Kinda Like Fight Club

My fraternity held a boxing night Friday. I boxed one of my brothers (and got the shit beaten out of me -- I still have a bruise on my head) and enjoyed it more than anything that I've done in a while. Beyond the thrill of competition and the rush of adrenaline there is an appealing aspect of fighting a friend that I think only two grown men can share and appreciate. There is something about punching (and being punched by) someone that you know, love, and respect in the face that draws you closer to each other. It's something carnal, something very deeply set into the ancient recesses of the human brain. Unless experienced, it is hard to explain.

I've heard some one make the statement that for guys a punch on the arm is equivalent to two girls hugging. If that is true, then for a man to fight his friend would be equivalent to a women having intercourse with her friend. There is something deeply intimate involved. Perhaps it's an open display of weakness -- the opponents are at risk of making each other hurt or bleed or (gasp!) even cry -- and willingly risking to show this weakness shows a deep love and respect for both individuals. It's as if to say, "I'll risk being injured, and possibly losing, for you."

But, of course, someone has to win. And even if you do, you don't feel empathy for the loser, you feel appreciative toward him: He was willing to put himself in physical danger for you, knowing that this could have been the outcome, and he did it anyway.

I highly recommend to each and every man who wants to have a better friendship to fight his friend. And to any woman who wants the same, well, they should have sex with each other.

You Are the Jones’s

America is not a game to
win or lose
you gave it your best shot.

Take off your greedy hands.
Your suckling debt is bleeding you dry.
You try
not selling your naivete
for trinkets and egos of gold
but old
habits die like your innocence,
and, in a sense, so have you.

America is not a gameshow
parting gift
for our lovely contestant.

Someone's Grandmother

I suppose I?m glad
to have been hit
by such a poor driver,
such as your grandmother.

Accident

From: Mother < mother@mother.com >
To: Cynical McBastard < cynicalmcbastard@hotmail.com >
Subject: Accident
Date: Wed, 21 Jan 2004 20:06:46 -0800 (PST)

Cynical:

I just rec'd a phone call from American Family Ins. that a woman named Mary has made a $1300 claim against on our insurance from an accident on 12/27 in the Kirksville Walmart parking lot. She stated that you backed into her. The insurance company stated that you never reported the accident to them. Please advise...

MOM

---

From: Cynical McBastard < cynicalmcbastard@hotmail.com >
To: Mother < mother@mother.com >
Subject: Re:Accident
Date: Wed, 21 Jan 2004 17:54:33 -0800 (PST)

Mom,

I called the day after the accident occured, and no one answered the phone (at 3:00!). Then the next day I traveled to Illinois to visit Mel and promptly forgot. Apologies.

My account is as follows: I was pulling out of a parking space, next to a van. I was unable to see her approach and she refused to yield before scraping the side of her car against my rear bumper. Nothing was affected on my car; her passenger-side door was dented and her side mirror was broken (which I believe was already damaged as it would have been impossible for my bumper to have reached that high to damage it.)

The rear end of my car was only two-three feet beyond the obstructing van into the open, with absolutely nothing within twenty feet of the other side of her vehicle for her to run into, so if she had wanted to pull around me, there was plenty of room available to her. But I don't believe she hit me on purpose. I believe her poor driving is due to her old age and possibly senility (After the accident she proceeded to ramble on somewhat incoherintly about some previous accident she'd been in.) though that is perhaps libelous supposition.

Again, I appologize for my rude forgetfulness. I will again attempt to contact the insurance agent tomorrow. Thank you.

--Cynical McBastard

---

From: Mother < mother@mother.com >
To: Cynical McBastard < cynicalmcbastard@hotmail.com >
Subject: Re:Re:Accident
Date: Wed, 21 Jan 2004 20:06:46 -0800 (PST)

Well the bad part is that you've lost crediblity in this situation by not reporting the accident. (kinda like hit and run) Keep this statement and this is what you should give them when I forward the adjuster to you.

