Saturday, February 20, 2010
1 yle 10 millioni
Yleeile oli huvitav olukord kus juhtus asi mille toenaosus on 1 yle 10 miljonist, sain mastirea samas lauas 2 katt jarjest. See enam-vahem votab kokku mu jooksu viimased kaks nadalat. Eile oli esimene paev kus jooks ei olnud paris minu poolt ja lopetasin minimaalse miinusega, eelnevad 11 paeva on olnud ylihea jooks ja kokku ca +60 buyinni. Elu on ikka vaga rahulik ja moodub oodates uut kodanikku. Tahtpaev on nyyd homme ja eks nais ka see laps teeb sama mis esimene ja tuleb tapselt ettenahtud tahtpaeval. Kui ei, siis ilmselt mangin homme PLO HU ja ka voimalikult Main Eventi FTOPS'il.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Airballing
Olen nyyd jalle paar nadalat kodus tagasi olnud ja aeg on moodunud vaga rahulikult sest plaanida midagi ei anna kuna naine on igahetk synnitama hakkamas. Suursyndmus oli 7ndal veebruaril kui New Orleans Saints mangis Superbowlis ja ka selle voitis. Pidustused siinkandis pole ikka veel taielikult loppenud millele loomulikult aitab kaasa ka see et hetkel on kaimas Mardi Gras. Pokker on lainud suht rahulikult ja millegi parast olen tahtnud mangida ka paari FTOPS turnat millega hetkel olen 0 for 3. Manginud siiamaani 256 PLO/8 KO, 535 PLO ja 320 NL. PLO/8'l kukkusin kuskil keskel ja PLO'l paarkymmend ennem rahasid. Tanane NL oli yks masendavamaid turniire kaartide kohapealt mis mul on olnud ja mingi valemiga pidasin vastu yhekorra blinde voites nats yle 1.5 tunni ja siis sain viimased 1700 60/120 blindidega kui reraisin allin Ac8c ja kaotasin KdJd'le ja arvan et peaaegu eelistasin selle flipi kaotust et see masendav turna lopetada. Kindlasti plaanin mangida veel PLO HU turna kui vahegi voimalust on ja vb moned veel. Homme saan 30 nii et pean vist pool korralikuks hakkama :( Onneks tanu olukorrale midagi suuremat korraldada ei saa synnipaevaks ja ka see peaks mooduma rahulikult ja lihtsalt vaikse ohtusoogiga koos perega. Samas kevadel on mitmeid yritusi tulemas ja peaks igatepidi huvitav aasta tulema.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
See email tuletas meelde monda korda ylikooli elust(hoiatus, nats pikk ja mitte koige puhtam)
EDIT #4: SPECIAL GUEST UPDATE: SLINGBLADE'S TRIP HOME
As you know if you have read the other updates, SlingBlade was at the Durham and Athens signings. He just wrote us this email about the drive back to Washington DC from Athens, GA. I don't know if I have ever laughed as hard as I just did reading it [note: Hate is a huge Pittsburgh fan]:
From: SlingBlade
To: Tucker, Hate, PWJ, GoldenBoy, Jojo, Credit, El Bingeroso
Date: Feb 6, 2006
Subject: SuperBowl XL and Tucker's book signing
Hate, I think next time the referees should just come out in Steelers
jerseys, to at least not insult us with the pretense that they are somehow
neutral. I was less offended by the officiating in Wrestlemania XII when
Rowdy Roddy Piper hit the Ultimate Warrior with a baseball bat while the
referee pretended to be telling the British Bulldogs to stay off the apron.
Also I really have no idea whatsoever how I survived that drive home from
Georgia. I woke up hypothermic and still drunk in a frat house at 5:30 a.m.
and decided that would be a good time to hit the road. At this point, of
the last 72 hours of my life, I had been asleep for about 3 of them. At no
pint during those three hours did I remotely approach anything resembling a
REM cycle. So they pretty much don't count as sleep. I had also drank
enough alcohol to kill a rhinoceros, had eaten one Chik-Fil-A value meal and
a pita, and had taken in 1/2 liter of water while urinating out about 15
metric tons of water as my body attempted to dilute the poison I had forced
into it.
6:00 a.m. - I hit the highway and decide I should put the cruise at the
speed limit. My right eye will not stop burning. It takes every ounce of
willpower I have to keep my eyes open. I might possibly have made a
mistake. A strange buzzing noise has been annoying me for the last half
hour. I wonder if it is real or imagined.
