Not mentally or emotionally, mind you.  I'm experiencing a level of physical pain and discomfort that I never thought possible.  The only thing I'm allowed to say for fear of the TMI factor is this:

I have an infection or sore of some sort at the single most uncomfortable point on my body that you can think of.  As such:

It hurts to sit. 

It hurts to stand up.  Ohhh, does it hurt to stand up.

It hurts to laugh.

It hurts to cough.  You'd be surprised to learn what muscles flex and tense up when you laugh and cough.

It hurts to move my legs in any sort of athletic fashion (which includes anything from simply walking to running to jumping and just about anything in between).

It hurts to even lay down in any and every position.

I have never suffered like this in my life.  Ever.  This is cruel and unusual punishment.  As such, I can't even write a proper blog because I'm in too much pain and discomfort to think straight.  I'm going to go see if I can take a random drug and pass out, because this is stupid. 

Let's just jump right in:

1.  As black people, we're boned.

Hip-hop is the only culture I know of on the planet that not only accepts convicted felons into their fold, but glorifies them and puts them at the forefront of the movement to make us look even more retarded than we are (and that's saying a lot). 

What brings this on, you say?  Well, I made the mistake of watching the 2007 BET Hip-Hop Awards tonight.  See, here's the thing:

-Hours before the show, rapper and overall supernigga T.I. was arrested for buying machine guns from an undercover cop, or something like that.  Now, keep in mind that T.I. is a convicted felon.  What the hell does anybody, MUCH LESS SOMEONE THAT'S ALREADY DONE JAIL TIME need with fucking MACHINE GUNS?!  Especially just mere hours before you have to go on stage with Busta Rhymes and tear the house down because people hang on your nuts because you have the best beats backing the most mediocre raps in the world?

-Because of that, the whole awards show was basically a giant shout-out to T.I., "wherever he is".  Failure.

-Oh, and speaking of black convicted felons, there were SEVERAL shout-outs to the not-quite-yet-convicted-yet-still-boned Michael "I just killed 50,000,000 dogs" Vick, with David Banner holding up a Vick jersey and proclaiming, "Man, if nobody wants you back, you've always got a home here [in hip-hop]".

And white people wonder why the hell we haven't all jumped off a cliff.

2.  White people need help too (alternatively titled, "Fuck Yo Weather, Nigga")

Some people don't believe in luck.  Some people don't believe in sleep.  White people don't believe in weather.

It all seems to be working out for everybody so far. 

Now, when things get colder, usually, the inclination is to put on more clothing to protect yourself from the dropping temperatures, right?  Not with white people.  I noticed the colder it gets, pants and slacks get traded for miniskirts and knee-high boots (not that I'm complaining, mind you...).  Also, flip-flops are still as prevalent as ever.  That's what happens when you don't have to believe in such silly things as hot and cold.

3.  Take you and your cold and go that-a-way.

So I can easily catch airborne sicknesses and ailments.  Add in the fact that my roommate's girlfriend brought a case of bronchitis with her, and you get me waking up as a miserable, broken, and cranky man.  Everything above my nose felt fine.  Everything below my stomach felt fine.  Otherwise, I felt horrendous.  My throat wouldn't allow me to talk without hacking and coughing all over the place.  My stomach felt like it was going to empty its contents at any point.  And this is all because I'm just around people that were sick.  This all leads me to my last point...

4.  NyQuil:  Two-Thirds of the Male American Dream in One Convenient Bottle

What's the general course of a party?  Get drunk, get laid, go to sleep.  NyQuil has enough alcohol in it to get you sauced (and if not, you'll still get the groggy I-wanna-pass-out feeling from it anyway), and it'll give you a good night's sleep after you had it. 

Unfortunately, I can't help you in the "finding somebody to shag" department.  That's all you, good people.

That being said, I'm going to pass out now.  Next time:  bad pickup lines and why they work.

Good night, folks.

It's really too much of a valuable resource to let go, really.  What originally started out as a place to discuss card game strategies became a bastion of sanctity for people bored out of their minds at work.  So many classic quotes and conversations and funny .GIFs from around the web converged at this spot. 

