As another semester of college at Bradley University draws to a close, my stunted productivity has once again come into unreasonably sharp focus. As a result, I’ve made a mental list of things that I’ve been meaning to get done for some time now, and the components of that list constantly scroll through my head in cheap javascript marquee fashion. A few that immediately spring to mind include:

Register for Next Semester
Go To Occasional Class
Clean Room
Shoot, Develop, Print Last Five Assignments for Photo225
Send Thank-You Cards for Birthday (Which Occured Four Months Ago)

I’m going to stop with that last one, in part because I’m instantly depressed with my own lethargy, in part because some of the others are just plain embarrassing, and I’m unprepared to shoulder that type of acute public humiliation.

What I’m really interested in describing are the ways that I do spend my time. I’ve played just over 2000 games of Spider Solitaire, a card game that couldn’t be more unrewarding. I check up on Britney Spears news about a half-dozen times a day, which has eventually led me to worry about her when there aren’t frequent updates. I find ways to stay awake until 3 a.m. by applying myself towards projects that are apparantly so insignificant I can’t recall them the next day. For instance, just last night I spent a reasonable amount of time searching for a video of Elisabeth Shue nude. I believe this came about as a result of me thinking about Meg Ryan for some reason, then connecting to her to another attractive blond actress that I then believed was named “Sarah”. The next few minutes of my thought process looked something like this:

“Sarah…um. Sarah…’E’ something? Is it Sarah? I think it is. Sarah. Sarah? Fuck…she was in Hollow Man. UGH….that bitch from Leaving Las Vegas. Sarah…something. God I’d kill for a sandwich right now.

Eventually I typed “Leaving Las Vegas Saint” into Google and found out that I’m an idiot. Obviously the next step of that adventure was to load up Kazaa and see her naked. I’ve suddenly forgotten where I was going with this.

Ah, yes…so I’m really quite dumb. To establish a last second point here, Hollow Man was a terrible film and Elisabeth Shue’s tits are tops.

Tim Floyd’s record as the Bulls head coach.
20.4%

I just turned 23. This is obviously a swell age cause of the whole Michael Jordan/Ryne Sandburg connection. Of course in the pretend world in my head (yes, the very same one I choose to live in over 95% of the time) I’ve actually turned 19 again. Funny, cause I’ve now turned 19 five times, including 4 out of the last 5 years (the exception being my 21st when it was advantageous to be 21) and once when I was actually 7-years-old (6 months of therapy eventually cured me). I should also mention that in my pretend world (in addition to being 19) I’m also the proprietor of a brothel specializing in 18-year-old virgins, a majority team owner of the Chicago Cubs, and 6 feet, 2 inches tall. So, the fact that I’m 99.9% sure that on November 21st of 2001 I turned 19 is really not that big a deal.

Now, if you take every single number I’ve mentioned above and add them together you get 2,410.9. If you then take that number and put it into wingdings, not only are you a dork, you’ll also come up with a dog-eared piece of paper, a stack of papers, an open folder, a closed folder, a mailbox, and a web cam. These six items are all eeirily significant because they are all things I ejaculated on/into on my birthday. Spooky, no?

Anyway, I’m really sorry I wrote that, and even more sorry I posted it. It’s sorta a lousy joke and not true. But I really wanted to post something just to tell everyone at home I love and miss you all, and will be returning soon. Specifically, on the 12th of December. So, before you know it, I’ll be ejaculating on you. Oh, and jahjeff, will you be home in the p-city? Or should I look for you at city hall in Truckville?

This dumb shake won’t stop melting. Has it not been awhile since I have left my house to come to Steak n’ Shake, or am I not currently on my way to meet you? Babble on, David Gray. Hope all Dank readers had a pleasant and lovely Thanksgiving. No, turkey didn’t make your Uncle William sleep with the fishes…43 years of bacon did that to him. Awkward paragraph complete.

I haven’t written anything here about my GF in a while. Several of you Dank newbies may wonder to yourselves, “How the devil does Lou have a steady relationship with a woman?” Oft I ponder it myself, with no real conclusions drawn. I don’t know if she has stopped menstruating altogether or what, but P.M.S. has been out of the picture for awhile. Then again, Sneetch’s mom is getting older. Dang it. I should write a post about how my mom moved into my old apartment the very same day Sneetch and I moved out, that would probably be of interest. Alas. 

Back to the GF, Dank faithful. Yes, we’re doing well. I even hope to propose sometime this winter or spring…that is so odd. If she said, “Just what the hell are you proposing!” when I did, I’d give her a dollar, a Chinese fan, another comma in this sentence, and an overpriced combination of metal and rocks. After talking about this, I feel cool enough to add a second picture to this post. Try that, IDQ, you text-bound trout! Good work with the posts, though. You’ve been the chemo to Dank’s terminal illness. I feel that it’s alright for me to say that, because last year one of my best friends died from cancer, so don’t get all huffy about it.

