2010, We're Finally in the Future




2010, We're finally In the future!

Who will be the next Great Inventor? Who among us will give a blowjob to a politician and become famous? Who will secretly vanish from our lives, trying to get onto American Idol because they are trying to surprise us when we see them on TV, only to say they had H1N1 when they magically reappear in our lives because they failed?

What will the future bring? I’m a firm believer in understanding our past, in order to better understand our future. For instance, let us look at a past “great future way-paver” Sir Isaac Newton, the father of the laws of motion, calculus, and the 69 position as a means of understanding how to become a “great future way-paver.”

Cause I want to be one.

Isaac Newton's first thought after being hit in the head with an apple was the 69 position. He was out cold sleeping, head laying on the thick thigh like roots. He felt drops of rain on lips, filtering through the trees. He lay there unconscious, dreaming, about how Mother Nature would always sustain him, he felt connected with the world around him. This was the awe inspiring enlightenment he was looking for. He pondered History, Physics, Religion and Great Art of the Future and Past. He would no longer need to travel to the Orient to find enlightenment like so many of his contemporaries, who came back to the American Empire, explaining how Thailand had creatures who were of both genders. Woman on the top half, man on the bottom half. “Party on the top, even more party on the bottom,” one man wrote to Newton.

As Newton lay there with eyes closed and thoughts racing through his mind, suddenly a familiar taste ran by his lips. He opened his eyes to see large dog’s genitals in his face, like a red dangling slug, swollen with curiosity, as the dog relieved himself on Newton’s face. Newton lay there embarrassed as the dogs owner, caught a glimpse of a smile or a smirk on the passed out face of young Newton, as he received a stream of what Newton called "yellow nectar of the gods," as he once wrote in a journal he latter burnt. The dog’s owner, had an understanding that we all behave differently when alone, then when we are with other people. She understood the “otherness” Jean-Paul Sarte talked about.

She took out a yellow silk hand embroidered handkerchief to pick up her dogs excrement and went on her way, went about her day, telling every soul within a 5 mile radius about what she saw. And you got to give it up to her, back then, a 5 mile radius was a lot of unpaved road walking, yall remember her. A great pioneer in gossip, perhaps the great grandmother of twitter:

Becky_SoCal89: Newton1643 drank dog Piss LOL, you didn’t hear it from me though!

Becky_SoCal89: “Yellow Nectar of the Gods,” dude learn how to burn a journal better LMAO!

Newton would latter find out that the 69 position was old news to his Cambridge buddies. They found human fossils in that position centuries ago. The fossil information was in a book at the far end of the Cambridge library where a young woman would always study. Newton was shy, so he never went there. It was as if she guarded the book.
Newton also found out that one of his friends learned the position from his wife; before Newton got married with her of course. Although he didn’t wow the public with his sexual discovery, he did wow the public with his theories of motion and forever change the landscape of humanity.


So, with that in mind. What will you think of this new year as your head slams on the sink, or toilet as you are trying to throw up? What will the great oracles, and muses whisper in your ear? What images will they sketch in your mind? What will they bless us with as we lie unconscious in sweet concrete slumber in front of a totem pole bouncer? Or as we lay on house party sofa death beds surrounded by hyenas waiting to draw penises on our face?

Take care of yourself, and each other.

Lesser Known Christmas Stories


This story was told to me when I climbed the Himalayan mountains, by a wise old man who lived at the summit. He was a clever fellow, but kept a pet snake that bit him every night, he insisted that one day it would get tired of biting him, but it never did. Oh, how we laughed when the snake tried to bite through his coffin at his funeral! That's another story all together, but this is his most famous fable.

A kid gets out of the pool after an hour of swimming, and goes to the entrance of the pool where his and everyone's shoes are lined up. It goes

Pair of Shoes. Pair of Shoes. Empty Void of Concrete. Pair of Shoes.

