My name is Aaron. Every now and then I try to wow people with some funny shit I brilliantly observe from my fucking mundane life. Truth is I have no fucking clue about fucking anything and I try to avoid situations where people suggest certain things I should do to improve my skills as a fucking writer. Like this:
“A good writer has learned to react to his criticism.” Fuck Fuck Fuck.

I also use this site to say “fuck,” “shit,” and even fucking “goddam” every now and then cause it’s like a release for me to do that. Even though sometimes my mom reads stuff and my brother Adam (one of the few subjects I write about, my genius is pretty broad) says “Mom read what you wrote and she’s pissed.”

According to a report from the University of Swansea’s School of the Environment and Society Greenland glaciers have begun to flow and break up more quickly due to global warming. In fact the Kangerdlugssuaq (wtf?!) and Helheim glaciers had doubled their rate of flow to the ocean over the past two years after steady movement during the 1990s.

“The report followed a warning earlier this week from Britain’s Hadley Center for Climate Prediction and Research — a branch of the Meteorological Office — that the Greenland ice sheet could be disappearing faster than previously thought.

Scientists predict that global average temperatures will rise by between one and six degrees Celsius this century unless urgent action is taken now to cap and reduce carbon emissions.

Scientists said on Monday the world had to halt greenhouse gas emissions and reverse them within two decades or watch the planet spiraling towards destruction.”

Once called alarmists, lunatics or just plain delusional alfalfa smoking hippies, scientists who defended the global warming theory in the early 80’s seams to gain more attention lately and with good reason. These are the people who tried to warn us that a greenhouse effect was happening 20 years ago while everyone was too busy living it ‘to the max’ and snorting cocaine to listen. The international community basically laughed at them and told them to go fuck some goat cheese. Now that scientific reports and facts from all over the world leave no doubts that good old planet Earth temperature is on the rise, the same guys are telling us that if no radical action to cut down on greenhouse gas emission is taken we will face a point of no return in 15 to 20 years. I don’t know about you but for fucking humanity sake maybe, just maybe, we should listen to them this time or WE could be fucking goat cheese sooner than expected.

As of February 2006 the United States, the world’s biggest polluter, still reject both the Kyoto protocol in its current form and any suggestion of expanding or extending it.

More about global warming on Wikipedia here.
Climate change predictions by the Hadley Center here.

I’ve had two jobs. I got to see Weezer in Concert for the first time. I finally got Washington license plates last week.

It rains everyday- I hear we’re going for a record. It was sunny once last weekend. I was working very early in the morning at the coffee shop. That’s where I want to spend my sunny days- bending down to get a blueberry creamcheese muffin for a 55 year old woman who took seven minutes to bring her half ton body from the door to the register. “No, the one in the very front” she says. My knees are begging me to carve out her intestines with the knife used to cut the White Chocolate Coconut Cream Cheese Cake.

I wonder about the guy I bought my prelude from almost three years ago. He was a young architect on the rise, living in a quaint house with a small family around San Diego State. He took care of Mord. That’s why Mordy’s still going now. I wonder if he ever thinks about Mordy, I wonder if he’d be happy that he’s still going, happy I change his oil every 3000 mi.

I hope he doesn’t think I’m a reckless kid that ran Mordecai into the ground. Maybe he’ll read my book one day and be happy to find I really stretched Mordy’s life out. If I have my way, Mordy will always be around. I’ll fix the leaks and give him a new suspension. He needs a new “H” in the front because some homo stole it. The mark of reliability and economy, the only thing left of Mordy that has retained the youth of the assembly line over the last twenty years- stripped from the old man. I’ll get him a new one. It’ll be real shiny.

I am half deaf in my left ear. That’s true. If you really want to know, the deafness fluctuates; since there is something actually rolling around in my ear, there are moments my hearing improves in an instant- almost magically. It’s usually when I lean forward a bunch and slightly to the left.

Anyway, this hearing loss hasn’t had a great effect on me. There are a couple small annoyances. For one, I always talk on the phone using my right ear, and that gets me thinking about the cell-phone tumor scare going around. I figure the high concentration of cell waves will cause a tumor to form in my right ear, giving me two bad ears.
Also, when I’m in a movie theatre and there is someone on my left who wants to whisper in my ear, I have to turn all the way over so they can talk in my right ear, and that’s a bit awkward, but I do OK.