And then two-thirds of the general population of said forum lost Internet privileges at work.  Needless to say, the forum died.

However, I propose a resurgence.  I shall provide a link, and what happens from there...well, we'll see. 

To Sheridan and Rodney:  I was able to archive a good chunk of the most hilarious stuff, but I wiped everything else.  When I get un-lazy, I'll make the This or That thread available for posting again. 

Let the hilarity begin anew.

So, as some of you may or may not know, I've been in a bit of a weird funk the past month or so.  As such, you start thinking about things that you wouldn't think of normally...so you know I had to write this down for hilarity's sake.  And now, let's begin.

1.  As much as it pains me to admit, I was a massive pussy magnet in high school.  "What do you mean, 'pains me to admit'?  You gay or something now?"  No, fools.  I'm straight like Indian hair (lol Jay-Z).  What I'm trying to say is that looking back on things, I had women practically throwing themselves at me, yet I was about two miles beyond the line of obliviousness.  I wish I had a time machine, not to go back and correct my mistakes, as it were, but to kick myself in the teeth for being so damn stupid.

2.  So on Tuesday, we had another meeting of the greatest minds on the planet at The Gathering.  As it does these days, our discussions naturally centered around "the womenz".  The first time this happened, we began discussion on "the 1-10 scale".  Some believe that if a guy is to sleep with a girl, she must be at least good enough to walk around the mall with, which would be about a 6 or 7.  Some believe that as long as they have at least one point on the scale, it's hittable.  Problem is, everyone's scale is a little different.

Take Sheridan, for instance.  He has a very tough grading scale, and that's fine, because he has high standards.   Thing is, he hasn't quite crossed over into the glorious light that is white girls.  Terrell, Sheridan's partner in crime, is basically of the same mindset as Sheridan, but he has a little better sense about the lighter-skinned fairer sex.  There's only one catch here: Sheridan has no ugly female friends.  This has been documented and witnessed several times through, so, uh, yeah.

And then there's me, Jermell, and Joe, because for us, there's nothing better in the world than big-tittied white chicks.  That being said, we've been in some interesting arguments and conversations...

Sheridan:  "There's this one white girl at our chill spot...man, this girl is bad.  I mean baaad.  She's like an 8 on my scale."
Me, to Jermell and Joe:  "That's like a 15 on our scale." 

Laughter ensued.

Sheridan:  "And there's this other girl...her ass is outta this world.  She looks good in sweatpants, dude.  Sweatpants!"
Jermell:  "Whoa, whoa, whoa.  She looks good in sweatpants?   That's like another 10, 15 points on the scale!"

Of course, no scale is without its flaws, as noted by Sheridan's miserable failure at rating a certain close female friend of mine (name withheld to protect the innocent, but I'm sure we all can figure it out).  Hell, even Terrell had to disagree with him there.  My opinion of her?  I'll use a quote from Rodney that started this whole standards discussion from months ago:

Rodney:  "Look, man, everybody's got that one girl that they think is a perfect 10 and nobody can ever tell them otherwise."  Nods and grunts of agreement all around.

But as for most girls that you'd meet on the street or something, I've devised my own super-simple version of the scale.  Instead of trying to rate on each girl on an individual basis, which requires plenty of gray areas and subjectivity, I have simple objective numbers based on each important feature.  It works out rather well.

Hair:  1 point for any type of non-fucked up hair, 2 points for nice hair (read: curly/wavy)

Face:  0-2, based on mainly proportion (i.e. no hugemongous lips or somesuch), eyes, and if her face got ravaged by acne

Boobs:  0-3 points...C cups get an automatic 2, D's or above get an automatic 3.  Anything else must be judged on a case-by-case basis...I did see some "A" cups (I told you they were B's, though...nobody fools the King of Cups) that were very nice and got a 3 rating, though I must say that those were the exception, not the rule

Ass:  0-2 points.  This is judged mainly in proportion to the boobs.  If you've got an ass like Coco T but nothing up top to balance it out, you get a 1.  Yeah, it's a bit backwards because I'm supposed to like ass since I'm black, but since when have I ever fit a stereotype?