Empty void of concrete is where his shoes are supposed to be, but they aren't.

He inspects the line up again, but it is quite evident to him that his pair is missing, like a front
tooth, missing from a smile.

He counts the shoes again, tapping each pair in the air as if he were playing piano with one finger.

When no one is looking he grabs a pair of shoes, walks off and clomps around in size 10 sneakers, the closet to his shoe size, all the way home.

The guy who owns the size tens does the same, and the person that finds their shoes missing next does the same until the last kid. The last kid has no shoes to take home.

The next day, the kids come back wearing each others shoes, they laugh at the absurdity, reconcile their short comings, and as they walk hand in hand to enter the pool.

They find that the pool is closed because of contamination.

The kid who didn't have any shoes, the kid who walked home barefoot, took an angry dump in the pool. The rage was aimed at no one in particular, and at the same time, at everyone, especially those with shoes.

I never knew what to make of this story, the old man said I wasn't "wise enough yet."







Operation Six Pack

(Not me, yet)

We all have an Operation going on in our lives, the operation is something that is an on going conflict, like Operation Iraqi Freedom. We know in our hearts we are battling something, reaching some toward goal, we feel that the goal is concrete.
Do we know if we have thought things through?
Yes.
Do we want to accomplish this goal?
Yes.
When will this goal be accomplished?
Your guess is as good as mine.

For some it is Operation Pay Child Support, others Operation Be Yourself, and for a lot of us, it is Operation Six Pack or some general form of changing our bodies. We want the change, but for some reason or other we always fall flat, we disappoint ourselves.

Again like a scientician, I'm trying to find the reason for my success at Operation Six Pack. I'm not there yet, but I bought a two year 24 hour fitness membership, got over my anxiety of going to work out in front of other people, hit the gym right after work at 9 and left at midnight. And the only change I can find is...

Age

I'm 27, I need that picture to put on Mypace of my six pack looking slyly into the mirror. All the other cool kids are doing it and I feel left out.
I've had a 2 pack before, maybe even the coveted 3 and a half, but never 6, and me want this bad.

So, basically, just wait for time to push you towards your goals, as much as I procrastinate, I never cease not doing something I want to do. Life goals are a lot like English papers, you wait till the dead line, do a half assed job; you fail the class, but next semester, next semester your going to show them.

And isn't there always a next semester people, isn't there always, think on that.

Take care of yourself, and each other.



Skinny Jeans Awareness Month




"Fail."

That's what Freddy tells me as I say, "I need to change my shoes" before we head out to play Football with a group of 6th graders.
Today, I'm assisting in a Young Men's group program, we were making snowflakes, but our males minds wander, we are too savage to make paper snowflakes out of florescent green, blue, and pink paper. We tap into our inner hunter, and some of the boys tap into their inner flamboyant gatherer (Hey guys! I found some nuts!) and we decide to abandon the project and play football.

Freddy is bigger and stronger than most of his peers, and in his vital stage of development he qualifies everyone because he doesn't know any better: she's hot, he's a nerd, and to him,
I am skinny jeans.
I need to run to my car and change out of my Dorthyesque red shoes, slip out of my skinny jeans that slink off my legs like pantyhose, and my cleavage revealing v-neck to put on my
XL basketball shorts
XL shirt that is torn at the sides to show off my solid shoulders and upper back muscles.
And my Nike basketball sneakers
To Freddy, I am that Asian guy in skinny jeans, that gets his haircut for 60 dollars at a Japanese salon, by stylists, that gives massages afterwards.

I'm going to have to show Freddy that the man makes the skinny jeans and not the other way around.

I remember not long ago, in a time before skinny jeans....
When no one queer eyed a straight guy, tight pants were known as "nutters" because they accentuated the male sack the opposite of camel toe.
I remember being on the Bart train with my black hoodie, black sagging size 36 jeans with my Jordans and du rag reading Shakespeare just to show them, that I would not stab them, that I was articulate despite my appearance. I showed them that
That we should not be judged on the content of our urban clothing, but on the content of our character.
Today
I'm going to show them that we should not to be judged by our deep florescent green V necks, but the content of our football skills.

