The Hangy Ball

See that guy right there? The Uvula. That little guy is pretty harmless. It doesn't look like it does much of anything. Just hangs there. You never actually think about it. Unless you want it pierced, and thats just weird. Wikipedia however, says that it is, in fact, useful.

And regardless of the great all-knowing Wikipedia says, my uvula gave me more trouble than it is worth. On a Friday night full of harmless, responsible 22 year old fun, I had no idea what was in store for me. After much festivities we retired from downtown Portsmouth to a friends apartment, where much crashing on aero-beds was to be had. The next morning, however, was pretty much the worst morning I've ever had.

You are all thinking right now, "oh, you had too much to drink and had a shitty hangover. Dumb move on your part." However, you are sadly mistaken. While I did experience some of common side effects of good times, they were no where near as heinous as what I or anyone else may have experienced. It felt as if I had a soar throat. But most of my throat felt fine. It did however, feel like something was occasionally closing up my air passages. And it was moving around in the back of my throat. After feeling it move up towards the roof of my mouth, I felt it with my tongue and determined it to be my uvula. It was inflamed, or extra long that morning, or something. I don't know what or why, but something was fucking with my uvula.

I figured that this would subside soon, as I had taken some ibuprofen, and I thought that maybe that would act as an anti-inflammatory. Well I was wrong. That son of a bitch stayed inflamed, and the whole ride back to Durham was horrible because of my damned uvula. It was moving around all over the place in the back of my throat and making me feel like puking.

Things only got worse as I decided that, after spending the night in a dirty hippie's apartment on an air mattress in all the clothes I wore the night before, I should take a shower. As I was rinsing my hair, I leaned my head back and then BAM!! The uvula was in a strange position, and it was sending my gag-reflex into a frenzy. Before I knew it I was dry heaving on the floor of the shower gagging non stop. After about 45 seconds of misery I finally was able to stick my finger in the back of my throat and reposition the uvula and cease the convulsions.

I'm not sure what caused that to happen, and quite frankly, I don't want to know. I have a feeling that something strange and terrible was done to me over night.

Double Exclamation Point!!

The title of that really has nothing to do with the rest of the post, but I was just watching Seinfeld and they were arguing over exclamation points. And I thought it was funny.

AAAAAAaaanyways...The last update came on the exact day before I moved up to Durham to commence training to be a Resident Assistant. For those of you who are quick to judge, let me get this out of the way. I AM NOT A COP HERE TO BUST KIDS FOR DRINKING. That being said, the most training intensive topic that we covered was not anything on communication with residents, hall councils, counseling, problem solving, peer mediation, or anything else. It was Conduct Training, which mostly covered alcohol related things. It covered two days. Everything else covered a couple hours of a day. This covered two days. Remember...I am not a cop.

The training was actually pretty intense, with several 12 hour days. It was quite exhausting. But I enjoyed it, mostly because I grew to loathe Joe's Pizza. I don't think I've ever been as miserable as I was at Joes that last two weeks.

Freshmen moved in on last Friday. I met pretty much all of them. I helped them move their shit in. I cut my finger on some kid's fridge. I wore myself out. I even tried to find something for them to do that night so they wouldn't do that thing that freshmen do. That thing that I did all too many times in my freshmen year. That thing that resulted in a busted tooth and severely damaged pride.

But most of my freshmen have been fairly engaging with me. I'm not stupid, I'm pretty sure some of them are going out drinking or whatever. But I haven't had any issues to confront yet, so it has been easy so far. And the freshies have been surprisingly engaging lately. I remember not even meeting my RA until about one month after move in, and I avoided him like the plague....until I realized he was actually a really awesome guy.....


you know what, this post really isn't going anywhere. Its not funny. At all. Paris Hilton's album flop is funnier than this. This is pathetic. Like, most of you need Stow-and-go seating more than you need this. I can't write about my residents, because that would be like a privacy thing. But it's not like they have done anything stupid anyways. Which provides little fodder for the blogger. Fuck this. I quit.

