Manstables

Don’t get to excited by the new layout folks. I don’t know that the manstables crew is quite ready for a return yet. As part of moving to a new webhost I needed to get rid of the horrible 2000 blog management software that had been installed and migrate over to something released in the later half of this decade. Some of the entries got slightly butchered during the migration, so leave a comment and let me know if you find one of these unrepaired jacked-up entries.

Well, at least back from the world after college. Yes, there is a world after college! It involves a lot less beer and a lot more work. So far I would have to say it is overrated and I think my morale at work would improve significantly if a kegerator was installed in the break room. I would also like to emphasize that it is possible to post to the Stables after graduation. Some previous graduates (Diesel) seem to have forgotten all about us peons at the Stables, or they (Diesel) are just too damn lazy. However, out of respect (Diesel) these above mentioned parties (Diesel) shall remain unnamed. Now that little ugliness is out of the way, we can move onto brighter news.

Yes, to you uneducated miscreants that is a bocce ball set. Basically it equates to lawn bowling without the boundaries. Why, would anyone want to want to roll balls around in the grass just like Grandpa does? Oh yeah, pure testosterone driven competition. Estrogen works in Guyute

Well, as many of you illiterate cockgobblers may have noticed, there is a poll on this website. It has to do with where your favorite place to have sex with me is at. SOME of you punks wrote “i like cake” as the answer. You dope, that is not an answer. The correct answer is ANYTHING besides that (I realize I’m talented).

Anyway, I was looking at some of the comments in the poll section some of you fannywackers left. Several references to a ‘Matt’ was made. Who the fuck is Matt? Matt doesn’t live or work or play here. Unless Matt was that guy Greg picked up off the side of the road and did those things…..um, wait, nevermind….that trial didn’t prove anything. So if that guy wasn’t Matt, who the fuck IS Matt?

In other news, I got called a man-whore by my lady friend today. True story.

c

Now, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I have finally started watching the show “Joe Millionaire.” Why wait so long, the show is almost over, you might ask? Well, the answer is simple: I enjoy watching the looks on these women’s faces after they get canned. That’s right, nobody appreciates a Golddigger….except Fox that is.

You may also be wondering why in the fuck I am writing about this. Well, the answer is simple: some dirt has been uncovered on one of the “ladies” competing for Joe’s mon…er….affection. I will say no more, except that I sure hope this one doesn’t win.

http://www.thesmokinggun.com/doc_o_day/doc_o_day.shtml

I’m too lazy to do that linking shit, fucking copy and paste you lazy bastard.

Well friends, its that time of year when Blacksburg moves from the “mildly annoying cold and snow” season into the “artic tundra of death” season. It is quite cold and very annoying, especially since I don’t like anything cold. Except popsicles.

And yet, somehow I wasn’t prepared for the possibility that there may be a place WORSE than Blacksburg. Greg’s brother, who is obviously a sucker, sent me this picture of his room window at the school he resides:

HAHA what a sucker. I bet he fell for all that “hey our school is great” bullshit. Now he PAYS MONEY to go to school there. HEY BUDDY, HERE’S A SUGGESTION: Russia has a school in its artic wasteland, The Siberian School of Being a Jackass….I hear its cheaper, too. Although, the buildings may be SLIGHTLY better built and insulated.

We all go through changes in preferences occasionally. Well, I’m going through one of those changes. I have begun to tire of sheep and sheep porn (it’s such a shame too, because its winter now, and during the winter old farmer Brown is less likely to sheer my wooly friends. Some might call these sheep with a sweater, but I call them sheep with built-in handles– that’s an entirely different story though.) So, on my latest search for some porn, I decided to shift my searches from sheep porn to some monkey porn. Well, right when I’m looking for another website to help me along on my monkey adventures, I come across Whiplash.

You see, Whiplash is a rodeo monkey that puts on shows where he rides around on a dog and gets to dress up in all kinds of cool little outfits.

I bet you’re thinking what I’m thinking– If his mouth opens that wide, he MUST be related to Chris. If the mouth doesn’t give the relation away, that SUPER sparkly vest sure does. You can read more about Whiplash here.

Anyway, back to the matter at.. errr.. hand and searching for some more monkey porn.

UPDATE: Whew.. Now that my rather intense monkey porn search has come to a succesfull conclusion, I just wanted to make sure you all noticed the new poll (VOTE!), the fact that the Joint of the Week has been updated, along with the DDDB, and a couple of the profiles.

Well, I just got my first parking ticket of the year. As opposed to describing it to you, I will simply attach the letter that I am using to appeal the ticket. Enjoy.

Parking Services
130 Student Services Building
Virginia Tech
Blacksburg VA 24060

RE: Appeal for citation A0300305

I would like to say it was a bright and warm Sunday afternoon, but being as we are stuck in Blacksburg, it defiantly wasn’t. Cold, windy and hellish is a much more accurate description. My girlfriend and I had decided to treat ourselves to some of the culinary delights that the RDP might prepare for us. Being as it is a Sunday, and I had never heard of parking meters being enforced on the Lord’s Sabbath Day, I figured that parking services would also be a Godly organization. This was my first mistaken assumption (well, if you exclude the thought that Blacksburg might be bright and warm in January). We therefore proceeded to Owen’s Dining hall to nourish ourselves.