Height:  5'8" or above (without heels) is an automatic 2 points.  I have a thing for tall chicks, unsurprisingly.

Yes, my scale does allow for 11 points out of a possible 10, but that's just because I love boobs that much.

(insert witty closing line here)

3.  Halloween is a white people's holiday.  You can dress up as whatever you want.  I was invited to two Halloween parties, and I'm inclined not to go to either one.  Why not, you ask?  Well, what the hell is a nigga supposed to dress up as that doesn't require a full-body suit (mask included)? 

Blade?  That requires months of preparation.  It's not like they sell box fade wigs at the local ghetto beauty supply and weave store.

Leroy from The Last Dragon?  Yeah, only if you have a body chiseled from stone.

I mean, come on here.  I will give out good prizes to anybody that can think of a good Halloween idea for me (and I will kill you and all those near and dear to you if you suggest Steve Urkel.  That's just the way it's gonna go).

4.  Ever had one of those days where it's not a bad day, but something's just not quite clicking?  Especially playing a sport or a video game?  You do everything right (or so it seems) and things just aren't working out?  Yeah, I had one of those on Wednesday.  I've never gotten my ass handed to me in a video game like that since Booker and I got raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaped by Jackie and Richard that one fateful night (screw Hang 'Em High).  Thank you, Sheridan, for inspiring me to work on my game so that I may obliterate all those who dare challenge my throne (yes, I still have the title).

5.  Finally (because I'm tired of writing now), I may start a little social experiment.  Inspired by the incredible minds at bodybuilding.com, I'm thinking about sending out a flood of messages to women around this area ages 18-24 on MySpace.  There will be one of two messages sent out:

1)  You're cute, kinda like a hamster.

2)  You look like you put out.  We should chill.  =)

I'm planning on documenting what kind of responses I get from the different types of girls (based on MySpace default pictures).  Obviously, there's the "hot slut with little to nothing on", there's the "chick with the MySpace Angles", the "nerdy type", and everyone's favorite, the "dear God, how did she fit all that body fat in the picture?!?". 

Part two involves a little time and pictures on my part:  I have to have a regular-ass picture (like the one I've got up now), and of course, the "oshit he's got a six-pack he's sooooooooo hoooooot" pic (that's why I need time).  Following me so far?

Cliff's notes:

-take two sets of picture (one hot, one regular)
-see how chicks respond to lines from each picture type
-document what chicks are like according to their pic
-bang a few girls
-blog it

Good idea, bad idea?  Hilarious enough yet stupid enough for me to get away with? 

We shall see.  Until then, I've got a 2-liter to finish destroying.  Adios, good people.

I haven't had this much fun in a loooooong time.  And no, I didn't get laid this weekend.  I just had a blast.

1.  The return of the end of the DDR.

Got off work Friday, and went straight to the Fun Center.  Now, I haven't touched the DDR machine in over a year.  Rust?  No such thing.  That's what they invented Freckles for, isn't it?  The machine was slippery as all get-out, though, as indicated when I blew my full combo somewhere around the halfway point of the song and almost blew my head open on the Fun Center floor.  Oh well.  Two songs, a pad miss, and a couple more slips later, and I remembered why I'm horribly out of shape.  But it was a blast that I'm definitely going to repeat again very soon (SuperNOVA, anybody?)

2.  Hooters Tomfoolery

After the Fun Center, I basically forced Jermell, Joe, and myself to go to Hooters because I was "tired of missing out on all the good stuff".  I needed good wings, and I needed to practice my random flirt-with-the-waitress skills.  Haha...I am a fool.

The setup:  The waitress, henceforth known as "Angela", comes by on that old-school hustle...

The conversation:

Angela:  "You should go buy a Hooters T-shirt..."

This was actually ironic because I was talking about going to Walgreens and buying some t-shirts at the low low price of 3 for $10.  We lol'd.

Angela:  "Or a Hooters keychain, or..."

The punchline:

Me:  "Do you sell Hooters girls, too?"

Rule number 1:  Always come with the unexpected.  The looks you see on others' faces is priceless.