I Love Parties

The American political scene these days is very homogenized. You have your choice of really only choosing two different candidates for any public office position. The problem is, the candidates essentially run under the same political party, the Republocrats. Because lets face it, the only difference between Dems and Reps is that the Reps want to make the rich richer and the poor poorer, and the Dems merely want to keep the status quo. Choosing between them is like choosing between two bowls of shit. I mean, you can register as an "independent" but you always end up voting for one of the two main parties. And there are other smaller parties out there, like the Green Party, but nobody takes this guy seriously anymore.

Too drunk to be scared.

So I've decided it's time to broaden the political landscape of America. I mean, in the Afghan elections they had about 50 political parties, we can come up with at least a few more for us.

The Bull Moose Party - We should resurrect this once great party headed by the former President Teddy Roosevelt. They were progressive, environmentally conscious, and had an excellent foreign policy motto "Speak Softly, and carry a big stick." If Teddy were president today it would look a little something like this.

USA- *whispers* "hey Iran you shouldn't make nuclear weapons"
Iran - "What?"
USA- *WHAP* ...Problem solved.

And every time you vote you get 20 points on your Freakin' Buyer's Card.

Party Headquarters - Portland, ME with satellite offices in Salem and Portsmouth, NH

The Birthday Party - This is the most fun party ever. It's all balloons and presents and pony rides. And the halls of Congress are packed full of clowns and balloon animals. In fact, it wouldn't be much different that Congress right now. And everyday you get to eat cake. The President would always be dressed like a ringmaster, and the Presidential Palace (aka the White House) would be moved from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue to wherever there happens to be a circus. Republicans will be happy because elephants will still be prominently displayed.

"And for my next trick, I'll need two volunteers. How about Israel and Lebanon. As you can see, nothing up my sleeve....And, wait, what's this? Is that a shiny new peace treaty behind Israel's ear??"

The Cocktail Party - Everyone is always dressed up in nice clothes, but always looks slightly disheveled. Stumbling is a must. Congressional Sessions have a 4 drink minimum. And more than likely everybody carries a bootflask with whiskey in it. Ted Kennedy has been rumored to be switching party lines as I write this. Everything is all well and good in this party until every starts making out with their secretaries. And then it is nothing but shame and cover ups.

The Frat Party - Bluto makes his triumphant foray into politics with this one. Things are a little sticky though as the party will be fractured into several smaller sects. And instead of voting for president, we hold a pseudo Greek Games, to determine who gets to head the government. The Tri Lambdas are heavy favorites. The White House will become The Animal House, and everything will be a blast until Ann Weaver Hart decides it's time to "clean up this little unpleasantness."

She ruined UNH and now she will ruin Temple. Better hope you don't get any snow.

My Enchanted Party - This would probably be the smallest of all the parties. Because it would mostly consist of me, and the like 15 people who read this blog. All party rhetoric would be dispensed through this site. And if I got elected president, I'd only get around to doing things once every few weeks, because that's how this site operates now and I'm not about to mess with a winning formula.

John Hancocks

At around 7:00 PM on Monday at work, an order popped up out of the ticket printer. But this wasn't just any order it was special.

"Dunn, Jim." That is what it read at the top. We all gathered around the ticket. Could it be? Is THE Jimmy Dunn coming back to Joe's Pizza for a second day in a row? I was skeptical. I mean, Jim is a very common name. And Dunn, well, we are in New England, so theres plenty 'o' irishmen kickin' round these parts. But Budd and Joe both were sure that Jimmy has come back to enjoy our fine pizzas. Joe was then dispatched back to my house to pick up a copy of Funnyball, the one that Jimmy had so graciously given to me on the previous day. I had brought it home simply so I could refer to it for the forthcoming post that resulted from his first visit. I didn't realize he'd be coming back the very next day.

Joe arrives just minutes before Jimmy Dunn, with Funnyball in hand. We place it aside. Soon, Jimmy comes in, with children in tow. Who mated with this guy? He seems like kind of a goon.