So, after I do my superman clothes changing impression, I show my athletic prowess, which is amplified 10 fold because I'm playing with 11 year olds. I score touch downs with ease, block passes.

To me...

Skinny jeans is a statement, I want you to see my bulge, it's saying I'm out there, not out of the closet, because in the skinny jean world there are no closets, it's saying that woman I understand what you feel when you cant fit your jeans anymore girl, its saying I'm skinny and I'm proud.

I guess whatever stereotype we supposedly fit, we will always have an urge to prove that we are not like that, that we are more than our clothes, our hobbies, etc. Well always have a need to show them if we truly are the kind of people we want to be.

Take care of yourself, and each other.

Don't Stop Believing



I love this "Don't Stop Believing"cover, probably a couple months ago I would hate this because I would tell myself I'm not supposed to like this. I'm a straight 27 year old man, and this kind of reminds me of Barney and Friends.

As I watched this repeatedly, I felt no judgement. I didn't think about the plausibility of a wheel chair guitar player. I think about the plausibility of the singular act of a rendition of Dont Stop Believing, echoing throughout the segreted halls of Glee High (I don't know the name of the school), that manage to bring the different clicks together to stare into the air, looking at no particular object with a sense of hope like a Barrack Obama poster.

I think it's growing older that makes us more tolerant, but the last time I checked FOX news, there are plenty of angry old white men.

Or does this enlightenment come from a proper dosage of X pills. A correct amount, just enough to dissolve the animal part of the brain that was made to care about petty trivialities that create a void between peoples ( If we could ever dive into the minds of Dogs, we would hear all kinds of insensitive, bigoted hate speech towards cats).

Perhaps it is getting older, but in a more metaphysical sense, I can feel my atoms dusting off my body. Evaporating off me like hot steam when coming out of a long shower. The atoms catch wind, floating away from me like dandelion seeds, I can feel the crumbling wall between myself and the world.


Stuntin Like My Daddy


"When one has not had a good father, one must create one."

-Nietzsche

When Lil Wayne's father left him at an early age, instead of hating the father that abandoned him, he created a new one. He adopted Birdman (right of Lil Wayne) as his father and mentor.

I can think several fathers I've created/adopted throughout the years, one that comes to mind is Mr. Gajero, who taught me that the most important thing in sports or in this case 6 period P.E. class, is hustle. Or at least hustle is the most important thing when you are a scrawny yet paradoxically overweight Chinese kid who pleads with their P.E. teacher to allow him to race in the 1 mile qualifying round that would enable him to join the track team, even though he has no real chance of completing the race in the top three spots, and that he will be second to last, only beating a girl.

Another father that I adopted was, Friedrich Nietzsche. He never remembered my birthday, didn't pat me on the back to build my confidence when I completed minor achievements like most fathers, but the one thing he did for me was that he always kept it real. He never sugar coated things when I searched for life's meaning when I was searching for a religion with the best afterlife with the most amount of loopholes for getting in said after life. He told me bluntly, "God is dead," and when I was confused about my place in the world, he said, "The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself." So, that's what I was doing my freshman year, when I squatted on top of the toilet, so no one could see my feet, not to go to the bathroom, but to wait for lunch to end in the bathroom stall. I was being an individual. He cleared the muddy waters for me.

My most recent father Barack Obama, gave me the most important advice of my life. He told me, "You are probably not that good a rapper. Maybe you are the next Lil Wayne, but probably not, in which case you need to stay in school," when he addressed African American youth in Powder Springs, Georgia.