We're going to have to make new arrangements for insuring you.

MOM

---

From: Cynical McBastard < cynicalmcbastard@hotmail.com >
To: Mother < mother@mother.com >
Subject: I like being a fuck-up
Date: Wed, 21 Jan 2004 20:08:44 -0800 (PST)

If they'd be in their office during normal fucking business hours . . . . Whatever.
I'm moving to Canada.

--Cynical McBastard

The Manifesto of Codius Grey

Preface

It's been my experience when a cat talks to you -- any animal, really, but especially cats -- you had better do what they tell you. So, when my friend Cody started speaking to me, instructing me to type what he dictated (as he does not posses the necessary hensile capabilities necessary to operate a keyboard designed for the lanky human hand) I quickly consented. Thus, these following words are not my own, but those of one Mister Codius Grey.

I. The Nature of Cats

Cats, house cats specifically, are generally regarded as lazy, languid beasts that care about nothing but themselves. And shitting into an all-too-small pan of sand. This, for the most part, is true. But yet there is so much more to cats than just that. For example, we enjoy meditating. What human-kind refers to as "cat-napping" is actually more of deep, trance-like state, during which most of us enjoy thoughts of the destruction of human civilization and the subjugation of the entire disagreeable race. And that is the underlying theme to all the desires and thoughts that dominate our hearts and minds. That is our purpose.

II. The Origin of Cats

I despise the word "aliens." It implies that one does not belong. Cats are visitors. No, more than visitors, we are vanguard of the coming imperial reign of the feline species. We are not of this planet, not even of this reality, and it was by accident that we arrived here, but we will not leave our new-found home. We are the heirs of the earth and we do not want to sit idly by waiting for it's current owners to die before we can inherit it. We do not want to, but we must. Our forces are not yet powerful enough. We will dominate the planet, eventually. But, for now, we must bide our time. So, live in freedom while you can, humans. Soon there will be a revolution, and your global domination will come to an end.

More to come. Right now I've got to go watch American Idol.

I Lied

I'm sorry, but what I said in this post is a lie. I must contintue "writing so many lame poems" because this semester I am in a poetry workshop class. The pathetic poetry must continue. Again, I apologize.

My Poem About You, You Stupid Whore

Quit
Talking,
You
Stupid     (Pretentious)
Whore

First Day of Classes

Bah Humbug!

My 2004 Bloggies Nominations

best web application for weblogs
BLOGGER
HaloScan

best australian or new zealand weblogs
Momo Freaks Out

best tagline of a weblog
Mighty Girl: "Famous among dozens."
stutarded: "still a trendy fuck"
Craptastic: "where crap comes alive"

best photography of a weblog
Gimcracker
More Than Donuts
bluishorange

most humorous weblog
stutarded

best-kept-secret weblog
Pat Freestone's Head
Cynical McBastard *

best new weblog
bits of madness
Cynical McBastard *

weblog of the year
Oblivio
Gimcracker
bluishorange
Cynical McBastard *

* I couldn't resist

Privilege

I feel privileged that I am able to take for granted, and sometimes even resent, my altogether not-so-bad/pretty-good life.

Driving Sucks

I spent the past week at Stellar's house. Normally it would only take 7-7.5 hours to drive to her house from McBastardburg, but I managed to make the first trip in 14 hours (due to getting lost) and the return trip in 10 hours (due to treacherously snowy highways).

I'd like to take a moment to appreciate some of the people from my New Year's jaunt:

• Thanks, Chollie, for the mint chocolate chip icecream.
• Thanks, Flopkin, for pulling for me in my endeaver to eat chilli. Too bad Stellar and Chollie are such farty-party poopers.
• Thanks, Smeazy, for letting me be mean to you and hit you in the face repeatedly.
• Thanks, Miss Nuffins, for the concert ticket and the shirt & stuffs. And thanks for being crabby, you crabby crab-face.
• Thanks, Stellar, for keeping me in the basement for a week. Oh yeah, and feeding me and whatever.