6:15 a.m. - I notice that the seatbelt light is on. I couple that with the
buzzing and come to the conclusion that I am not wearing my seatbelt. I put
it on and the buzzing stops. Satisfied with this epiphany of causal
reasoning that took 45 minutes to occur, I up the cruise control to 5 mph
over the speed limit.
6:20 a.m. - The rumble strips save my life for what I can only assume will
be the first of many times.
6:45 a.m. - I realize I have been staring into space for the last twenty
minutes muttering "Paul Wall, got a mouf like a crystal ball."
7:15 a.m. - I look up and realize that I have somehow exited the highway.
This was not my intention. I am going 70 mph and am about 20 feet from an
intersection and a stop sign. Luckily, there is no traffic and I have had
tactical driving training. With the aid of that training, the median, ten
yards of gravel and an open field I manage to stop my vehicle. I quickly
get back on the road when I realize that the adrenaline will probably keep
me awake for at least 45 minutes.
7:30 a.m. - I contemplate getting a hotel and sleeping. Then I remember
that if I have the rental car back to DC by 3 o'clock I will save twenty two
dollars and thirty four cents. I note to myself that I would stand on my
dick for eight hours for twenty two dollars and thirty four cents should the
opportunity ever present itself. I up the cruise control to 75 mph.
8:15 a.m - The adrenaline wears off. I stop and purchase three mountain dew
code reds and chug them. Since I never drink caffeine I figure this will
help
8:30 a.m. - The light refracting on my windshield creates a vision of the
Virgin Mary of Guadalupe. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
9:00 a.m. - My body dumps all three mountain dews directly into my bladder
at once. My left kidney explodes and my bladder attempts to annex the space
my prostate is currently occupying by forcing it out of my body out through
my rectum. I have found a new personal definition for the word pain. I
stop to urinate for what feels like forty five minutes. My bladder had been
so expanded that it has lost all elasticity and can no longer evacuate
itself near the end. I stand there while a steady minute stream of urine
dribbles from my penis for five minutes. I then realize there is a 24 hour
porn store truck stop at this exit. I go in. The owner look up, does a
double take and says "Damn boy" while he shakes his head. Apparently I look
a mess. I check this in the mirror. Picture an extra from Schindler's List
with conjunctivitis. Keep in mind that it is an epidemiological fact that
truck stops are pretty much the nexus point of every country-wide
communicable disease outbreak in the history of the United States. This guy
services TRUCK STOP PROSTITUTES and yet finds me pathetic. I find this
funny and start giggling. I can't stop giggling and decide I should leave
the store.
9:25 a.m. - I sneeze and my left Eustachian tube blows out. For the next
twenty minutes I feel like I am leaning to me left. I absently tap my left
pupil with my finger to make the itching stop. I wonder if the things they
used to keep that guy's eyes open in "A Clockwork Orange" are a)
commercially available and b) sold at gas stations.
10:00 a.m. - I realize that the caffeine is actually working. I call Tucker
to tell him that I hate him and that he will, in all likelihood, be the
death of me. He laughs at me. My back has begun to hurt. I keep awake by
reminiscing about things I wrote in people's books at the signings. My
favorites include "Tucker in no way, shape or form knows how to please a
woman, call me instead (after Tucker had left his phone number in a book)"
"Your hero here Tucker, whimpers in his sleep. Think about that." "Your
vagina is the only thing that ever made you special." and "Tucker couldn't
find your clitoris with a map, two hands, and an industrial strength
spotlight."
10:30 a.m. - I wonder if masturbating will help keep me awake. I pull out
my penis and find it unresponsive. I stretch it out and flick it with my
middle finger, angered by its betrayal. No effect. I visualize all my
normal go-toes - Jessica Alba, that freaky girl I hooked up with last year,
a midget juggling on a tricycle. Nothing. The good news is I no longer
fear death.
11:00 a.m. - I stop for Chik-Fil-A. I forget to take off the pickles.
Pickles usually make me violently ill but I cannot taste them. I wonder if
sleep deprivation has given me super-powers. I slap myself as hard as I can
in the face to test this theory. It is, in fact, quite painful. I do not
have super-powers. At this point I have the cognitive abilities of a six
year old, am functionally illiterate and am quite possibly a danger to
myself and others on the road. Undaunted, I press on.