But now I work in a coffee shop. It’s pretty noisy in there, and when I’m on register, sometimes I have a hard time hearing the barista to my left. So I feel kind of handicapped, my hearing loss now has a real word effect. I’m afraid one day I’ll be asked if I’m deaf, and I’ll have to explain. Then I’ll be handicapped and people will have to go out of there way to make sure I’m OK, and I’ll be an unprofitable burden to the company.

But on the bright side, this makes me think of Rivers Cuomo, my best friend and lead singer of Weezer. He grew up with one leg being a whole inch shorter than the other. He couldn’t afford surgery until he got money from being a famous rock star. Soon after surgery to extend the short leg in ‘94, Weezer’ performed on Letterman. Rivers played and sang “Say it Aint So” cringing in pain all the way in his extra baggy khaki pants to fit around his enormous leg brace.
So, I’ve found another parallel to someone famous who (I spent an hour, seriously an hour on the internet and reading through these English usage books I have, one of them the dictionary, trying to figure out whether I should use “who” or “whom” in that spot) I look up to. I think about how I’m going to get money for my book or movie, whatever it is I end up piecing together, I’ll pay for surgery and perform on Letterman. I’ll have bandages wrapped around head, with blood soaking through from the ear. My performance, whatever it is, won’t be as glorious or entertaining, but maybe people will have the strength to resist changing the channel, even though there aren’t bright lights or fast moving objects to occupy them while I read a passage from my work. Perhaps I’ll read this passage.

All the while I know I guy who is completely deaf in his right ear and I feel like a jerk complaining about the whole thing.

The first Igloolounge.net submission for Threadless.com, based on the Oh Noes! illustration I did for my girlfriend posted a while back here. Send me some love people, show your support to the Igloolounge.net and go vote for the shirt

I know we don’t talk about myspace in this “high internet” venue. (I just thought of that term, remember to always credit me for it.) But I read something obnoxios by an obnoxious 16 year old kid in a myspace Weezer forum that said that Surf Wax America, off Weezer’s Blue album, is about “90’s slacker hedonism.” This was my response to him:

I don’t like it when people assign social trends to decades, like what’s his name did about “90’s hedonism.” The 80’s has been labeled the Decade of greed. That’s kind of hedonistic. (Watch the 1986 film, Wallstreet with Martin Sheen and his son Charlie.)

If Surf Wax is about 90’s hedonism, what makes it exclusively 90’s? Climbing the corporate ladder or running the rat race could be seen as hedonistic and selfish just as sloth, or images of sloth, like early 90’s grunge may be interpreted by many “rat racers” as hedonistic and lazy. I think hedonism isn’t the most prevalent theme of that song.

Remember, this is all subjective, but as a 24 year old, I think it’s about actually taking all your elementary teachers’ word for it when they promise you can do whatever you want with your life as long as you work hard enough.

I think Rivers wrote that song angry that once you turn a certain age, those promises about your dreams being made true turn into lectures on taking responsibility and “the real world.” Rivers and his band had people telling them they needed to get real jobs and go to college.

Rivers took his guitar to work. He worked really fucking hard. Really hard. And there were plenty of rat racers runnin around working really hard, and sure, there were plenty of slackers in the nineties I guess, but they weren’t introduced to society in that decade. I don’t think Surf Wax is about 90’s slacker hedonism. I think it’s about saying “fuck you” to the naysayers.

So that was it. That’s how I responded to the kid. Everything I write seems to end with “fuck you.” Everything I write seems the same.

Posted on the Igloolounge for posterity in remembrance of the old Futa days, because Load3r was and will always be the master of the infamous bed jump stunt. Many attempted to copy the style (that pussy, 50 Cent comes to mind) but in the end they all failed miserably because they just fucking suck. Like Christopher Lambert, there can be only one, Bedjumper!

Load3r is missing since April 2005. He was last seen playing World of Warcraft on the Sargeras server with a gay Night Elf warrior character that goes by the name Cutdown. He was last seen wearing a Field Plate Armor of the Gorilla, a pair of Obsidian Greaves and a funny hat while flipping pancakes near Scholomance. He his known for riding a chalupa, leaving runes on the ground and not using Shield Bash.

If you have any information regarding Load3r/Cutdown/Kenneth (what’s the mother fucking frequency?), or know of his whereabouts, please give him a solid kick in the balls and tell him his Futa bitches miss him.