I feel as though this is an accurate representation of Jimmy Dunn.

Anyways. He immediately singles me out. "Hey, its the yankees fan. Whats up?" I say, well, seeing how was was such a nice guy, and giving me a free copy of his book the previous day and all, I was wondering if it would be possible to get an autograph from the author. He's more than willing to oblige.

A classy move from a classy guy.

I shouldn't have expected anything better than that from a sox fan. Later while he's with his kids, trying to look all cool by trying to put down a Yankees fan, he asks me why theres no Yanks in the Home Run Derby. My reply was that there was only one or two bonafide candidates from the Yankees and that they probably decided to pass. Giambi is someone who is definitely a little more deserving than say, Lance Berkman, but the HR Derby is also a place for young guys to showcase their stuff. The oldest player in the Derby, Lance Berkman, just turned 30 this year, and most of the contestants were under 26. He then says something about Sox all-stars. Please. Mark Loretta? A whopping .306 avg? Unremarkable RBI numbers? 3 freakin HRs? As you can plainly see, according to my fantasy baseball league's scoring methods, Loretta isn't even top 10. And there are clearly 2 AL candidates that are ranked better than him that are everyday players (Ian Kinsler and Robinson Cano).

I own the guys with the yellow highlights.

And don't even get me started on Jason Varitek's paltry .233 average. Joe Mauer is better. Especially since he's batting almost .400. And while I will admit that your beloved Big Papi is an excellent hitter, he doesn't actually play a position. Seeing how there was no DH in this year's all star event, they should have picked the best FIRST BASEMAN, not DH who occasionally plays first only in interleague games. Justin Morneau should have started over Ortiz.

Ok, my rant is done. Point being, I didn't allow good old JD to try and put me in my place so he could impress his kids.

On a side note, I've been reading his book on the can. And I use the term "book" quite loosely here. Its not so much a book as it is a collection of random thoughts scribbled down on that yellow smelly paper thats really cheap to buy. There is no plot. No action. No protagonist. No insight. Just a bunch of pages of him trying to tell a Yankees suck joke in a different way. I'm gonna give this book my lowest rating ever. Seven thumbs up.

Star Struck

Today, July 9th, 2006, a minor celebrity of some notoriety in New England came to Joe's Pizza today. And it was pretty much the highlight of my day. Until I had another visitor. Which was also very nice, but not nearly as humorous as the first one.

It was just after opening time, roundabouts 11:15 AM, when a man wearing Oakley Thumps rolled into Joes.

Pretty sweet.....I know.

This fellow ordered a slice or two of some pizza, sat down, and proceeded to eat it while watching World Cup Live on TV. As he was getting ready to leave, Myself, my brother, and Hickey were just kinda hanging around the counter, being lazy, as always. It's pretty much the standard protocol for Joe's. Anyways, as I customarily do, I was wearing a very old, grey colored Yankees Hat.

It was very similar to this hat, but not so much brown as it was grey.

The man then asks, "What are you doing with that Yankee's Hat on?" It's a question I often receive, being a Yankees fan in Red Sox country.
"Wearin' it." I smugly reply. I'm trying to be a little condescending. Because quite frankly, with asshole Sox fans, you have to be. He asks if it bothers either my brother or Hickey, both of which reply, "no, not really." It should be noted here that Joe, while not explicitly a Yankees fan, absolutely hates the Red Sox and their fans. Hickey doesn't know anything about baseball. He thinks he does, but he doesn't. If I wanted to have a conversation about Post-Punk music, or Wrasslin, then Hickey is my Go 2 Guy. But when it comes to baseball, he's just friggin' retahded.

That's wrestling? I'm gonna let you draw your own conclusions here....

The man in the Thumps then says that he's got something for me, and that he'll be right back. He then goes out to his car, and comes back with a book. "Turn to page 50," he says with a grin, as he leaves the building. I'm thinkin to myself here, "is this nut job really just giving me this little book?" We open the book to Page 50. This is what we find.