I saw a homeless clown a few weeks ago. It was sort of funny. I used to talk about it more, but decided those two sentences sum up the experience in a way that is appropriate. I guess shakes taste better as liquid, anyway. And the world makes sense. Goodday.

Since I work at an internet company, you might guess that I’m not exactly “busy” every minute of my time here. Don’t tell my boss. So, I have decided to take a little of my time and conduct a sort of faux-scientific study of the ridiculous things that go on around here. So, I sit quietly at my desk, and just observe the people around me. For those of you interested in the full study, please let me know, and I can post it elsewhere. Below are actual unchanged bits of conversation from around the office. The names of those involved have been deleted in order to protect them. My name has been deleted so I don’t get fired.

SUBJECT 09: “I’m thinking about putting in a flash piece where a nurse says to the patient “And how will you be paying today?” and the patient responds with “FUCK YOU! I’m not paying shit, you bastard.”
SUBJECT 22: “I’m with you 100%.”

SUBJECT 22: (After a presentation by an astrologist) “I know what you’re doing here, and I don’t like it. I kinda want to let my inner self out in a nice steaming pile on top of the conference table. I must not be “ready to make that leap” and realize my “awakening” yet. Perhaps when Saturn is back in my 2nd house I will be more prepared to crap on the table.”

SUBJECT 11: (Sings along with blur)“WHHOOOHOO!” (Bashes head rhythmically against door - I’m not kidding. He really did this. I watched.)

SUBJECT 31: “Is that supposed to be a picture of an occupied bed?”
SUBJECT 11: “I’ll fuckin’ occupy your bed!”
SUBJECT 31: “Isn’t this supposed to demonstrate how to remove the dirty linens?”
SUBJECT 11: “I want to see her take off the dirty linens! Show her taking off the dirty linens!”
SUBJECT 31: “Shutup SUBJECT 11!”

SUBJECT 11: “We should just eat peyote before the next ID meeting and then talk about pedagogy.”

SUBJECT 22: The word “assassin” has “ass” in it twice.
SUBJECT 11: So is it ok to say “It smells like assassin here”
SUBJECT 22: Absolutely not.

I threw-up last night around 8pm. This was, I believe, the first time I’ve puked since February 23, 2001. I know the date because it corresponds to an entry in a journal of sorts we kept during our last year at Bradley. It was the day Colin got into medical school and we all decided to celebrate by taking a cab to a club where we drank copious amounts of liquor. This was, of course, after we had already gotten drunk in our apartment. We made two entries in the journal that night, dating the first. Neither entry is wholly legible, though the first seems to be a personal examination by Colin of his perceived level of intoxication, while the second, penned by me, is of a much more ominous subject matter, beginning with a scrawled line about the “dark place I found beneath the human subconscious”. Following the vacuuming of my ceiling, I retired for the evening to the bathroom where I puked as Colin utilized his mp3 capabilities to serenade the situation with a particularly loud playing of Jefferson Airplane’s beloved “White Rabbit”. I mention this only to point out that I, like most people above age 6, don’t puke often, and when I do it’s for a good reason, such as the irresponsible over-consumption of alcohol.

Well, Friday evening I puked for a very bad reason that I thought I’d share. I should explain first that Mexican food has become a staple for me since moving. The fish taco is fast displacing the slice of pizza as my favorite snack, with the steak burrito now leading the way in the dinner category. Undoubtedly, the best places to get Mexican food are the little mom and pop joints. They’re cheap, they give you a lot, and they’re usually really, really good. The problem is there are hundreds of these little stands and shops and the chances of finding someone working one who speaks English is exceptionally slim. So, they’re always a risk going in, but usually well worth it. I generally try a new one once a week, opting usually for the 2.99 steak burrito, a standard in the dirty Mexican restaurant business, and I believe an adequate measuring block among establishments.

So on Thursday evening around 10:30pm I ventured into a place named simply “Taquieria Mexican Food”. I was greeted by a round, sweaty Mexican woman in her 60s clutching a butcher’s knife. I politely asked for a steak burrito, to which she responded “tostado?!?”. I re-ordered four or five times before electing to simply pick a numbered combination (a dead giveaway the proprietor of the establishment doesn’t take well to English). So, while scrolling through the combos and cursing myself for letting IDQ carry me blindly through 2 years of Spanish class (thanks, by the way), a Mexican man entered and approached the register. His hands were caked in dirt, and his left eye was missing. Well, actually it wasn’t missing, but rather turned backward in the socket. This unnerved me immediately, but he demanded to know what I wanted and I automatically responded “steak burrito”. Luckily, he didn’t prepare the item, but I did get to watch as the woman used her butcher’s knife to further mince a pile a steak which appeared to be sitting directly on the counter. She wrapped the burrito and presented it to me, and I ventured home happy to still be alive.

