guy, they'll be talking about your penis, good or bad (which no one likes, unless you're into that.) You're essentially just a prop and your probably doing "it" on like a cactus in a coyote costume (yes, I did see that Entourage, thank you.) And cum shots, (which I earnestly thought was one word) in my opinion are always gross. NO questions. Unless your into that. Which is totally cool. No seriously, don't feel weird. I won't judge you. I guess we all have our own sexual deviances. Not that you're a sexual deviant or anything. I should have said uh, uhm, peculiarities. Why do you have a boner right now? Oh, right, you're thinking about cum shots (two words (!)), aren't you?

Maybe, I'm just too much of a realist to do porn. But, I mean there are free AIDS tests and who doesn't appreciate those? Takers? Anyone? Just another MTV statistic, eh?

*I'm excluding Little Miss Sunshine in that. Naturally.

Sidebar: Number of times I typed "pron": 6

I Have Too Much Free Time At Work.

Today, I was really bored at work, more than usual. I was so bored that for the second time this summer, I just imagined people I knew bald. (TRY IT! IT'S FUN! YEAH!)

Also, I watched and episode of 30 Rock and made it an "Alt-Eighties-Tuesday" with the idPod.

Then I just sat on the floor for about an hour not even thinking about anything.

Pretty exciting and eventful day. No?

Oh and I got all the work that was assigned to me done, so, y'know, I'm not a complete waste.

It's Exactly Like a GPS System, Only, It's Retarded.

Overheard in the city:

"Yeah, I'm like near a tattoo place."

Congratualtions, Blond Girl Talking on Cell Phone WAY TOO LOUDLY, you just described every single place below 14th Street and above Houston. I hope that guy who you're thinking about getting serious with but for now are just seeing if you guys could be friends because you don't want to jump into a relationship SO quickly never found you. I hope you're still out there. And, if he did find you, I wish you luck in getting the cum out of your hair because you are totally that girl, Sienna Miller Lite.

"BRIGHT FUTURES DIMMED" Would be the Headline In Newsday and then just CARNAGE PHOTOS*

The ultimate tale from the road. The time: 10 P.M. The place: "Shady Street", Glen Cove. The incident:

Polo Bear and I had just gotten out of the movies and we were both hungry. We were in Glen Cove which, despite its picturesque name that conjures up images of suburban splendor by some very nice little harbor where the sun sets behind sailboats, is really just ghetto. Not as bad as Hempstead, though.

Sidenote: One time when I crossed from Garden City to Hempstead, (AND EVERYONE KNOWS WHEN THAT HAPPENS) the first thing I saw was two dogs fighting over a piece of meat. Like just on the sidewalk, casually, like this sort of thing is an every day occurrence. They were really going at it. Barking and biting, RUMBLIN'. It was gross.

So anyway, Polo Bear and I are at the SHADIEST PLACE EVER/Wendy's. And I'm a little fuzzy on the details but maybe I missed the drive-thru lane. (?) So we, more specifically I, go back to try again but instead of making a wide turn into the left lane of the right side of the street, I hang a sharp left INTO THE NEAREST LANE. I drove Wesley Snipes** on the wrong side of the road. In the dark. In Glen Cove. With a bunch of cops around. For like three seconds. It was still the scariest thing ever because one SUV passed us. I was literally shaking so bad I couldn't eat or drink or really even talk. I could've ended the lives of two very smart, talented, young men. After less than a month of driving full-time. Guilt much? P'sha.

I hope these three entries have inspired my readers to exercise caution and act responsibly behind the wheel of an automobile. Because THAT is what I'm doing this for. But, seriously I could've died.

*Because you know that every time there's a fatal accident on Long Island (bonus points if still in high school/on way to baptism/wedding/soup kitchen) the front page editors just giggle and throw confetti in the air.***
**If you're curious, WHICH YOU TOTALLY ARE, it's because my car is black on the outside and inside, "Wayne Brady." Also, I am a HUGE racist.
***That was in poor taste.

Tanning Apparently Makes You More "Entitled", Not "Attractive"

So, as was promised, here is one of my favorite tales from the road. Royale With Cheese tells it almost as good as I do and he wasn't even there.

And that's how this story begins: LEARNING(!). It was early October, the sun was high and the day was that warm where like you could where shorts and a t-shirt but it doesn't feel right because you've been in school for a month and when is actually going to feel like fall so I can stop thinking about summer?

Dad A is with me and we're driving around the "'hood" in his large German car. I'm approaching a stop sign and there are two cars parked on side, I am halfway between them. There is another car parked on the other side of the street. Suddenly, a blue Honda Civic comes ROARING onto the street, almost hitting MY DAD'S CAR. Tan Bitch (early twenties, of course) stops at my window and yells at my mouth "ARE YOU FUCKING RETARDED!?" My reply, you ask? "Heyheywoopsokay!" Just like that, like one long word. But then I realized that totally would not have been my fault. Right? Like how was I to avoid that? No possible way, right?

And so, a new catchphrase was born. A new experience had and another person despised. You are that person, Tan Bitch who I am going to assume lives on Birchwood Park Drive. Fuck you.

Goes Well With the Crack in the Windshield

Id A feels bad. Today, when I was getting gas for Wesley Snipes (the car, not the tax-evader) I had my first real fender bender. I say "real" because those people at 110 & Jericho were "totally cool about it," i.e. they had somewhere to be. But today, this man had nowhere to be, because he works at a motherfucking gas station like the stupid immigrant that he is. Yeah, i know that's insensitive but so was he, also, I am not as big a douche as he will always be because I'm not mad at the world because the American dream hasn't worked out for me and now I'm working at this FUCKING gas station in Plainview.

So there was this big fuel truck filling up the underground tanks with oil and he was blocking my usual pump, the one that you can just pull up to and don't have to maneuver and shit because that's hard. So, I do some of the things I was apparently taught in Driver's Ed (who knew!?) but only I hit this stupid cement barricade that's retardedly painted like metal so the gas station can fool people into thinking they're running one classy joint. Long story short, I shattered my front blinker. Long stroy even shorter, Suresh must mean "douche" in Hindi.

As soon as he saw me go into reverse he was watching me like I was a black person in any store. After the "incident" he runs over and screams in his Indian accent "You get the FUCK OUT OF MY GAS STATION! Who gave you your license and your car?" My reply, you ask? "I know, I know." Like he had just told me that cookies are super-fun(!). Than the other people there looked at me really judgementally and one of them was driving a minivan so, how embarrassing! Then when I went to get back on the road somebody honked at me. Great.

THINGS I WISH I HAD SAID:
"THE STATE OF NEW YORK WHERE I WAS BORN, SIR!"
"Look, it was an accident. Your solid piece of cement is FINE!"
"You are a douche."

Dad A didn't seem that mad though, so Win?

This brings up another "incident" that I have relived with Royale With Cheese many a time. Except this one totally wasn't my fault. I will leave you all with that. Tomorrow, another tale.