Courtesy of my buddy Steve...

Honk if you love peace and quiet.

Boycott shampoo -- demand REAL poo.

Eschew obfuscation.

Cole's Law: Thinly sliced cabbage.

Does the name Pavlov ring a bell?

Everyone is entitled to my opinion.

I took an I.Q. test and the results were negative.

Help stamp out and eradicate superfluous redundancy.

I used to be indecisive; now I'm not sure.

What if there were no hypothetical questions?

Dyslexics have more ufn.

Why is "abbreviation" such a long word?

If we aren't supposed to eat animals, why are they made of meat?

I like you, but I wouldn't want to see you working with subatomic particles.

There are three kinds of people: Those who can count and those who can't.

All generalizations are false.

Give me ambiguity or give me something else!

Please accept me Sarah!

I've been kind of bummed out recently because I put in a friend request on MySpace for Sarah Silverman and she has yet to accept me as a friend.

If there is one thing Fergie loves to do, it's to spell words out in her songs.

I just saw a commercial for Ireland that claimed one of the reasons to visits was for their poetry festival. What the hell do people do at a poetry festival? Read poetry? What else?

Cell phones are getting smaller and smaller, which is pretty cool because you barely even notice them in your pocket. Well, it's cool unless you are my roommate Alex, who realized his Motorola Razor was in his pocket after sitting in the hot tub for a solid ten minutes.

How the hell do you steer a hot air balloon? I mean, if you go on a hot air balloon trip, does the guide just say, "well, we will be taking off from this field and we will land wherever the wind takes us." That seems difficult to plan for.

I went to see the movie 300 and all I could think about when I got home was how I needed to do some sit ups.

My traumatic experience

My roommate and I share a bathroom, with a door adjoining directly to his room, and he and I converse quite frequently while I am using the facilities. The other day I was taking a piss when Alex struck up a conversation with me about my recent outrage at the USC intramural program. (For the $60 we paid we had a two game-long season, in which one of our games was scheduled during the Super Bowl.) I had sent an email to the head of the IM office basically saying he was an unprofessional idiot and if my tuition was paying his salary I would actively attempt to change that, and came darn close to telling him he has a huge ass. (He does have a huge ass. I wouldn't normally comment on something like that, but, really, if you were to use one way to describe this guy, you would say "that guy with the huge ass" like you would say "that guy with one arm.")

Anyway, Alex had brought up the topic as I began to pee and I immediately got fired up about the email I had just sent. As I drained a particularly long yellow arc and played "pop the bubbles" I started yelling at Alex, detailing my threats. After a zip up and a quick rinse of the hands, I popped over to the door to open it up and address Alex directly.

What happened next I classify as a near disaster. It was a pretty damn unfortunate event to happen, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been.

The vision flashes back in my mind sometimes, haunting me a bit. I see a dark Asian man, my friend, completely butt-ass naked in front of his mirror. I remember a slight flash of shaving cream around the groin area, though it was only a glance. I know I noticed the razor in his hand as he desperately lunged at the door. It was over very quickly. Probably less than a second. You wouldn't believe how desperate both of us were to get out of that situation.

As I fell backwards into the bathroom, I had to lie down a bit to catch my breath. All I could eke out was, "Sorry man, sorry."

But thank god, I must say, thank god that I did not see his penis. I mean, I'm a grown man and I shower in the locker room at school occasionally and I see guy's penises all the time. But for some reason I would have been forever scarred about that, given it was my good friend Alex. A hour or so after the "incident that we shall try to forget" I ventured up the courage to instant message Alex as I hid in my bedroom under the covers.

BigScottyB: hey, if it makes you feel any better, i didnt see your penis

alps365:yea, that is probably better for our friendship

alps365: i would have to see yours or something, let's make a pact to never do that

BigScottyB: you have come pretty close to walking in on me masturbating once or twice

alps365: i'm sure it's been more than once or twice

alps365: i think we would have to not live together if that happened

alps365: if i saw you jerking off it would ruin our friendship completely

alps365: i’m not joking, i would move out

Make it rain on them hoes

Like millions of others, I enjoy rap music. I enjoy it even though I often have no idea what the rappers are saying. Take, for example, the Fat Joe song “Make it Rain.” In it, the aforementioned large gentleman’s apparently smaller friend Lil’ Wayne brags that he “make[s] it rain on them hoes.” It’s a fairly catchy song, and I know I have sung along whtn it was playing on the radio (in private, of course). However, I had no idea what I was singing.

That is, I had no idea what I was singing until now. Apparently, NFL player Pacman Jones (and yes, although his real name is Adam, his jersey reads P. Jones and he is regularly referred to as the popular arcade character) made the trip out to Las Vegas last weekend for the NBA All Star Game. Reportedly, late on Sunday night Pacman and his posse went to a strip club where they “made it rain” on a group of strippers performing for himself and his friends. Apparently this is the act of throwing up so much cash that it “rains on them hoes.” After Pacman and his crew threw up approximately $81,000, the strip club owners tried to pick up all the money in trash bags, which, as one might guess, lead to some commotion, and long story short, one person was hit over the head with a champagne bottle and two more were shot.

But that wasn’t the part that made me stop. Eighty one grand? I want to know, was that 810 one hundred dollar bills? Or 4050 twenties? It couldn’t possibly have been 81,000 ones, could it? That option might be the most fun, however, just grabbing huge handfuls and making giant piles at the strippers’ feet. I think the most I’ve ever brought into a strip club was 20 ones. I certainly have never “made it rain on them hoes.” I guess that’s just another cultural gap between rappers, NFL players named after arcade characters, and me.