Oh yeah, and the wings were amazing, except for Jermell, who didn't pull his damn weight.  He only ate four wings with some fries, making me look bad when I told Angela with supreme confidence that we'd finish all 50 wings.  Joe put in his work, and I put in a valiant effort, but we still left ten wings.  Thanks a lot, Jermell.

3.  "I'm talking about practice."

And, of course, the obligatory "Let's go play Marvel" came up, especially due to the fact that you can't take niggas nowhere, especially video game tournaments where $3000 is on the line (the quote of the year is at :53 into the video).  I was watching these videos the night before, and texted Jermell about them early on Friday.  So, we played until almost 1:30 in the morning.

4.  Mmmm...Panda.

8:30 PM, Saturday:  I find myself at Panda Express at the mall, "celebrating" Joe's last day working there (meaning getting hella food for the price of one bigass pop), and waiting for Jermell to get there.  He texted me saying he'd meet me at Panda. 

That was 8:15. 

The mall closes at 9. 

He comes ambling up the escalator at 9:17.  CP Time strikes again.

We had a lot of fun, stupid quotes were said, more quotes were cleared up, misunderstandings were understood, and, of course, we headed back to Jermell's house for more Marvel Vs. Capcom 2, and Joe comes busting in with a Final Fantasy III strategy guide with his DS in tow.  Already practicing his skills was Terrell, Jermell's younger brother.  I came in, picked up the sticks...well, the rest is summed up like this:

62-14

And what have we learned here?  That's right:  Don't piss off the Sentinel.  And if you do, ninjas and people named Doctor Doom will kill you dead. 

Also, we need to start playing money matches.

5.  Fruitcakes.

So throught the powerful advent of what some people call "e-mail", myself, my brother, his girlfriend, and our sister-in-law plotted a big "surprise" birthday dinner for my mom and other brother, whose birthdays are in September.  So nine of us go rollin' up into Cracker Barrel (myself, my parents, my brother, his girl, my other brother, his wife, and their two kids), and my mom has this sort of stupified look on her face when Aaron hands her flowers and a cake.  My mom got a vanilla cake topped with strawberries, and Anthony got a cake with multiple fruit on it.  To quote myself:

"Man, I've never had a better birthday cake in my life.  And it's not even my birthday.  I should mooch off of other people's good fortune more often!"

6.  Kittyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!

After Cracker Barrel, I headed in the general direction of Jackie's apartment, where I was offered the chance to meet her four crazy cats.  I got there, and Jackie and Richard were watching Man Vs. Wild (there's nothing quite like some crazy-ass white man going into the middle of nowhere just doing stupid stuff because he can.  Poor cameraman who has to travel with him...

Anyhow, these cats are awesome.  There's the lazy, quiet one, the normal one, the affectionate one (affectionately known as the "slut"), and the dog.  Yes, that's right.  This cat is freaking mean.  If he gets ahold of the Hypno-Toad-powered cat toy, he growls like a dog to protect what's his.  He's crazy.

And then the Halobox 360 got booted up, and everything went straight to hell.  I found out two things:

1.  I still suck at Halo.
2.  Even though it's a 46-inch plasma screen TV, I'm still blind as a bat and need new glasses (which would explain my immediate call to the optometrist today to set up an appointment for next Monday).

Oh yeah, and:

3.  I need an Xbox 360.  Badly.  Anyone willing to contribute to the fund will be thanked profusely and have their names immortalized in a blog.

Also, in other news, going to another person's apartment lets you know just how much crap you DON'T have in your apartment.

Tables?  Nope.

Real chairs?  Nope.

A nice TV?  My TV is older than I am.  Come on.

Oh well.  Desperate Housewives looks better on 46 inches, anyway.  Oh yeah,  and after a few beers.

I've done enough rambling.  I'm going to bed.

Well, yesterday was one of the worst days I had in a long time, literally from the time I woke up to the time I went to bed.

And then, I get this this evening from Booker...boy, did I need this.  Instant classic, saved and archived forever and always...probably because an entire Big Ten campus got to hear the words that have gone around here quite a few times inbetween killing "minions", sweating in the African savannah, and listening to a rousing round of "The Circle of Life"...ah, the memories.  Oh yeah, and random Sniper-Rifle-On-Ascencion (why can't I spell that word?!?!?) matches.