If you haven’t figured out why I puked yet, your sleuthing skills need work. I guess the only real mystery is why I ate it in the first place. That I don’t know, but I will say, in defense of “Taquieria Mexican Food” (and perhaps the bacteria salmonella) it honestly didn’t taste too bad. Anyway, this whole post seems rather pointless now. But, I suppose it at least gives Taco Bell some redemption following its Bunker related number/word inversion scandal. Oh, and IDQ should be proud to know I finally learned that, for the purposes of burritos, “carne asada” means steak.

If you have been anywhere near the edge of the proverbial seat the past week when viewing Dank, you have probably fallen off your seat and into the puddle of real drool that is collecting. But seriously, does anyone care? I see that hand. This post is for you (Mom). Some crappy stuff has gone down in Chi-town the past week. I went to my car about a week ago and there was a ticket on it (I’m up to four I think), but I shrugged that off just like I’ll shrug off attending class in four hours. No big deal.

Then I got into my car and noticed a few things are missing. The CD deck, which isn’t even mine, has been physically ripped out of the console, minus the faceplate. My change tray has been plundered. For some reason the cool sunglasses, which aren’t even mine, are still in the glove compartment, dirtied but otherwise untouched. But it doesn’t end there, Borg. Just a few days ago the tranmission died and it is now going to be salvaged for $75 and a lifetime of awkwardness around women named Star.

I’d like to see those giant FREAKS steal things out of it now. I’d like them to attempt to steal the car. In fact I wish it were still up in Chicago because I would leave the keys in it and a big sign that says, “Stealing This Car Can’t Be Any Easier Than Robbing a John Mayer CD from a Unknowing Blind Man and Replacing it With a Dave Matthews CD.” Is Kos’s brother up his old tricks again? Have bin Laden and his Egpytian she-handlers pulled a NYSE up in dis mix?

I’d like to think so, but the truth remains, as do those jerks that don’t know when to leave your apartment and are even worse at recognizing statements obviously directing them to leave. And so round and about we’ve arrived at the end of this post. Goodday, Uzbeks. Anyone is welcome to set either my car or Jerome’s headdress on fire, for insurance purposes and/or a small amount of amusement.

So I saw the new Linkletter film, Waking Life. As i’m sure you headtops know, they shot digital video and then animated over it. It had some really amazing moments, but let’s just say the animation gimmick wore off after 30 minutes, leaving me another hour to ponder my loss of $9 and an afternoon. If the movie wasn’t animated I would have walked out. All these jerks do is sit around a pontificate about philosophies they don’t know anything about. These are usally conversations I try to avoid, much less spend $9 to be forced to watch. So I will save you your money and dignity. Go to this link and watch the first eight minutes for free. If you really want, you can send me a dollar in the mail to try to make up for my experience.

So here are a few absurd entertainent stories I have read this week.

The first refers to some far right losers who boycott Harry Potter. They have actually made a VIDEO about why the books are bad for children. Their reasons?

1) A broom between the legs is a phallic symbol
2) The Nazis had lightning bolts on their uniforms (so potter must be an anti-semite)
3) The antichrist will have the mark of the beast on his forehead (so potter must be him).

The second story is about E.T. being re-released.

They are including a scene where E.T. takes a bath with Elliot.

They are changing the costume Elliot’s mother forbids him to wear from “Terrorist” to “Hippie”.

Yes, Yes.. just a few more reasons to hate Steven “My-Only-Good-Film-Was-Duel” Speilburg. Is it just me, or does Speilburg rhyme with “pretentious one trick pony who constantly repeats himeslf”?

And last but not least, the episode of Seinfeld where Susan dies from licking envelopes has been yanked from syndication due to the Anthrax scare. Damn you, Osama Bin Laden, you have finally suceeded at your evil goal.

p.s. remember when people used to put pictures in their updates?

It’s 4:30 a.m. and I can’t sleep. Laying awake in bed, a variety of pointless thoughts have flowed through my mind, the last of which took me into my computer chair, where I am currently typing up this post. My last thought was that I’m tired as hell of the logo at the top of Dank’s main page. When I was building Dank 5, I threw it together to hold the place until I actually made a real logo, but as most of my concepts evolve toward eventual nothingness, so did the logo.

I offer a plea to the designers that visit this wasteland of the internet, create a l33t logo to replace the current, shoddy one. The only restriction: stay within the general size of the space that exists. I will review any submissions and I’m anxious to see something that I can place atop this page.

Should I choose your logo, you’ll be entitled to a plug and/or a main page post of your own. Just think, you’ll join the league of such ass-clown favorites as IDQ and Borg. I’ll probably even post all the l33t3st submissions to show people how special you all are. Entries will be accepted for about a week.

Please,give us something new to look at before we all stab ourselves in the eyes with ballpoint pens.