Click to view a larger Image. It's pretty much just this guy pissing on Yankee Stadium.

We look out the window, and see him still sitting in his car, watching us through the window and laughing at us. He drives off. We then look at the cover of the book.



We realize that that guy was this guy. Jimmy Dunn. National comedian and Local television personality (for one paltry year) on NESN. Jimmy Dunn. I was a bit star struck once I found out who he was. Turns out he's so local that he's from the seacoast NH area. He use to pal around with local legend Chris Collins, a Joe's employee, and was a regular at the Hampton location. His book was published in Portsmouth. But I still have no idea who he really is. I've never seen any of his comedy, and chances are, I probably wont like it. You may have got me on this one Jimmy Dunn, but just you wait. You will get your comuppance. I have friends in high places. And by high places, I mean in the mountains. And they might be crazy. Or hippies. Or both.

Who Would Have Thunk it?

A few nights ago I made my first adventure into Newmarket for a legal night of drinking. I had been drinking there once or twice before, but it was always at a sketchy apartment that I never felt very comfortable at. And that prevented me from having a good time.

This time around me and a few buddies decided to go out for a little adventure at the bars. We had quite the motley crue. Included in this crew was Budd, who insisted on popping his collar, Johnny the Hippie, Stickey Hickey, the world's foremost authority on wrasslin', and The Tiny Man.

Yeah, we pretty much looked like that.

The night started at the Stone Church. The Stone Church is a somewhat-pseudo-legendary bar and music place thing that has been a popular hang out for both UNH students and hippies a like. And often those UNH students are hippies. My first impression of the place was that this place wasn't actually a bar at all. It's pretty much in the middle of the woods. And the only other bar that I know of that was pretty much in the middle of the woods wasn't so much a bar, as it was a shed that was sort of turned into a bar by two guys and they called it Momma Megs. And to make a long story short, because of Momma Megs, people lost their jobs and divorces were had. So this place kinda had one strike against it.

When we arrived at the front door, the decor actually seemed pretty cool, but there were hippies hawking handmade jewelry at us. That kinda freaked me out. The only thing I want sold to me at a bar is booze. And lots of it. They should really leave their crappy jewelry in their smelly communes. Better yet, they should leave their crappy selves at their smelly communes. Except Johnny the Hippy, he's OK in my book.

So I did a Google Image Search for "hippies selling stuff" and this is what came up.

We listened to a local band play a little blue grass then cover (poorly) something by The Police and some other stuff and left. Next on the tour was a place called Chugger's Palace. With a name like Chuggers Palace you know the place had to be sweet. It was about the size of two dorm rooms. The television took up about 1/3 of the place. The rest was taken up by 1 small table and a Golden Tee and pinball machine. They also had enormous beers. They might as well have been pitchers. I got a pitcher of Longtrail Ale, and it was sweeter than the nectar of the gods. Needless to say, as the night wore on, a good time was being had by all.

This is Hickey and Satan rocking out. For real-real.

Johnny and I have the same camera phone so we thought it would be sweet if we took pictures of each other at the same time. FYI- it totally was!

After polishing off our too large beers, we got to talking about New Hampshire native son, one who I am proud to call that, G.G. Allin. If you don't know who GG is, I implore you to explore his Wikipedia site in more detail. But here is a short synopsis. He was born in NH. His parents were nut jobs. He lived in log cabin with no heat, electricity or water. When he finally moved out he got heavily involved in the underground punk rock scene in NYC. He fronted for bands like The Jabbers, The Scumfucs, The Murder Junkies, The AIDS Brigade, and a host of other bands where the offensiveness of the name is just the beginning (The Fuckin Shitbiscuits was a real good one). GG was known for his over-the-top stage antics and horrendous lyrics (if you could really call what he did music). He often severely injured himself onstage and ate laxatives before concerts so he could defecate on stage and eat it and throw it in the crowd. He was arrested for sexual assault, and for kicking a girl in the mouth on stage. And we from Joe's Pizza fuckin love him. He was a musical Da Vinci, centuries before his time.