11:15 a.m. - I realize my penis is still hanging out of my pants. I wonder
why no one at Chik-Fil-A pointed this out to me and hope they don't have
security cameras.
12:00 - I reach Durham. I have driven from Durham to DC a hundred times and
could probably drive it in my sleep. I decide to test this theory.
12:00 and two seconds - The rumble strips save me again. Apparently I have
to stay awake for the next three and a half hours.
12:20 p.m. - My face starts to tingle. I realize this is a symptom of
muscular sclerosis and make a mental note to check the website I used last
year to convince myself I had a brain tumor for additional symptoms I can
manifest. I hear voices and wonder what talk radio station I'm listening
to. The radio is not on. The concrete pylons on the underpasses have begun
smart-eyeing me. I briefly consider driving the car into them to teach them
a little respect.
1:10 p.m. - I reach the body of water and bridge signaling the Virginia
border. I contemplate driving the car into Lake Gaston to celebrate.
1:20 p.m. - I consider asking PWJ if I can crash at his place when I reach
Richmond. I decide I'm too close to DC to pack it in. I increase the
cruise control to 80 mph.
2:00 p.m. - I realize I might survive this. I being laughing and screaming
"I'M GOING TO MAKE IT!!" I hold down my horn until it goes out. I start
fantasizing about what I will do with my twenty two dollars and thirty four
cents.
2:20 p.m. - I hit DC traffic. I start to cry. I am an emotional and
physical wreck. My body has begun portholing in a desperate attempt to save
itself by shutting down non-essential systems. I have run out of ATP and my
muscles no longer function. I lose peripheral vision. My body realizes my
left leg isn't needed to brake or accelerate and it goes numb below the
knee.
2:45 p.m. - I consider continuing on to NY just to see if I can make it.
The lone functional neuron in my prefrontal cortex fires and I decide not to
do this. Apparently this neuron was busy when I decided it would be a good
idea to go on a weekend bender with Tucker.
2:50 pm. - I exit the highway and begin driving in what I can only describe
as a haphazard fashion in an attempt to make it to the car rental check-in
area. I almost cause five accidents. I have never seen so many angry
people honking in my life. I have never laughed harder.
3:02 p.m.- I check in. This is the worst moment of my life. I am too
tired to argue for my twenty two dollars and thirty four cents. The
attendant smells my car and begins dry-heaving. If my nostrils are to be
trusted I smell like I have spent the day rubbing curry on my body, sweating
pure alcohol and defecating on myself. I give him the thumbs up and move
on.
3:18 p.m.- I get on the Metro at National Airport. And promise myself I
won't fall asleep. I just need to make it to Rosslyn.
3:40 pm. - I am woken up in Largo Town Center at the metro termination point
by a conductor who forces me off the train. I have never been more confused
in my entire life. I have no idea who I am or where I am. My stomach is
filled with butterflies and I start arguing out loud with the train about
who I am. I stumble around the station for twenty solid minutes before my
brain kick starts itself. I get on a train the other way and find someone
who promises to wake me up.
4:05 p.m. - I am woken up, quite rudely, in Rosslyn. Were I not borderline
retarded with fatigue, the guy shaking me awake would have gotten a reflex
punch right in his throat and then had his knee shattered. All I can muster
is a half-hearted wave of my arm that he takes as a thank you. He says "no
problem." I say "go to Hell."
4:12 pm. - I make it to my apartment and slip into a coma.
7:15 a.m. (next day) - I wake up on my couch in the fetal position. It
appears I have been sucking my thumb and crying in my sleep.
As you know if you have read the other updates, SlingBlade was at the Durham and Athens signings. He just wrote us this email about the drive back to Washington DC from Athens, GA. I don't know if I have ever laughed as hard as I just did reading it [note: Hate is a huge Pittsburgh fan]:
From: SlingBlade
To: Tucker, Hate, PWJ, GoldenBoy, Jojo, Credit, El Bingeroso
Date: Feb 6, 2006
Subject: SuperBowl XL and Tucker's book signing
Hate, I think next time the referees should just come out in Steelers
jerseys, to at least not insult us with the pretense that they are somehow
neutral. I was less offended by the officiating in Wrestlemania XII when
Rowdy Roddy Piper hit the Ultimate Warrior with a baseball bat while the
referee pretended to be telling the British Bulldogs to stay off the apron.