Nosy is full of zeal and angst and I like that.

I went to a concert last night (NOV 12 05,Broken Social Scene ). I knew nothing about any of the indie or whatever you wanna say, lesser known bands that played before Broken Social Scene and I knew nothing about BSS. Everyone there knew it. They hated me for it. They saw me not bobbing my head, and when I did, they knew I was only doing it to appease them.
I began talking to a girl. I guess there was an underlying hope of making out with her, or one of her friends in the near future. I found out she is a lesbian. I’m OK with that because that’s another song off Weezer’s Pinkerton that I can say I can personally relate to now. I tell myself that makes everything OK.

This person I knew google searched his name and he found something very negative written about him. Upon hearing this, many people felt that his act of self googling was riduculous. I was surprised that this was a common feeling. I don’t think it’s weird.

I am wondering if I am the only mental sucker that is inhabited by a strange dark force that makes me look through forgotten ATM receipts and check stranger’s balance just for kick. I can’t help myself, I walk up to an ATM and they are just everywhere. Either on top of the machine itself or on the counter where people put their bags and always forget their keys or cellphones like retards because they are “always in such a hurry”. Anyway, as I wait for my transaction to be processed, the small discarded crinkled pieces of paper seems to look me in the eyes and start screaming in unison like the little green Martians from Toy Story “Choose me! Choose me! Choose Me!”

It always feels good, in a Saudi Arabia Petroleum Mogul kind of way good, to know that some loser only had $23.64 remaining in his account. My pissing purchase power so fucking PNW YOU NUB! On the flip side it’s always a near heart attack aneurysm terminal balls cancer experience to discover that some bastard got 26.000.00 fucking dollars available to spend over the weekend. How can you just hold on this insane amount of money in your checking account and not spend it already? What the fuck is wrong with you Scrooge? Get a fucking life already, hell buy one for fuck sakes. Go out, travel, drink up chicks like martinis and live grand, make it happen dickhead. Come on, if I had that amount of money it would not be hard for me to find a better way to entertain myself than withdrawing 20 bucks in a less than stellar area of the city at 23:46 on a Friday night. Believe me I’ll pack that yatch and fuck it.

It’s beyond my comprehension that some people spend, how ironic, their life amassing tons and tons of money and this is probably why I will always stay a dead broke pisshead. Time is money; well fuck me… I’m always late.

Halloween is just around the corner, time to take out the chainsaw and start carving pumpkins again, everyone can be an artist like they are Bruce Campbell on crystal meth. Joy. You know, the night of the dead always held a special place in my heart. I am still unsure if it’s because I have a twisted relationship with dead and spooky things or just good old mental problems. Call me a damn zombie lover if you want, but I think the Corpse Bride is cute and I told my girlfriend that the Forsaken girls in World of Warcraft are the sexy, she though I was kidding. I can’t really blame her. When someone tells you that throat slashed, stomach gutted, rotting girls with half boobs and only speculation as to what hides under these decomposed panties are hot stuff, it’s hard to believe they are dead serious.

Some people will have a party this Friday or Saturday you know one of these typical “Hey man! Your passed out in front lawn vomit choked dick hanging out of pants piss on yourself costume looks fucking real dude!1!!”, will be out trick or threatening old hags for razor packed goodies or doing some happy shower stalking for free PG13 scene where boobs wiggle and girl scream and more boobs wiggle. The options seem endless, the fun as cruel and dumb as it should, like poking someone in the eye with a plastic straw just for kicks.

Of course Halloween comes with its fair share of retards and morons. A girl at work was juggling with the idea of buying a Darth Vader costume for her dog. Now how just wrong is that? It is perverted shit at best. I mean come on you stupid! Vader as a dog this is probably the lamest thing I’ve ever heard since Steve Carell said “There is a party in my pants” . It is just stating the obvious that animals can’t use the Force and they don’t give a fuck about it. Ever wonder why there’s no Wookie Jedi, no Ewok Jedi? It’s because animals are idiots lazy motherfuckers that just sleep all day, have food and shelter handed to them for free over the sole fact that they act cute, chew on computer wiring and piss all over the place rather than work their ass and do something useful once in a while. It only leaves me wonder how a dog bark sounds in a scuba suit, let alone how would they wield a lightsaber. 1/10 for you bitch!