The Man. The Myth. The Legend. GG Allin was pretty much the scum of the earth, and we love him for it.

Whilst raising our glasses to GG, a large meat head turned around from his engrossing Golden Tee game and said, nay, shouted, "GG ALLIN IS A PIECE OF SHIT. I FUCKING HATE HIM." Naturally we had to defend our boy, so we told him how awesome he was. "GG ALLIN FUCKIN RAPED HIS SISTER AND CUT OFF HIS PENIS!!" was his rebuttle. If he knew anything about GG, he would know that GG did not cut off his dick, and he did not even have a sister. We tried explaining to him that he's wrong, but drunk meatheads don't listen, they just yell and threaten to kick your ass. And he threatened to kick our asses if we kept talking about GG Allin. Now, who would have thought that an incredibly obscure (most of you probably never even heard of GG until now) person like GG would trigger such a hateful response from this ignoramus. As we were leaving he continued to yell at us, and threatened to kick our asses some more. Satan was the last to leave Chuggers and as he was leaving, apparently the meathead said that, after having a shouting match at the door with Budd, he will "fucking kill us" if we bring that shit back up in his grill again. Whatever. We've basically resolved to hold a GG Allin Fan Club meeting every thursday at Chugger's from now on. Screw him.

What? Fuck GG Allin! He fuckin sucks! Fuck You!! I'll fuckin kill you!! My dick isn't that small! It's at least 4 inches!! Look at my sweet biceps!! I'm not compensating for anything, I swear!

Internet Licensing

I've been an avid web surfer now since I was in 5th grade, when we got our first Internet capable computer. So I guess you could say that I've been around the block. One of the great things about the net is the freedom of information that is flowing around the globe. But with this freedom comes some responsibility. For example, you shouldn't be looking for kiddy porn on the Internet, because thats illegal...and kind of disturbing. You shouldn't be conspiring terrorist plots (dirka dirka mohammed jihad osama bin laden), not because terrorism is bad, but mostly because its really easy to get caught over the internet. You shouldn't also use the Internet to track people and spy on them. And lastly, you shouldn't use incoherent jibberish when posting on the net. Because you make yourself, and every other American on the internet look foolish.

Here is a link to a classic post from My Blog is Poop on Home Field Advantage. The post is short and sweet. I like it, until I saw this.

You're like, brilliant and shit, yo. Well Fear of a Ted Planet, whomever you may be, congratulations, you've made an ass out of yourself. That little blurb ranks right up there with great works of the English language by Shakespeare.

But wait, theres more. This is hardly an isolated incident. Maddox has had a history of people making fools of themselves to him in email form, and then he delightfully makes them public for the rest of us.


As you can see, morons have a habit of getting behind a piece of plastic with a bunch of letters on it and just start hen-pecking away, not realizing they don't make sense and looking quite foolish.

And if you want people who can't put together a sentence, look no further than my fantasy baseball league. I may be 0-8 on the year, but at least I can put forth a valid argument why a trade should not go through. And then there was this gem put out there on the message board.


I don't think that any one of those alleged sentences are actually sentences. The first "sentence" maybe, because it does have a subject, predicate, and a direct object, but apparently Sam doesn't have the time to type out "versus." The next sentence is actually a fragment, with no indication of why or what he's giving up. The third sentence isn't even a sentence. It's more like something you shout. But you can't shout over the internet, unless you have an internet phone. Oh, and this guy supposedly has a college degree.

Now enough bashing, it is time to establish some guidelines for using the Internet. Every person who signs up with an ISP should have to take a test that looks something like this.
If they answer "Yes" to any of these questions, then they should be immediately stamped on the forehead with a giant red stamp that says "retarded." And then they should be sodomized. Because all of lifes problems can be solved by sodomy. Especially sodomy by a large gorilla.