Also I really have no idea whatsoever how I survived that drive home from
Georgia. I woke up hypothermic and still drunk in a frat house at 5:30 a.m.
and decided that would be a good time to hit the road. At this point, of
the last 72 hours of my life, I had been asleep for about 3 of them. At no
pint during those three hours did I remotely approach anything resembling a
REM cycle. So they pretty much don't count as sleep. I had also drank
enough alcohol to kill a rhinoceros, had eaten one Chik-Fil-A value meal and
a pita, and had taken in 1/2 liter of water while urinating out about 15
metric tons of water as my body attempted to dilute the poison I had forced
into it.
6:00 a.m. - I hit the highway and decide I should put the cruise at the
speed limit. My right eye will not stop burning. It takes every ounce of
willpower I have to keep my eyes open. I might possibly have made a
mistake. A strange buzzing noise has been annoying me for the last half
hour. I wonder if it is real or imagined.
6:15 a.m. - I notice that the seatbelt light is on. I couple that with the
buzzing and come to the conclusion that I am not wearing my seatbelt. I put
it on and the buzzing stops. Satisfied with this epiphany of causal
reasoning that took 45 minutes to occur, I up the cruise control to 5 mph
over the speed limit.
6:20 a.m. - The rumble strips save my life for what I can only assume will
be the first of many times.
6:45 a.m. - I realize I have been staring into space for the last twenty
minutes muttering "Paul Wall, got a mouf like a crystal ball."
7:15 a.m. - I look up and realize that I have somehow exited the highway.
This was not my intention. I am going 70 mph and am about 20 feet from an
intersection and a stop sign. Luckily, there is no traffic and I have had
tactical driving training. With the aid of that training, the median, ten
yards of gravel and an open field I manage to stop my vehicle. I quickly
get back on the road when I realize that the adrenaline will probably keep
me awake for at least 45 minutes.
7:30 a.m. - I contemplate getting a hotel and sleeping. Then I remember
that if I have the rental car back to DC by 3 o'clock I will save twenty two
dollars and thirty four cents. I note to myself that I would stand on my
dick for eight hours for twenty two dollars and thirty four cents should the
opportunity ever present itself. I up the cruise control to 75 mph.
8:15 a.m - The adrenaline wears off. I stop and purchase three mountain dew
code reds and chug them. Since I never drink caffeine I figure this will
help
8:30 a.m. - The light refracting on my windshield creates a vision of the
Virgin Mary of Guadalupe. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
9:00 a.m. - My body dumps all three mountain dews directly into my bladder
at once. My left kidney explodes and my bladder attempts to annex the space
my prostate is currently occupying by forcing it out of my body out through
my rectum. I have found a new personal definition for the word pain. I
stop to urinate for what feels like forty five minutes. My bladder had been
so expanded that it has lost all elasticity and can no longer evacuate
itself near the end. I stand there while a steady minute stream of urine
dribbles from my penis for five minutes. I then realize there is a 24 hour
porn store truck stop at this exit. I go in. The owner look up, does a
double take and says "Damn boy" while he shakes his head. Apparently I look
a mess. I check this in the mirror. Picture an extra from Schindler's List
with conjunctivitis. Keep in mind that it is an epidemiological fact that
truck stops are pretty much the nexus point of every country-wide
communicable disease outbreak in the history of the United States. This guy
services TRUCK STOP PROSTITUTES and yet finds me pathetic. I find this
funny and start giggling. I can't stop giggling and decide I should leave
the store.
9:25 a.m. - I sneeze and my left Eustachian tube blows out. For the next
twenty minutes I feel like I am leaning to me left. I absently tap my left
pupil with my finger to make the itching stop. I wonder if the things they
used to keep that guy's eyes open in "A Clockwork Orange" are a)
commercially available and b) sold at gas stations.
10:00 a.m. - I realize that the caffeine is actually working. I call Tucker
to tell him that I hate him and that he will, in all likelihood, be the
death of me. He laughs at me. My back has begun to hurt. I keep awake by
reminiscing about things I wrote in people's books at the signings. My
favorites include "Tucker in no way, shape or form knows how to please a
woman, call me instead (after Tucker had left his phone number in a book)"
"Your hero here Tucker, whimpers in his sleep. Think about that." "Your
vagina is the only thing that ever made you special." and "Tucker couldn't
find your clitoris with a map, two hands, and an industrial strength
spotlight."