I don't know what I would have done without my created fathers. Would I have become a stripper or porn star, like so many fatherless men and women, desperately seeking to fill their void with a man? But, what if I have a good father you say? I say what is a father and how many platinum records does your father have? If a father is a person you take advice from and have a CD of his advice in the form of gangsta rap, and have a poster of him on your wall, then one of my fathers is Fifty Cent. So, let us drop the daddy issues, and drop the fathers who don't have their own Wikipedia pages or Youtube videos in favor for ones that do. This fathers day, give that Walmart tie to John Stewart, Lebron James or Brad Pitt.

Mi Casa Su Obstacle Course



Only White People Do This #101: taking your privileged white ass touristing into the homes of those less fortunate than yourself, making their "exotic" locales your personal playground. I'm sorry, I'm just mad because I can't ride a mountain bike. Looks like fun.

McDonald's Getting Closer To Combining All Vices of the Lower Class Into One Meal


Not everyone can be Patrick Collier (left) a first time McDonald's customer, who won after buying a 32 ounces of orange drink to sooth his dry mouth from a 3 day meth binge. Collier bought an orange drink after fifteen minutes of unsuccessful ordering because he requested menu items not served at McDonald's. The McDonald's Monopoly Game is essentially a combination of high-fat food, corn syrup and little lottery tickets masked as a children's game. I don't know what is worse, the stringing along of people too poor or dumb into thinking they can win a million dollars, or the consolation prize of more shitty food.

Goodwill Interviewing


What's worse: Shopping at Goodwill or working at Goodwill? That's what I asked myself as I was being interviewed for the Community and Fund Development position at Goodwill. I laugh at my question on the inside, and the interviewer can't tell because my demeanor did not waver because I'm dead on the outside and no one can actually detect my emotions, how I feel on the inside. I find out later that the answer to my question is: Neither.
What's worse is leaving an interview at Goodwill thinking that you got hired because the interviewer decides to give you a twenty minute tour of the plant, but throughout the tour you question yourself if the interviewer gives tours to take up minutes in his day or because you got the job, and you pick up hints here and there that lead you to believe that he does this with every interview, but the clues are also ambiguous and lead to no conclusive answer, and this whole thought process is not done as the tour is happening, but only after the fact through piecing memories together trying not to favor yourself, but trying to make an objective account of what actually happened because it a has a week has passed and he hasn't contacted you despite sending an email thanking him for taking the time out of his busy day to interview you and reminding him why you are qualified, leaving you desperately waiting by gmail and cellphone for an answer "because he did say that he would contact you by Friday even if you didn't get hired," "but is it this Friday or next Friday?" you tell your self, only to find out that you didn't get hired because he contacted you by not calling you or not emailing you, he answers me by silence, the default answer. I'm asking if he can spare any change and he's replying:
"..."
and there's your answer. So yeah, I didn't get hired.

Know Your Gangs: SureƱos 13



One of the most ruthless Hispanic gangs in America today are the SureƱos 13 or Sur 13:

Gang Sign: The number 13, for how many times they have watched The Matrix.
Rivals: Lord of the Rings fans.
Symbols: Three dot tattoos, the number 13, and XIII (not to be confused with X3 which is an offshoot Mexican gang for fans of X-men three.



Wendy's Boneless Buffalo Wings Review


My food options have been affected by the economy of late, I have switched from the Bourgeois Jack in the Box, to the Aristocratic McDonald's to slumming it with a "ginger-retard" (quoting Eric Cartman here) named Wendy. Wendy's has stayed true to their Dollar Menu roots by keeping things a fucking dollar unlike McDonald's. So I have been limiting myself to spend two dollars on a meal. Yesterday I "ate" a quarter gallon of milk, a bowl of rice, and four hard boiled eggs. Needless to say, my taste buds, more like taste enemies sometimes because they taste sour and bitter things, nevertheless I love them and wanted to treat them to something economically feasible, so I went to Wendy's. Long story short, I bought the new boneless buffalo wings that are nuggets basically drenched in syrupy mess that combines vinegar and taco bell hot sauce. Visual appeal is half of taste experience, we taste with our eyes before our tongue. My eyes tasted aborted-fetus drenched in a creamy afterbirth sauce. The sauce stained my clothes, and even after I changed clothes, somehow I feel unclean.