Some theatres will dust off the old Rocky Horror Picture Show, I attended a screening when I was around 14 or 15 year old. Of course the movie sucked and it’s about a singing nipple twisting Franken-Queer on LSD or whatever, I don’t know. I never paid attention to the story and never really bothered, it’s people attending it and shooting each other with Supersoakers, flying rolls of bathroom tissue and thrash dancing in the front of the screen that made it so fun and famous. Saw II is opening today and there’s always the rental classics like; Halloween by John Carpenter, the Nightmare Before Christmas from Tim Burton, The Crow, Evil Dead the list could go on forever but you get the point, if you don’t well fuck, go try some stainless steel barbed wire dental floss no need to write back to tell us how it feel.

I will probably go out in the old Montreal to attend what they call La Grande Mascarade. Hopefully I won’t come across a girl dressed as Jar Jar Bink and her hamster pet dressed as Emperor Palpatine or I believe it’s going to be chainsaw time again. Chop! Chop!

Happy & Safe Stalking everyone.

Sometime life is about a yellow shark named Something, being happy and trying to get back the keg that some poor motherfucker stole away from you. Sometime it is about being with your most precious thing and soaking / giving all the love you can. Although, at some point, it is all about not getting lost, not to lose yourself, not to drown trying to get you shit together and just move forward.

Sometimes it can be hard you know because not everyone got their generic 3rd degree burned physically disabled blind bamboo flute playing toes painting Morgan Freeman in their life’s to spoon feed them the movie life grand message and spam fortune cookie bits of wisdom like it is the next revolutionary penis enlargement patch, that would probably be award material for ‘Best same character played over and over since Shawshank Redemption’ category though. In those times it feels good to have either friends or booze or both, because it works awesome when mixed together. But when the fan really hit the shit, when all the world’s fucktards are on your back, when all the lights black out and you can’t fucking Mighty Morph your way out of trouble, there is nothing like knowing that your side kick stands by your side. Here is a drawing for my angel because seriously sometimes no matter how badass I look, I just need a fucking hug.

To quote a MDC song; Sometimes you’re happy sometimes you don’t but ain’t it funny how it all works out.

I’ll never get over this story I wrote for my creative writing class. (Actually, I started it a couple years ago, now that I think about it.) It was about me and baseball in Texas. I moved there towards the end of seventh grade and stayed until I moved back to CA for ninth. I used my experience in little league baseball as a vehicle to display, fuck, I don’t know what it’s about. I read (present tense) the comments written by the students in the class (they all got their own copy to comment and return to me) all the time.

One guy’s remarks were so sad- he forgot about separation of writer and character altogether told me he knew what it was like to be picked last, and I didn’t really mean to get into that, I was usually 2nd or 3rd to last anyway.

The girls in the class liked the bitterness toward parents in the story but they’re confused about chronology. They don’t like vagueness, whether or not it was intended. The girls’ comments are the most interesting.

There was a girl that read that damn story and blew me away. In asking questions about a 13 year little leaguer, she was actually telling a 23 year old that he’s indecisive, numb, and afraid of failure. Anyway, that girl is God I think- though she was confused in certain parts like the rest of them. Do perfect people get confused? Oh, we’ll just ask Nosy. Anyway, these are her questions she wrote on her copy that was returned to me.

“I feel like this kid doesn’t care much about being a ‘loser.’ Is that true- or does he care? It’s not clear to me…”

“This kid seems really lonely. At the same time, I feel like I’m not hearing any of his true feelings.”

On returning to San Diego: “Why does he want to go back now, when he was so against it before?”

“These people are jerks, sorry. [My dad & step mom] How did this make him feel? We get all these events, but I never know his feelings about anything.”

The big one:

“Why does he give up so easily when baseball means so much to him? Then he tries all these other activities, but he never devotes himself to anything. What does he care about? What is his motive? Why does he have such an inferiority complex? How does he feel about all this?”

I think I’ll never know anything. I could write a huge vague book and have twenty-something girls tell me what’s wrong with me- maybe that’s the secret to my happiness. I still don’t know the answers to all her questions. I guess I could take them to a shrink, but there’s something wrong with that, isn’t there? I think I’m really fucked. Anyway, that girl is one of a handful of intimidating girls who are disgusted by my incompetence and have told me in one way or another that I need to get my shit together.