Monday, October 22, 2007

Transformers the Movie



After a lot of procrastination, I finally saw Transformers the movie, from which we can learn 3 very important things:

1). Apparently, all black guys do is talk jive, dance, and try to avoid the wrath of fat grandmothers always up in their shit. Props to Pat, you were right.
2). It is actually paintful to watch Shia LaBeouf on screen. Was Carrot Top busy? All he did was stutter and blurt out random, incoherent phrases. If I'm the casting director I just go out and find a kid with tourettes and save myself some cash.
3). Fuck Meryl Streep and Jessica Tandy. Meghan Fox is the greatest actress ever, especially if you use the criteria I do for evaulating talent; how they look in a belly shirt while bent over the hood of a car. I rewound that scene so many times it took me 7 hours to watch the whole movie, although in my defense, its difficult to operate the remote control when your hands are practically glued together. Must've looked like a dolphin trying to wriggle free from a tuna net. Anyway, her first of many marriages will be to Brian Austin Greene of 90210 fame.

Where would we be without Michael Bay? Frankly, I don't want to know.



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Friday, October 19, 2007

Bradley Scares U Straight-Don't Go to Law School

I went to law school and I am not alone. Each year thousands of students find their way into the soul-sucking profession that is the law. Many have reached a point in their life where there is no clear path, so in their confusion they submit to three years of additional schooling. Others are told by their peers that they are good arguers or extremely anal retentive, and thus would make excellent attorneys, becasue afterall, being a lawyer is really all about two people arguing with each other over who has the bigger stick up their ass.

For those all-stars who aren't lucky enough to drop out or be expelled, they get to spend three years and thousands of dollars on a degree that is utterly worthless. A lot of people say a law degree opens up many doors. Bullshit! A law degree will open up one door, being a miserable lawyer, and thats if your lucky. Otherwise having a law degree on your resume is about as valuable as saying you spent three years as a crack whore. I'd actually argue that the crack whore experience is more valuable, because at least then you'd have a skill.

For me, everyday I go to work is more miserable than the previous one. Sometimes when I am sitting in a meeting listening to some fossil with dry mouth or overweight women squeezed into a pant suit drone on about boring details or irrelevant numbers my eyes will glaze over. Out of the darkness I will imagine a still photo of myself being punched in the balls by a giant fist. The fist is massive and has the word LAW tatooed on it in bold faced capital font.

The first photo of me is from when I was a young buck of 22, fresh from college and viral, ready to devour life and all its trappings as I proudly stand at attention without the slightest bit of trepidation. But then the muscular appendage moves in from the right side of the screen, and wastes no time striking my groin area with a couple lightning fast jabs. In response to the progressive beating the photo of me ages, and my features rapidly change from young to middle aged, and middle aged to old. Finally, my body crumples and sags until the fist is no longer punishing my balls, but is instead grinding an ashy pile of dust spread on the ground.

Then I wake up, check on my boys, and look around me. I wonder if I'm any better off.


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Reaching Out 2 Friends Through Poetry

I called Coach Crunk on Sunday and once again was dissed. No pickup, no return call. In my grief, I composed the following. Yes, I have way to much free time at work. Feel free to diseminate your own poetry about Tommy Crunk.

An Ode to Crunk

He glides through the world in a florescent blue sweat suit
His bulk in constant motion except for girls that are cute

Students and bartenders, strippers, and even wives
He treats them all the same, like a bear raiding a bee hive

With a gallon of iced tea and cheese puffs for the party
His car zips along, for he hates to be tardy

Spraying cologne so he’s sure he’s not smelly
He can’t flip people off, because he’s fingering his belly

Always thinking of basketball and drawing up plays
His mind stuck in the past, with his Claymont glory days

He now lives in Maryland, amongst men afraid of shirts
One who loves his Brittney Spears dance pad, and belongs in a skirt

Because Crunk is a teacher, a coach, a slumlord, and a mac
Just be sure you don’t need him, because he’ll never have your back


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Vaginosis Returns

On Saturday night I went a date in Bethesda with a girl I had met the previous evening in Adams Morgan. She was cute, thin, and from New York. After a few drinks, alright a lot of drinks, I suggested we go to her place so I could use her bathroom. Why I couldn't use the bathroom at the bar I do not know, but being the hopeless romantic that I am, I went with the bathroom reference in order to try to get into her pad.

Regardless of its obvious hollowness, my scheme worked and after a few awkward moments on the couch discussing topics such as the accent colors in her living room and how she exclusively dated football players throughout high school, we were making out. Thinking to myself, what would the star quarterback do? I pushed her onto the couch and jumped on top of her. Yes, sadly, we were both thinking of the high school quarterback.

It was after approximately five minutes of kissing that I first noticed it. A lightly wafting aroma that started stinging my eyes, burning my nostrils, and jogging my memory. With our increased intimacy the odor grew more pervasive and it quickly dawned on me that the pungent foe I thought I had vanquished for good back in 2000 had in fact survived. Vaginosis! My arch nemesis had returned to torment me seven years later.

For the unitiated, vaginosis is the insidious medical condition where a woman features a strong, unpleasant odor emanating from her pubic area. Scholars have theorized that this smell results from an abundant collection of dead sperm, an overall lack of hygiene, or a girl sub-leasing space in her nether regions to a sewer treatment facility in order to make extra cash. Regardless of the reasons, the result is a hellacious, pungent stench that is capable of rendering armies of men impotent. It has also been speculated that this year's dramatic reduction in the number of pollinating honey bees can be directly tied to an increase in the number of women suffering from this condition. The most awful and sadistic part of vaginosis is that the sufferer is almost always immune to the effects of her own powers.

In spite of my past experience, I found myself on the couch, bewildered and scared. While most women with whom I've been intimate guard access to their pants with savage intensity, my date on this night had no problem trying to remove them herself. In this ironic duel taking place at the top of her jeans she would unbutton a button and I would snap it back into place. She would pull down her zipper and I would zip it back up. Round and round we went in this twisted dance, as somehow my reticence only added to her aroused state, until I relented, and the jeans came off.

I wanted to cry. Instinctively I recoiled and looked for ventilation. Why is it that these girls always live in apartments with so few windows? With a sly smile on her face, she suggested we move to the bedroom. With a look on my face that implied this suggestion was somewhere in between drowning and a colonoscopy on my pleasure scale, I thought of suggesting we should move to a car wash.

I would like to tell you my friends that I am a stronger person in 2007 than I was as an immature college student in 2000. That I stood up, addressed her with an honest explanation for rejecting her indecent proposal, gathered my possessions, and walked out the door never to return. I could tell you this, but I think we all know that I'd be lying. Yes, I did it, and yes it stank, and yes it lingers to this very day. While some of you will judge me and my actions as being less than those of an honorable man, I believe that going in there with her makes me more of a man than some will ever be. I think we've got another date scheduled for Thursday. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to the store to find the world's largest bottle of Febreze.

Peace,
Bradley


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