After we experience a less than stellar meal at Owens hall (I had a Philly chicken cheese steak with green peppers and onions. I’m not sure what was wrong with it, but it just didn’t taste quite right. My girlfriend was given a rather pitiful portion of Alfredo pasta, and we both tried a seafood chowder that had no seafood in it. I do have to say though– the Cherry Coke® was an excellent beverage choice for both of us though.), we finally head back to the car that was parked behind the University Bookstore. As I am heading back, it is only on the return that I notice a sign stating that meters are enforced 7 days a week (including the Lord’s Sabbath day, the only explanation being that Parking Services is run by ungodly heathens). Well, I’m guessing that it somehow makes sense that the sign would only appear to people that are coming back to their cars, as opposed to a sign for people that are leaving the lot. This sign serves no real purpose. It only alerts people on their way back to a car that will already have a ticket. It is almost a way for Parking Services to get a head start on laughing at unsuspecting drivers that they have been violated in a very uncomfortable place.

As I look at my car, I notice a special little gift that the heathens have left me. My car has now been tagged with an orange ticket, much like the Jews were tagged with yellow stars under Nazi controlled Germany. I learn that since I did not see the sign while leaving the parking lot that meters would be enforced on Sundays (Why didn’t I see this sign? Possibly because it didn’t exist.), I am now going to have parking services reach into my pocket and remove twenty five hard earned dollars (hard earned implying that I didn’t make them by putting orange slips of paper under people windshields in Nazi-like fashion). Many cultures have a word for the uninvited reaching into other people’s pockets and removing money. That word is called theft. If this college were located in a conservative Muslim controlled country, thieves (i.e. Parking Services) would be punished for stealing by having their hands cut off. Of course, if we were in one of these countries, the heathens would already be punished for such ungodly activities.

After I recover from the uncomfortable sensation of being violently penetrated in an un-lubricated location by the heathens, I decide that I should look into appealing this citation on two grounds:
1. We live in a country “Under God”, since Parking Services is a Nazi and ungodly organization, they have no authority to issue tickets
2. The sign informing parking lot users that meters are enforced on Sunday is only shown to people as they are returning the lot, not exiting it.
At this point I find out that I must first pay the fine before I can even appeal it. I already covered the definition of theft, so I won’t bother repeating it, but this is defiantly another instance of Parking Services showing their true colors. There have been societies over time that insist an accused be punished before given a fair trial. Among the societies that do this: Nazi Germany, Communist Soviet Union, and Mob-controlled Somalia are the first to pop into my mind. Since this would not happen in the United States of America, we must assume that Parking Services operates its own country which is, for lack of better description, an ungodly, Nazi, Communist society.

In conclusion, I will pay the fine, since this appeal will probably never even be read (and if it is, it will be passed around the office to various people who will at first be worried that I have discovered your offices true ideals but then laughed at since there is nothing anyone can do about it). Realize when you cash my check and rob me of my sweat-earned money that I am onto you and your ways, and the wet spots on the check are from my tears that my money is supporting such an organization as yours.

I’m on to you,
Greg X

So there is still a party going on next door from tonight since one of the guy’s next door recently was welcomed into the world of legal drinkers. Well, only a couple interesting stories worth sharing, but they are definatly worthy of that status. I’ll start with the most recent one. The party is winding down when Amanda and I are sitting in the living room and hear a VERY loud thunk. I go to open the door, and see one girl, DRUNK as all hell, very confused that this was not were the party was (well, she was only one door off, but anyway). Now, I have heard of people walking into screen doors… but storm doors… come the fuck on.

Other story of the night… Ali, Guyute, and I are standing outside while some drunk girl comes outside. Ali, being the nice guy he is, fills up her beer for her. At the end, he has a little control problem and ends up spilling some beer on her. At that point, a smart ass comment is made about how she should be glad that it didn’t end up on her face, like it usually would. Her reacation? That she likes it all over her face…. riiiiight… Where is Cassius when we need him… Although she was about 20 years too old for him.

Ok, I have been a slack bitch the past 4 months or so, and even on that note I still don’t have anything good to say. Blow me. Anyway here are some Manstables tested and approved pickup lines from my man Jimbo:

“Girl, pretend you’re an available washing machine in the laundry room and let me throw in a load of white.”
“Girl, pretend you’re a scantron and I’ll fill in all the right holes.”
“Girl, I’m like a Core Area. You GOTTA do me.”
“Why get a smoothie at the West End when I can give you a protein boost for free?”
Girl, please don’t pretend you are health services and make me wait 40 minutes before you ask me to take off my pants”
“Girl, pretend you’re Dietrick and be nasty”

Tonight Greg finally came out and said it: “Chris, find me some goat porn. I just really, really need to see some goats humping.”

Me, being the good-natured friend, said no problem. I’m on it. Besides, I’ve got all the popular goat-porn sites bookmarked anyway.

Instead, I ended up at some weird website for some crappy newspaper. At this particular website, I found an interesting article, with an equally awesome picture:

A quote from the article states that the man “was inspired when someone speeding by his yard hit and killed his Jack Russel terrier.” The homeowner claims that the sign is to act as a traffic signal to help curb the stupid drivers who drive too quickly along this road.

Apparently, the first sign he put up said “Slow Down,” but nobody paid any attention to common sense, so he decided to tell them all off.

Hurray!