I'm in hottie heaven. This picture... Whoa... *Drools*

Kristin Cavallari encompasses several key features of a really hot chick(in my book at least) in ascending order:

1. Nice flowy hair...
2. Nice ass and legs
3. A rack(looks good in other pictures, but her rack doesn't look so great in here, thus the low rank)
4. She looks great in a tank top
5. She loves bongo(I love the bass and she likes the jeans but I'll keep lying to myself to stay happy)
6. Awesome pouty lip smile
7. Awesome smile
8. She's really beautiful, YAY!

That's all I can think of for now. I had a couple more reasons some time back. But yeah.

I know, I'm pathetic. Not proud, not proud at all. BAH!

Because I am not a robot

It's true, being upset doesn't make me sing any better. Damn you dude from X Japan... Or maybe it's because I'm singing in my kiln of a room because I'm upset over a girl, and Toshi was singing about his dead guitarist in his semi-legendary performance at Hide's funeral. (I'm not a X Japan fan, but Toshi's voice sounds like aural butter)

My rockstar dreams took another hit. This should be my 5th rejection/break up.
I grudgingly agreed to leave my ska band because N wanted to play some punk rock and my hillbilly mind told me that I should strictly be playing reggae and ska only.

Not related to my departure from the ska band:It's sad that such a beautiful form of music like ska/jazz/blues gets that little appreciation while every song that Rihanna grunts gets played on air constantly. All the little robots that Timbaland created, they're taking over the world, and turning the Earth into grey-goo.


On a side note, I will up my death age to 37 or 38, instead of 35, just to have 3 years of spending all my worldly wealth getting high, travelling, playing Casanova and trying good food, so that nobody gets any booty once I'm dead, and kicking it my Lord and Savior. My entire intention of dying young is to die a little past my prime years. But looking at my body now, I think I might have past it already.

*Happy Belly says Hi!*... Thank God I can still see my willy, and my toes. But not for long I'd bet. Stupid food and beer.

One last thing, I'm still glad that nobody knows this little journal that I keep. Gives me a chance to look back at how stupid I am whenever I come here. And another last thing, I think I'm posting too regularly.

I'm an awful awful song writer.

You asked me to prepare something special,

So I wonder how’d this fare with you.

Here I go writing this song,

At four thirty,

My birthday morn’.

You are in my dreams when I sleep,

When I’m awake I am your creep.

Radio playing in my head,

Oh you’re the girl I’d love to hate,

I’m kidding (whispered).

Well I’m at your beck and call,

That pretty face, her perfect soul,

Always leave me begging for more,

The one who defied all of nature’s laws

Never caught out in the cold.

Chorus:

Ain’t she something?

Just when I thought God left us all,

She appeared,

Held me close til the fog cleared.

Ain’t she something?

She threatens me with Panic!,

But darlin’ I won’t play that game.

I’d rather take you out for a picnic,

On a sunny afternoon,

Find some silly song to croon.

Please pardon my writing skills,

But these words are merely words,

And she’s so much more.

My rhyming's pretty awful. I got to start reading more books by Dr. Seuss to gather inspiration.

I live in a box,

I look like a fox,

Why are you blue,

Little boy blue.

HA! Who said you can't rhyme blue with blue.

Square Root of Three

Square Root of Three

I’m sure that I will always be
A lonely number like root three

The three is all that’s good and right,
Why must my three keep out of sight
Beneath the vicious square root sign,
I wish instead I were a nine

For nine could thwart this evil trick,
with just some quick arithmetic

I know I’ll never see the sun,
as 1.7321
Such is my reality,
a sad irrationality

When hark! What is this I see,
Another square root of a three

As quietly co-waltzing by,
Together now we multiply
To form a number we prefer,
Rejoicing as an integer

We break free from our mortal bonds
With the wave of magic wands

Our square root signs become unglued
Your love for me has been renewed

- Dave Feinberg

Perfect date:

Dinner, drinks, roofy, her place, gone in the morning.

What more could I ask for?

War is boring. War is sitting around in the hot sun, waiting for something to happen. It's reading the same letter from your girlfriend over and over again...literally hundreds of times; looking for some new and hidden meaning in her words. It's playing card games that you would never even care about back in the world-but suddenly you can't get enough of. It's learning more about your buddies than you ever cared to know before. It's sitting on guard towers freezing in the night air, staring out into darkness with nothing but a radio and some guy who doesn't want to talk, keeping you company. It's going on missions that last three and four days at a time and not sleeping for any of it. It's constantly questioning the rules of engagement and trying to make sense of it. It's a big empty room where nothing ever happens and you only have carbon copies of yourself to talk to. But every now and then, when you least expect it, you get a lifetime of excitement, chaos, terror, horror, and fear crammed into a few minutes. Your adrenaline rises to levels you've never felt and regardless of what god you pray to (even if you don't pray to one at all) you get religion very quickly. Then it's hard core, balls to the wall, utter insanity for just a few moments...it's the sun exploding at the same time that every explosive in the world is detonated....it's a high speed car crash, it's a base jump from the empire state building, it's running from the cops, it's a fist fight, it's being cornered by all the school bullys at one time, it's terrible and and god awful and horrible and it slows time to a crawl...minutes creep by like days and in that minute or two that you're actually fighting, your entire world changes. And then just as quickly as it all started, it stops. Then for a few minutes you're still on edge. But after a bit, it goes away; as much as it can. Then you're back to playing card games with your buddies. And then you start to realize that the guy who you didn't really care for back in the world, is now one hell of a good guy. And he isn't just a guy you work with anymore, he's your friend. He's your brother. Then you read that letter from your girlfriend again...you know, the one where she's telling you that she just feels like it's too difficult to maintain a relationship with you when you're so far away...the one where she goes on about how the two of you have grown apart and although she never meant to meet someone new; there is a new guy and he's just terrific and they're getting a dog together and his parents are crazy about her and unlike you, he has a good and stable job that doesn't send him to the other side of the world; the letter where she tells you how hard her life is because she's hanging on to you and she doesn't even know if you're coming home. And it almost makes you laugh because it's so ******** absurd that you're sleeping on the ground, drinking purified river water that's so hot it scalds your mouth but if you don't drink it you will dehydrate, and that ***** is telling you how hard her life is... And you start to realize that trivial **** like that just doesn't mean a whole hell of a lot anymore. But you still hang on to that letter anyway. And you still read it, time and time again...searching for some new meaning...until the **** hits the fan again.

Read this from a forum, tragic innit?