10:30 a.m. - I wonder if masturbating will help keep me awake. I pull out
my penis and find it unresponsive. I stretch it out and flick it with my
middle finger, angered by its betrayal. No effect. I visualize all my
normal go-toes - Jessica Alba, that freaky girl I hooked up with last year,
a midget juggling on a tricycle. Nothing. The good news is I no longer
fear death.
11:00 a.m. - I stop for Chik-Fil-A. I forget to take off the pickles.
Pickles usually make me violently ill but I cannot taste them. I wonder if
sleep deprivation has given me super-powers. I slap myself as hard as I can
in the face to test this theory. It is, in fact, quite painful. I do not
have super-powers. At this point I have the cognitive abilities of a six
year old, am functionally illiterate and am quite possibly a danger to
myself and others on the road. Undaunted, I press on.
11:15 a.m. - I realize my penis is still hanging out of my pants. I wonder
why no one at Chik-Fil-A pointed this out to me and hope they don't have
security cameras.
12:00 - I reach Durham. I have driven from Durham to DC a hundred times and
could probably drive it in my sleep. I decide to test this theory.
12:00 and two seconds - The rumble strips save me again. Apparently I have
to stay awake for the next three and a half hours.
12:20 p.m. - My face starts to tingle. I realize this is a symptom of
muscular sclerosis and make a mental note to check the website I used last
year to convince myself I had a brain tumor for additional symptoms I can
manifest. I hear voices and wonder what talk radio station I'm listening
to. The radio is not on. The concrete pylons on the underpasses have begun
smart-eyeing me. I briefly consider driving the car into them to teach them
a little respect.
1:10 p.m. - I reach the body of water and bridge signaling the Virginia
border. I contemplate driving the car into Lake Gaston to celebrate.
1:20 p.m. - I consider asking PWJ if I can crash at his place when I reach
Richmond. I decide I'm too close to DC to pack it in. I increase the
cruise control to 80 mph.
2:00 p.m. - I realize I might survive this. I being laughing and screaming
"I'M GOING TO MAKE IT!!" I hold down my horn until it goes out. I start
fantasizing about what I will do with my twenty two dollars and thirty four
cents.
2:20 p.m. - I hit DC traffic. I start to cry. I am an emotional and
physical wreck. My body has begun portholing in a desperate attempt to save
itself by shutting down non-essential systems. I have run out of ATP and my
muscles no longer function. I lose peripheral vision. My body realizes my
left leg isn't needed to brake or accelerate and it goes numb below the
knee.
2:45 p.m. - I consider continuing on to NY just to see if I can make it.
The lone functional neuron in my prefrontal cortex fires and I decide not to
do this. Apparently this neuron was busy when I decided it would be a good
idea to go on a weekend bender with Tucker.
2:50 pm. - I exit the highway and begin driving in what I can only describe
as a haphazard fashion in an attempt to make it to the car rental check-in
area. I almost cause five accidents. I have never seen so many angry
people honking in my life. I have never laughed harder.
3:02 p.m.- I check in. This is the worst moment of my life. I am too
tired to argue for my twenty two dollars and thirty four cents. The
attendant smells my car and begins dry-heaving. If my nostrils are to be
trusted I smell like I have spent the day rubbing curry on my body, sweating
pure alcohol and defecating on myself. I give him the thumbs up and move
on.
3:18 p.m.- I get on the Metro at National Airport. And promise myself I
won't fall asleep. I just need to make it to Rosslyn.
3:40 pm. - I am woken up in Largo Town Center at the metro termination point
by a conductor who forces me off the train. I have never been more confused
in my entire life. I have no idea who I am or where I am. My stomach is
filled with butterflies and I start arguing out loud with the train about
who I am. I stumble around the station for twenty solid minutes before my
brain kick starts itself. I get on a train the other way and find someone
who promises to wake me up.
4:05 p.m. - I am woken up, quite rudely, in Rosslyn. Were I not borderline
retarded with fatigue, the guy shaking me awake would have gotten a reflex
punch right in his throat and then had his knee shattered. All I can muster
is a half-hearted wave of my arm that he takes as a thank you. He says "no
problem." I say "go to Hell."
4:12 pm. - I make it to my apartment and slip into a coma.
7:15 a.m. (next day) - I wake up on my couch in the fetal position. It
appears I have been sucking my thumb and crying in my sleep.
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