Game etc.

Last night I was out with people drinking, and this guy I know who's Canadian was there at the bar with his IM broomball team since they had just won the championship and were celebrating, and since I always give him shit for being Candian, he challenged me to pick out by sight which three other people besides him at the table were Canadian, and which one of those was francophone. I got two of the three, which is pretty good for a group of fifteen people, and then the rest of the night I would bring friends over and challenge them to the same game. None of them could pick out my friend, since he's of Korean descent, and when I'd point him out as Canadian, they'd be like, "But he's Asian, he doesn't count!", and I'd be like, "Bullshit he doesn't count, he's just as much Canadian as the rest of them."

Later, when another friend of mine was guessing and this new guy had joined the table, he pointed to the new guy who had joined the table and was like, "That's the francophone one," and when I asked my friend if this new guy was francophone Canadian, he was like, "He is, how did you know?", and my other friend was like, "Who else would wear one of those white zipper jacket bullshit things?"

Honestly, best bar game ever.

This morning I shit four times, kind of a squirty brown liquid, followed by gooey tannish heaps.

Last night, too, I had some bad dreams, including one in which I was at the seashore with some people and we went on the tour of this island Spanish-fort-loooking place that used to be owned by a recluse who was a mechanical genius and had now been turned into a museum since he died, and we saw these gigantic wind-up machines one of which had a mechanical dancing bear made of exposed gearworks off on its side, and resembled almost like a bear leaning out of a bathtub, and we also saw an antiquated train engine, this one being #4 (there were several), which had timed whistles built into the steam release pipe so it would play intricate music when it ran, though now it was behind a giant glass case and so you couldn't hear it.

Another nearby island (both of them were not very far off shore and you could swim or ride a boat to them; we paid a motor-boat man to take us out to the castle) was intriguing looking because it was green and surprisingly meadow-y and not very elevated and really beautiful, so I swam over with some people to see it, and somehow the island was partially submerged due to tides and its being an independent floating object that was half-sunken, and when we tried to climb onto this partially submerged dock that would give us footing to get onto the island, we made it onto the dock, only when we got really close to the island it flipped (how could it flip when it was already underwater? I don't quite get that, but that's how it happened), and I found myself forced underwater under a giant metal plate, though I don't remember what happened afterwards. All the while, though, I knew that the island was a owned by other people, almost like a private island of the rich.

The latest in porn...

World of Whorecraft!

An excerpt:

Whorelore doesn’t stop at sweet elf love. Often shot outdoors for a more rustic, "medieval" feel, the six, half-hour episodes in season one feature everything from two armor-clad, busty blonde warriors making out on a boulder to a masturbating troll (i.e. a woman painted entirely green moaning with a Jamaican accent).

Another excerpt:

Unlike other porn productions, which frequently get shot in under a day, [director] Dez says each Whorelore installment takes a week to film, and over a month to prepare. In his series, the performers actually attempt to act (some more successfully than others), entire scenes are staged with no sexual contact (just traipsing around dusty terrain), and sometimes the cast spends hours learning choreographed fights. Then there are the props and costumes -- which have to seem authentically fantastic... "It’s a nightmare," Dez admits, "[Orchestrating] all the little trinkets and scrolls and pots and jewelry. . . We rented a castle once in Hollywood Hills, and a light-switch snuck into that episode. A real castle, and I guess they had a light switch." The important thing to remember, he says, is that while Whorelore may be a lot of fun, it’ll never to be perfect. "It’s not a real movie, it’s porn."

A third excerpt:

As for that elf ear deep-throating, whose idea was it to swallow a plastic appendage? "That was actually [the actress’s] idea," explains Dez. "She was like, ‘Oh my God I want to suck on these things,’ so I was like, ‘Alright, let’s go with it." Don’t worry though, he says, she’s a "big gamer," so she can take it.

My, there ain't nothing like a tightly-honed demographic.

Further stories from my friend...

So, the other night I mentioned to my one friend who mans the main library desk about how I was going to dance lessons on Tuesday, and she was asking which dances I was taking and had taken, and when I said I had taken cha-cha, she said she used to dance cha-cha to that one song that goes "Another Saturday night/ and I ain't got nobody". When I asked if she ever danced the cha-cha to "Duke of Earl" (I was thinking of that one scene from Hairspray, though I didn't say it!), she said no.

Then, when I asked her if she knew how to do the Mashed Potatoes, she was in her chair, and she started stomping the tip of her one foot and then the other, and then all of a sudden, she smacked her head and was like, "No, that's the Roach!", and she started singing the lyrics from "The Roach" quietly but energetically in her gospel voice from church.

Later, when she said it's her birthday and I asked her how old she was and she told me, I was like, "Oh, you're right between how old my parents are, you guys could be a sandwich," and she was like, "And I'd be the liver!"

A little while after that, she was saying how the worst pain she ever had was a few years ago at this roller rink when she was skating, and she was skating so bad they put her in the kids section, and she fell down even then and whacked her head, and this little five year old skated right up to her and asked her if he could help her up, and she was like, "No, you can't, but while you're here, go remove those goddamn skates!"

Drinks.