Oh, and then there's this:

Adaml00001 (9:42:00 PM): sup
BookerX3 (9:42:18 PM): http://www.purdueexponent.org/?module=article&story_id=7337
BookerX3 (9:42:19 PM): read
BookerX3 (9:42:26 PM): and blog is necessary
BookerX3 (9:42:32 PM): if*
Adaml00001 (9:43:34 PM): it's funny because they call you Booker in the article
BookerX3 (9:43:39 PM): lol
BookerX3 (9:43:44 PM): i no
Adaml00001 (9:44:33 PM): that quote!!!!
Adaml00001 (9:44:36 PM): oh my god.
BookerX3 (9:44:39 PM): lol
Adaml00001 (9:44:39 PM): instant classic
BookerX3 (9:44:57 PM): there were alot more cuss words from me but he edited lol
Adaml00001 (9:45:07 PM): lmao
Adaml00001 (9:45:09 PM): I believe it.
BookerX3 (9:45:34 PM): i was killin lol
BookerX3 (9:46:11 PM): when people say the word HALO out here they kno the deal lol
Adaml00001 (9:47:04 PM): hahaha
Adaml00001 (9:47:04 PM): oh man
BookerX3 (9:47:42 PM): lol
Adaml00001 (9:48:03 PM): you should've told him to put your gamertag in the article
BookerX3 (9:48:10 PM): i went to the bookstore today and grabbed 30 papers and signed them and handed them out to my fans lol
Adaml00001 (9:48:16 PM): lol
BookerX3 (9:48:28 PM): he was but he said he didnt want to wit out my permisson
Adaml00001 (9:48:51 PM): it would've been great...that way you'd have an entire campus gunning for your head
BookerX3 (9:48:57 PM): lol
BookerX3 (9:50:10 PM): thats basically how it is though, i am the benchmark for greatmess in halo.  if u tell anybody in the black community and some in the white community that u r good in halo, they will send u to me so i can battle test u
Adaml00001 (9:50:37 PM): well...problem is, both you and I know it works both ways
BookerX3 (9:50:44 PM): lol
Adaml00001 (9:50:46 PM): you'll annihilate the black people, but white people stomp you fierce
BookerX3 (9:51:14 PM): look wat somebody jus wrote on my exs page on facebook
BookerX3 (9:51:15 PM):  Dear Allison,

Hey, I know we haven't talked in a while but I need your help. Your ex-boyfriend, Micheal Booker, has developed a "Halo Problem", now many say that I like that game too much but Micheal is showing signs that I haven't seen in even Star Wars fans. And nothing to joke about. But if you be so kind as to go and contact the local insane assylum and give them all of his information that would be great. Michael Booker must be stopped at all costs.

John Gunnell
BookerX3 (9:51:30 PM): IM A LEGEND!
Adaml00001 (9:51:40 PM): that's it.  game's over
Adaml00001 (9:51:48 PM): this fight needs to be called off
Adaml00001 (9:51:57 PM): there's nothing left to be said
Adaml00001 (9:52:28 PM): quoted, blogged, shipped.
BookerX3 (9:52:34 PM): LMAO

The Ultimate Wingman: Helping people to get laid, one text message at a time.

This blog's been a long time coming, but I've finally found the time and motivation to complete it.  Without furher ado, here goes the blog of the year...

Things to keep in mind when looking to form, keep, or take a relationship to the next level:

1.  Men and women speak different languages.

Yes, it's true.  We all speak English.  The problem is, men say what they mean.  When women make a statement, you have to run it through a translator to find out what they're really saying.  Por ejemplo:

The setup:  You and your girl are at the mall, and you run into an old female friend at the mall.  You exchange hellos and whatever, and after you keep walking for another ten seconds or so (read:  "out of earshot of that girl")...

The question:  "Who was that?"

The translation:  "Am I going to have to turn around and go pull some hair?"

The reasoning:  For some reason, any walking mass of estrogen that is actually friendly to you is either 1) an old flame, or 2) a new threat to your girl losing her significant other.  Either one doesn't bode well for you.

