Tue Oct 20

Alright, douchebags, listen up.

I am tired of you fuckers at the gym not using the smaller water fountain. At my gym, there are two water fountains. One is normal height. The other one is cripple height. As a man who is 5’11”, I have no problem bending down to use cripple-height fountain, especially if someone is using the big boy fountain.

HOWEVER FOR SOME FUCKING REASON I AM THE ONLY PERSON WHO WILL DO THIS

Lines fucking form around the big boy fountain when the reebo-height fountain is perfectly free. I cut said line, because I am a thirsty motherfucker after blasting my pecs, but then I feel like a wompwomp because I am drinking from the stunted-growth fountain that no one else will drink from. Then the fucking frat boys look at me, all like, “Hey, look at that fucking trainable drinking from the fetal-alcohol-syndrome-height fountain” and I’m like “LOOK DOUCHEBAG GO LISTEN TO NICKELBACK” but I don’t really say that, because the real revenge is success.

Sun Oct 18
What the fuck, 7-11?

What the fuck, 7-11?

Tonight. You.

Tonight I went to a bar that played CSS [Beautiful Song], Tiga [Shoes], Peaches [Talk To Me], AND Flight of the Concords [Inner City Pressure]. And then they gave me several St. Germain cocktails. I may have to return.

Wed Oct 14
Here is a picture of me looking uncomfortable in a tie because it is GPOYW

Here is a picture of me looking uncomfortable in a tie because it is GPOYW

Mon Oct 12
annie: ( via clairenatividad )  (via hypnotica)
Annie, this is dumb. Do you know how totally ready I am to win the lottery? Both Sallie Mae and I are ready for me to win the lottery.

annie: ( via clairenatividad ) (via hypnotica)

Annie, this is dumb. Do you know how totally ready I am to win the lottery? Both Sallie Mae and I are ready for me to win the lottery.

Fri Oct 9

What an awkward topic to broach

  • Me:
    Uhh.
  • Me:
    Did you throw up in the shower?
  • Drunk Roomie:
    DID IIIIII?
Thu Oct 8

ImpeachObamaCampaign.com is TOTALLY CRAZY-BALLS

:
Make no mistake. We’re now in the middle of a bloodless coup – the takeover of an entire nation by the hate-America crowd – a cold-blooded gang that despises American’s prosperity, our standing in the world, our trust in God and our generosity and goodness.
Fri Oct 2
My new shelves! Finally, a place to put my little ponies.

My new shelves! Finally, a place to put my little ponies.

Wed Sep 30

On my list of most embarassing moments

During my freshman year of high school, not unlike all my years of high school, I was a pretty bad fuckup, in the “I don’t care, I’m just going to put my head down on my desk and sleep through class” way. I didn’t particularly have to put any effort in to eke out passing grades in most of my classes, at least at that point. However, there was one class this did not hold true for: Japanese. It’s hard to bullshit foreign languages with foreign-er alphabets. I would occasionally put in effort, but I never seemed to be able to get it right. My Japanese teacher, at the time, wrote me off as a failure and occasionally scolded me. In the middle of class, she once asked aloud how I intended to pass the course, before scowling at my mumbled, incoherent answer and turning toward her brighter pupils. She was very committed to the idea of working hard in school.

Our final was a grueling, two class period affair, with an oral component (hurr hurr hurr) and an essay portion, which I recall most of the class fucked up. We wrote a love story about the test’s picture of a young couple underneath a cherry blossom tree, when she wanted a mature and sophisticated novella about the two kids severing all romantic ties in order to prepare themselves for college.

Or something.

Anyway, when all was said and done, instead of handing our finals back out to us, or emailing us, or something reasonable and discreet, she decides to READ EVERYONE’S GRADE OUT LOUD TO THE CLASS. My heart seized in my chest as she began to chant off pairs of names and their excellent, dazzling, grades. My high school was full of overachievers and people who were accepted early to Harvard. The grade of a layabout like me was not only none of their business, but the attached social stigma of being the idiot of the class, who didn’t study and would clearly never go anywhere in life, hahah point and laugh at him, was reason enough to commit hara-kiri. Not to mention that the rest of the class was predominantly Chinese, so it’s like learning Spanish for them, right? Easy A. Anyway, she read the list alphabetically, and eventually, as alphabets do, she is lead to my name.

Reading aloud from a gridded chart inside a manilla folder, she says, “Robert Gable: sixty-seven.” Before my mind could begin pumping the chemicals appropriate for the spirit-crushing response to getting such a low grade on a final, as well as the embarrassment of having it read aloud to kids whose parents would cane them for anything below an 90, she looked up from the grades and said, in the most earnest voice I had ever heard from her, “Good job, Robert, you passed!”

As her rock-bottom expectations for me became clear to everyone in the room, the students turned to look, even though I had already dissolved into the folds of my hooded sweatshirt.

Sun Sep 27

Who wears a robe, anyway?

Okay, so, my Graduation Robe has been sitting in a bin in the corner which I recently emptied. What do people do with graduation robes? I understand they save their hats (DUMB) but I’m not sure if there’s a protocol for a robe. I could use it as a blanket, maybe. Or a sex tarp for my bed. Maybe I could cut it into a cute haltertop.

Now taking suggestions for what to do with my graduation robe?

Design by Robert G. (It's still conceptual. Tumblr introduces strange design issues).

Powered by Tumblr. Thanks for Playing.