In times like these.

Shaved face, had a fire, woke up at 11, ate at Franklin, dorm stormed, ate a cheeseburger, rode my bike from Sunderland to NoHo. Next step, get on a bus, shower, do it all over.

Sup dud

Julie and I broke up, I'm in my 5th year at UMass (with two BA's done and a minor on the way), and I still hate olives. This week, I continue to try conquering tomatoes.

"Shit!" ...and Other Stuff About Being Pist

Lips, Ross, Dale and I just got back from a roadtrip which took us from Florida to Cape by car. During my trip I learned many things, mainly that Dale's farts are horrible and colitis is a sad-sad disease. Towards the end of the trip, we affectionately referred to ourselves as "Team Pist", because of our generally shitty attitudes towards each other and the world, serious or otherwise.

Let me tell you some shit about being pist, its fucked. Pist isn't like being mad or angry. It's when you get so pist that you start saying shit that isn't about cunt but shit. I can't really explain the idea behind being pist, you just have to live it. Like an orgasm, you'll know when it happens.

The point of this post is to declare the beginning to what will probably end up becoming a lifelong endeavor, the book of Jim Barabe, the bible of NH, a libro prompted and edited by Neil Johnson. My high school english teacher thinks that the idea of "being pist" has already been monopolized by "Shit My Dad Says" and George Carlin, both of which are dead. Is pist dead forever? Possibly, seeing as "Torrets Guy" is also supposedly dead. Regardless, I'm going to write a book and try to get on TV with it or maybe not, but I really don't care because I won't want to pay the money to publish anyways.