My friend who works the front desk at the main library on campus said she was out with people at a Red Lobster last week and there was this holier-than-thou woman from church out with them, and when it came time for drinks and the waitress came up to the table, this woman was like, "I'll have a margarita, and gimme a virgin," all prim and proper so everyone could hear that she didn't drink alcohol, so when the waitress went down the line of people and asked my friend next for her drink order, she was like, "I'll have a margarita, but gimme a hoe-wuh!"

Ate some lentils yesterday.

I ate some lentils yesterday for dinner. They were really salty, which made me think, "Here comes trouble!" This morning before my coffee I took a big shit, though it was more like a humongous fart with a little shit afterwards, and after my coffee I took another one, and it was a lot like the first in terms of my farting a big fart and then having a little shit afterwards, only both the fart and the shit smelled like salty lentils, mixed with shit.

I've finally put my finger on the problem...

I've finally put my finger on the problem, with why the main library on campus sucks to study in during the spring - because of the shitty ventilation and the heat still being on, on nice days the entire fucking library has the air quality of an airplane cabin. How much does that blow, honestly? Especially if you study in there for hours like some retarded people do.

Obama's mama (or, rather, "The Obamama"?).

I was thinking yesterday that Obama's mom probably had a think for black guys - she grew up somewhere in lily-white Kansas, met an exotic Kenyan man at college, and not only was he nice, but just him being him did for her, and then it's all over from there...

I'm not saying that's wrong, since everyone has their types, only when someone's type is another race, it's a lot more apparent than when someone's type is something more subtle like big tits or something, and, because of their biracialness, in a lot of cases the kids are living witnesses to what turned their parents' cranks, which is probably all the more fucked-up for the kids, since if let's say your dad had a thing for big tits, you might not catch on as much unless you knew all or a lot of his dating history, rather you'd think that your dad truly loves your mom for her personality and she has big tits to boot but that never got your dad interested in the first place, that was just a bonus, but if your dad was one of those nasty white guys who only go for Asian women, every day you'd look at your mom or you'd look in the mirror and see your teeny-tiny epicanthal folds and be like, "Holy shit, my dad's one of those nasty white guys who only go for Asian women," and how fucked up would that be?

So, with Obama and the Obamama, not only do we probably have that whole fucked up part about a kid like definitely having sexual insights into their parents - if you were a biracial kid, how could you not think about that, especially since you probably catch shit for being biracial all of your whole childhood life and it's always on your mind and at some point wouldn't you have to wonder what attracted your parents to each other? - but in a way, now the whole nation has sexual insight into the mom of a major candidate in the primary, which must be a political first, if anyone else besides me is thinking about this.

Though, I'm glad to say that although for some people a black man and a white woman is the most racially-charged coupling possible in the U.S., at least a white woman going for a black man doesn't have the inherent sexual creepiness of those nasty white guys who only go for Asian women, especially since the Asian women in those situations tend to be nice and a little naive and politely full of giggles, whereas the nasty white guys tend to be pasty-nasty and funk-ugly and majorly socially dysfunctional as well.

Went to karaoke on Friday.

So, I went to karaoke on Friday with my friends, to the gyros lounge place where I hadn't been at karaoke since this fall. The music tends to country, so I sang the Parton version of "I Will Always Love You", and though I was a little hesitant on the verses, I was strong going into the chorus.

"Wow," the host said, who was wearing a cowboy hat, "I've never heard that sung by a man before."

He then said that a man wrote it anyways, and then I had to be a dick and correct him in front of everyone that no, Dolly actually wrote it, and then to make it worse he was like, "But I thought some guy wrote it," and I had to be an even bigger dick and insist again that no, Dolly actually wrote it, so, while the song was good, the banter afterwards turned into a big heap of awfulness, which wasn't ideal, to say the least, since I came off as an obnoxious know-it-all prick.

Anyhow, my friends sang country as well -- the one who sings Dylan sang "Positively 4th Street" and "Just Like a Woman", while my one other friend who likes to sing the Association's "Along Comes Mary" sang Ronnie Milsap's "Smokey Mountain Rain", which she was nervous about since it's sung by a man, though it turned out just fine... Both them and me got slow-clapped by a table in the corner - they all liked the way we sang, so after each song they nodded appreciatively and began a slow clap that picked up speed a little bit into robust slow applause, nothing too speedy.

Patrice and Cathy were waitressing again, and Cathy had lost her voice. Patrice tried to clear my whiskey and I was like, "Oh no, there's still a little bit left," so she grimaced and put it back down, and then was a smart ass and took up the empty pitcher on the table and poured what was left in it (that is, nothing) into my beer glass.

(Sometimes I feel like I have issues with Patrice and Cathy, though I can never quite put my finger on it; it's like all of us know we should be getting along better than we should and we try for it, but we never quite gel. I'll have to think about that more. They definitely brought us the free hors d'oeuvres, though, including a slice of shitty salty pizza right at the end of the night, though unfortunately I was one drink behind where it would have tasted good. )

On another note, my one friend who likes to sing the Association's "Along Comes Mary" was saying how back when she used to work in period clothing at a Shaker Village historic site, she used to think the blacksmiths were cool, until she found out that they weren't actually making farm equipment or nails or horseshoes or whatever the hell Shaker blacksmiths used to make, but rather, since they were (her words:) "all a bunch of fucking gamers", while the tourists watched, they'd be making dragon-mail breastplates for their girlfriends so all the other gamer girlfriends would envy them at the next big D&D gathering that month.