Shitty College


The train that I took to and from school everyday passed by UC Berkeley, and every time the train stopped at the station, unloading all the students with their backpacks stretched to it's limit with books, concerned looks about being late for class, or holding up some piece of paper trying to cram in some last minute study before class, I would feel embarrassed. Chinese shame. That was the school I was supposed to, that was my school not some community college in San Francisco 50 miles away.

I on the other hand had no books, just a water bottle for basketball, basketball shorts under my jeans, and I also had my basketball; walkman blasting the the latest collabo between two deceased rappers, with bags under my eyes because I stayed up to watch Conan and Fox and Friends (what was I thinking) to get a glimpse of Lauren Green, despite the 8:00 am class I would have to attend.

One day while riding the train coming home a girl sits in front of me, and she's reading the same exact book I'm reading, Krishnamurti's The First and Last Freedom. What are the odds, that never happens. So, I casually get out of my seat and sit next to her, and I wait. You always check out who sits next to you. She sees the book and says, "Are you taking Eastern Philosophy with Professor Green." I replied, "Can you repeat that?" I got confused because at community college we call our professors teachers. I was like whoa, calm down on the lingo. I was like, "no, I'm reading this outside of my studies (basketball)." It was the epic semester known as "Recess," 15 units of PE classes. She repeated the question and I answered yes. It wasn't hard making up conversation about an unknown professor. A teacher is either hard or easy, a douche or a nice person, never a hard task master, punishingly difficult, not from reasons of malice, but because they care, only teachers say that about themselves.

For the next fifteen minutes, I was like, "Yeah," "Uh-huh," "I know," and the ocassional, "I'm actually quite fond of black people, I can't agree with you there (shout out to Kobe if you're reading this)." I felt I was losing her because we couldn't agree on whether America was ready for a black president. So I ask her what chapter she was on. She told me she was on chapter 21 : ON SEX. I'm on the same chapter too, I replied. I say, "Krishnamurti is pretty revolutionary, I mean, when the guy questions him about the chaos, and the problem sex causes, Krishnamurti, replies must all things be problems, why is sex a problem? Why do we make everything into a problem? She was like,

"Totally, I mean we have these rules about protected sex, we don't have rules about protective eating, I mean what fun activity do you see people using protection (seat belts race car drivers), doesn't safety exclude fun automatically (parachutes sky divers) , right (football helmets)?" He's also right on the concept that we build up sex, in magazines, in movies, in STD scare tactics, the way women dress...into something unmanageable. There's no separation between sex and our daily lives it's just that in sex we lose the "me" and we open up our mouth and legs up, to the world, you know? Why do we feel so driven toward sex? Why does it feel so good? Even if you never orgasm in the process of doing it, you lose yourself, like in writing, painting, our some other creative activity."

I know.

As the backpack wearers, and CAL stamped bodies stood up to prepare themselves for their stop, I knew her stop was approaching.

She says, I'll right my number on mine and you on yours, and we should switch books, as a symbolic gesture."

Hippies.

We exchange copies, and say "bye." We look at each other as she goes up the escalator, and I see her smile when she looks at my book... until she looks at the side of it, which had a huge: CITY COLLEGE OF SAN FRANCISCO stamp on it, and from what I remember highlighting and notes with crayon on the inside, it could have been with a colored pencil, but who can tell the difference.

I would never see her again.





No, I never let the water run

I remember when Jerry Falwell accused the purple Teletubby of being gay, and said that the show secretly promoted homosexual lifestyle to unsuspecting children, but Barney somehow, went under his radar.