2.  With 1 in mind, beware "The Question".

There's no worse feeling in the world than having a woman horribly pissed off at you.  Sometimes, you don't even have to do anything wrong.  Let's take our example from above:

Her:  "Who was that?"

Naturally, you answer like you would answer any normal question:  "Oh, she's an old friend."

But you notice something's wrong.  Your girl's mood sours and she gives you the cold shoulder for the rest of the day.  But you didn't do anything wrong, did you?  Of course you didn't.  But I'll share this with you:

When a woman gets angry, any answer you give to any question she asks will be WRONG.  She can ask you what time it is, and you can look at your watch and say "3:27 PM" and she'll still want to choke you.

I don't get it either.  Oh, by the way, you won't find out what actually pissed her off until about a week or so later, when everything seems to have blown over, but something you do or say triggers those repressed memories and she just lets you have it.  Note that at this time she's speaking regular English--there's no translations necessary.

3.  The Dime Theory

This has nothing to do with how hot, attractive, beautiful, or sexy a girl is. 

We've all heard the saying that women really don't know what they want.  Some women have even admitted to it.  However, I'd like to propose a different theory:

At any given point in time, women know exactly what they want.  The thing is, what they want can change on a dime.

Here's the catch: even if they wanted to, they can't tell you what they want.  How many times have you heard, "Oh, I want a guy that's nice, sweet, funny, good-looking..."?  If a girl really wanted that, I'd have a line of T&A stretching from my front door down to Lake Michigan.  But that's a different story.

This has another practical application:  You know that first couple of weeks of a relationship where you can't keep your hands off each other?  And then one day, she wakes up and has an epiphany.  No, I'm not talking about the T-Pain CD.  She wakes up and this sudden light bulb goes off in her head, and your supply of action suddenly gets cut off for weeks.  After two weeks, you decide to cross the line into the wilderness and ask her why.  Biiiiiiiiiiiig mistake.

Her:  "Baby, that's all we ever do.  I feel like that's all you want me around for.  I want to be romanticized.  I want to be loved."

Never mind the fact that only sixteen days ago, she was ripping off your clothes like they were on fire.  However, you have to keep in mind that a relationship isn't "us"...it's "how can I make you happy and somehow find joy out of doing everything in my willpower to keep you content?" 

With that in mind...

4.  Women are like magic.

It's not that they cast spells on you, or vex you with their stunning beauty and clothes that show just enough skin in all the right places to drive you insane.  Nono, it's more like the actual "laws" of magic (all the nerds will know what I'm talking about, and I'll catch the rest of you up in just a second).  What's the first, last, and basically only rule of magic?

You always give up more than you get.

Seriously, think about it.  When you get into a relationship, you give up a large chunk, if not all, of the five things most important to you: 

1.  Time
2.  Energy
3.  Money
4.  Friendship
5.  Sanity

There is no more "me time".  You don't get much time to sit at home, relax, take a load off, and do what you want to do, like nap or shoot some hoops.  And don't get that phone call and try to explain that to your girl.  "But baby, I really wanna seeeee youuuuuuu..."  You can almost see her pouty face through the speaker on the phone.  And if you continue to say no, it'll take you right back to 2.  She may not get pissed that day, but tomorrow rolls around, and you're in trouble.

As far as money goes, technically, you could ask to split everything 50/50, but don't think that crap will last forever.  Eventually, you will end up footing the bill on a lot of things, even if it's just out of the kindness of your own heart, or what a lot of us old-schoolers like to refer to as "chivalry", even though it's long dead.

Oh, and don't think you're going to get "Thursday Night With The Guys" anymore.  That may fly for about the first two weeks, but eventually, she'll start coming up with "things to do" on the nights you're supposed to kick it with your friends and spend the one free night a week you get venting about your girl.  Eventually, it'll just turn into "come be with me or else", and then you get into a fight and go kick it anyway, and she gets mad, and then we're back to point 2...again.

