This is the log I wrote a while ago and never published. When you read it it's pretty obvious why not.
Wednesday, June 26, 2002. 6:44PM
What follows is an anecdote on life that I found...well...interesting. I was watching the news the other day when this story about Israel moving tanks into Palestinian territory comes on. The reporter is standing in front of a tank shelled building delivering her piece to camera. It goes something like "Little Abdul braved the curfew and was shot by Israeli tanks on his way to the shops". Then it cuts to this kid in a hospital bed with a bandage around his leg, and he's talking in Arabic (or whatever), but that's no problem because they've dubbed it into English. He says "Me and my friends were just returning from the shops, when we saw some tanks. We started throwing stones, and the tanks turned and fired at us." I mean, sweet mother of Allah, dune coon, what the hell do you expect?
Monday. July 1, 2002. 6:36PM
Now, I just want make one thing clear. I love a good Palestinian as much as the next angry teenage of dubious Jewish heritage. I was openly indignant when I heard Bush's speech about writing Arafat out as leader, but there are some times when they are idiots (like blowing up their women. Who blows up all your women?!?), and I think it needs to be bought into the public arena more. There. Debate. Oh... no forums... well... ha.
On Saturday it was Alex's eighteenth... and I went, at cost of Emily's eighteenth (for which I apologized). They had free beer and wine and champagne, and I drank a nibit too much of all of them. Had to get a ride home with my dad, and spent it trying to talk as little as possible, and to use diction when it was absolutely necessary. I also smoked someone's cigarette (to be cool - peer group pressure works better on the drunk), and I couldn't get the smooth tobacco flavor out of my mouth for a long time. As he got out of the car my good buddy Tim (who we had given a life home) said "See you on Tuesday", and my dad promptly picked up on the fact I was having a party. I spent the ride from Tim's to mine thinking "Oh shit oh shit explain that it's a party at someone else's place" and "No no no don't talk you're intoxicated". In the end intoxicated won over, but they've gone now, and Mum didn't say anything like "I'm coming home on Tuesday to break up your shindig", so I guess my dad is a far cooler cat then I had him down for.
I had my System's Foundations exam this morning, which was quite okay. I left about an hour and a half early, however, which worried me somewhat, but I didn't really see what I could do, and I wasn't the first to leave by a long shot. Played CS with my buddy David (some of you may have realized that all my friends have distinct ranks, ranging from "Nemesis" all the way to "Padre") for a while, ate subway, checked my enrollment (sweet timetable so far...nine hours, but I need another subject yet). After that Francy came over and we baked cake for tomorrow. I have observed that men cook things very differently (and better) than girls.
The other day I was on the telephone to my good friend Allan, and we were talking about Michael Jackson's monkey, Bubbles, who died recently. If you didn't know that, take a moment of silence... now. Right. Done? Good. Now this gave me an idea, a theory, no less, and when I told Allan he laughed harder then usual (Allan has a very distinctive laugh). I told someone else today, and they didn't laugh nearly as hard, but either way, here it is:
Michael Jackson, you see, has a dream. A dream that is shared by many of us, man and women alike... to create the world's largest Penis (as a footnote, the funniest thing I ever wrote was all about Penis. It's on my old site... here). However, Michael Jackson is a dancer... this is how he lives, thrives and survives. Where most of us can just move a chunk of leg two inches to the left, Michael Jackson cannot, as he knows that he cannot afford to cause any damage to the limbs that grant him dance. Therefore, in order to get the tissue he needs for his penis he has to turn elsewhere, and so he does. He stripped off his skin (it's imperative that the worlds largest Penis be black), he cut down his nose, he stripped back his eyes, his chin, and although he has long hair at the moment, it has been a while since I saw his ears. So, there you have it. Next time you want to call Michael Jackson a freak or a pedophile, think what one cockslap from him could do to your amicable grin.
That's it... my tasks for tomorrow... paint "Dead Nigger Storage" on a sign and write "Bad Mother Fucker" on a cake.
Have fun cats...and see you all tomorrow!