Okay, he messed up trying to act out brushing his teeth, but what about the "turning off the facet" that just happens to look like you're tickling some guy's balls, while you're already blowing someone.

He's so enthusiastic and energetic, his body language is, "I get anxious when dicks aren't dripping wet with saliva."

Real Life Michael Scott?

This is a comment that I found on a blog, regarding the book Four Hour Work Week that I copy and pasted. The book is basically about trimming down your work week to only four hours a week, hence the title. Four hours of work a week sounds great, but an issue with the book was brought up by critics, "What if you like your job? What if your job is your passion? Why would you limit yourself to only four hours?" The book is for people with jobs, that aside from monetary gain, have zero reward, and are absolutley soul crushing. Well, here's a response from someone who's a defender of the book and in denial about being in the rat race:

I do project management, but my passion is comedy (stand-up, improv, sketch). But just because my job title doesn't say comedian, doesn't mean I can't work to incorporate my passion into my job through trainings, or how I send email, or what I do to build up my team. While that won't be the case for every passion, you can be creative and find ways that you can combine both "work" and "passion."

Someone needs to get a camera crew and film one of his training sessions.

Lazy Swastika



I drew at least 10 different versions of this swastika, scanned and photoshopped. I had a drawing where a female Swastika gives birth to the Star of David, with her husband unaware of her cheating ways. It got really complex so, I scrapped it. This final drawing is going into my book.

Project Adulthood

Project Apex, the project which I would undergo to become the best human in the history of mankind, has been grounded in lieu of, the just as ambitious: Project Adulthood. Project Adulthood, is about being able to carry out the daily tasks that any normal adult can do.

1. I want to be adult enough to always have my Brita pitcher half-full.


Task Prerequisites
  • A Brita pitcher
  • A desire to drink water that taste good.
  • A desire to think that the task of filling up the Brita pitcher is actually a task at all, rather than some corollary to the bigger issue that you are masking, namely being, a desire to remain childish because you relate being an adult to the simple task of filling up a pitcher of water, which in turn, symbolizes being autonomous which is an element of adulthood. An adult would fill said pitcher, before they become thirsty not after.
Difficulty Score: 1.0 (out of 10)




Is It In You?



Can you still be hungry at 27 for your passion? Wouldn't it have starved to death by now?

Red Pill or Blue Pill?


If you run into Morpheus and he asks you which pill you want to take: the red pill or the blue pill? You take both. Because you get waaayy higher that way.
Update: Waaayy higher may consist of blunt force trauma and sexual assault in an alleyway depending on the company you keep.

Welfare Office


As I approached the counter at the welfare office, I noticed that the woman behind the counter was deaf. She would communicate with the people in her line by sliding them a form were they would check off what they needed help with. At the current moment, she had ran out of forms, so she wrote a question on a paper and slid it to me, I wrote on it and slid it back:
"Yes, I am here to get my welfizzy on."

The Calm Before the Storm



What did Rihanna say to the 911 dispatcher?
"S.O.S please someone help me."



The Second Walk On Water



Jesus' second walk on water was a lot less miraculous
Walking beard deep in water
He bellowed, "I...AM...JESUS!"
He amazed no one. 

The Definitive Essay On Walking



On Walking

Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot.*

* Repeat until arrival at desired location.

Barley Legal


Barely Legal magazine is completely different from Barely Girls magazine.

2009 PREDICTIONS

1.In a response to the recession, Mexicans build a bridge from Mexico to China, it is by far the most architecturally advanced structure the world has ever seen. Mass illegal immigration ensues. It shows the world that Mexican immigration was never about America,it was always a constant search to better themselves by finding the lowest possible wage in a foreign country.

2.Republicans will create a new genre of television show, so entertaining that the nation will not care that Bush is somehow president again.

3.Vh1 will create a new celebrity reality show called "Balls In Your Court". The show will feature former professional basketball, football, and soccer players, who all live under one roof, and are gay as the Sun is hot.