5.  Dr. Kobe and Mr. Kobe

Some days, you can do no wrong.  Other days, you just can't buy a bucket.  But what you have to realize is that a woman is not a basketball hoop.  You're not going to have Phil Jackson over your shoulder saying, "Keep going, you'll warm up eventually."  What you will have is a mule kick straight in the chest for continuing to try and fail miserably.  It's not four-down territory here...we'll call it the Two-and-Out rule:

If you're not doing well by the second try, give up and come back later.

...although, I will admit that hearing a story of how you got a footprint stuck in your chest would be hilarious.

6.  The BFF principle

If, for whatever reason, you and your girl are drifting apart and are going to split ways soon, be very aware that there's a very high probability that she's attracted to one of your best friends.  Smart men would sit down and talk this out so that no jealousy, hard feelings, or fights come along (bros before hoes, people).  Unfortunately, we're not that bright.  So, my word of warning is to not let some girl take a few months to break a bond you've been building with your friends for years...please, don't let it happen.  It's not that important.

That should be plenty to help all us wayward souls in our quest for "happiness"...and for most of us, "happiness" means "T&A".  Depending on feedback, I may write a Part II...we'll see, though. 

Good luck.

(Yes, I'm delaying writing the blog I've been promising for a week.  Mainly, I don't have the brainpower to put it all together in one sitting.  We'll see if I get it posted by week's end.)

So, I haven't been this excited in a long time.  It seems, over the past two or three weeks, The Gathering has been coming together like the olden days of yore.  For those of you who weren't part of the legendary group, there used to be a time where about seven or eight of us would just post up in Jermell's basement for practically weeks at a time.  We'd only leave his house to sleep to let our parents know we were still alive and for food runs.  We spent our days wearing out the local Sega Dreamcast (henceforth known as the Marvel Machine, only because the only game we ever played on it besides the random Sonic Adventure 2 was Marvel Vs. Capcom 2, known as MvC2 on the intarweb), arguing about DBZ and Kenshin, and dueling (b.k.a. Yu-Gi-Oh).  Occasionally, we'd move the whole group over to Nnanna's for Halo carnage twice a month (and those stories alone are legendary in themselves).  But we mainly posted up at Jermell's place, just kicking it old-school.

Then life got in the way. 

We got older, interested in women, and forced to slave at work.  Slowly, but surely, we stopped hanging out as much.  And we all used to complain and reminisce about how we missed the old days.

Well, they're starting to come back.  Two days a week, we meet up at Jermell's to beat the hell out of each other with the Marvel Machine, make jokes about the world, and discuss the crap going on in our lives.  Oh, the old times.  All we need now is a plasma-screen television running the great DBZ AMVs that defined our generation 24 hours a day.  Of course, there'd be intermittent episodes of Kenshin running, and for the updated times, episodes of Naruto where Neji comes in throwing fireballs and just beasting (because the Eight Trigrams is where it's at), while Rock Lee gets drunk and beats ass.

I'm a sucker for nostalgia.  Enough reveling in the past.  I must go to bed...reality will be calling bright and early in the morning.

I swear, I can't tell anybody anything anymore.  There used to be a time where you'd be able to tell your closest friends anything in good conscience, knowing that they weren't going to run around blabbing what you told them or joked about or talked about in confidence.

Not me, not anymore.  Anything I say--ANYTHING I say, suddenly gets back around to me in record time.  "So, Adam, I heard you said blah blah blah" and whatever.  Yes, I did say that.  And simply put, unless it's something that'll send you completely over the edge (and I've had to basically lie to people twice this week to save that exact situation), I'll tell you straight to your face.  But if I tell you, my friends, something and you know good and damn well that it's not a good idea to turn around and tell that person I was talking about what I told you, mainly because there's a good, possibly life-saving reason behind that, then don't!

Essentially, people, what I'm saying is:

KEEP YOUR FUCKING MOUTHS SHUT!

I'm going to bed.  I'm surrounded by morons.

Look, I didn't say this.  I'm just the messenger.  Any and all complaints, hate mail, and death threats should go to the only man more quotable than myself: Sheridan, a.k.a. The Storyteller (with a convenient link to his MySpace here).

Sheridan:  "Man, look.  You know if your MySpace pic is blurry, that's when you know you're ugly."

Quote it.  Blog it.  Ship it.  I'm out.