Rant Number Two: Sneering

So this last Saturday, while I was waiting patiently for Delta Airlines to "misplace" my baggage during my layover in Salt Lake City (Mormons, represent!), I decided to snag a delicious Cinnabon. There I was, trying hard to remember whether or not there was a sales tax in Utah - or airports for that matter - when I saw it. The look. Two otherwise attractive girls (maybe women. I didn't get a good look at their I.D.'s) walked past the Cinnabon queue (That's right, I said queue instead of line. What!?) with the most grotesque facial expression I've seen since we informed Graham that his "french fries" were in fact fried squid legs. I've since decided to name their look the "Half 'Tarded Sneer," or HTS for short.

www.dictionary.com defines a sneer as "A scornful facial expression characterized by a slight raising of one corner of the upper lip." The look I'm describing is more dramatic than this, however. The HTS does involve a raising of one side of the mouth, but it also involves a heavy slackening of the jaw, leading to an open mouth. It gave me the impression that perhaps the airport girls had split a botox treatment between them, each having one half of their face juiced.

Now, I wouldn't have thought much of this except that I've noticed it on a few seperate occasions in the short time since then - a moderately to highly attractive female with the I'm disgusted-with-the-world sneer distorting her face. Blondes appear to be at higher risk for HTS abuse, from my experiences thus far. Abstent-minded activities (such as driving) may also pressure you into HTS use. I truly hope this is not a growing trend and that I've merely been unlucky over the past half-week. Women (and men as well, I suppose), please refrain from using the Half 'Tarded Sneer in the future. Check the mirror every morning and if you find HTS on your face, do what you can to get rid of it or see a doctor. HTS use is not "cool," nor does it make you seem "sophisticated." Stop it, people. Just say no!

A Declaration of Peace: Asshole Style

Well, here's what L-Dub came up with to top off the Red vs Alex blogwar of 2005:

Mines Goggles Mercenary

Back again to declare supreme glory is the one, the only, "The Asshole." I would like to take this opportunity to bask in my own magnificence and say a few things about Mr. Peters. The victory was an easy one, but that does not mean that I am not pleased with my actions. Victory was the only option and you have to take it to the house when dealing with the ugly, the handicapped and the Republicans. I fought to save the whole world from the pestilence of right wing tyranny and in defense of all that is most sacred to me, mostly. I didn’t underrate the gravity of the task which lay before me or the temerity of the ordeal, to which I could not be found unequal against that pussy country bumpkin. I expected many disappointments, and many unpleasant surprises, but I was sure that the task which I freely accepted was not beyond the compass and the strength of the Asshole Empire and the Dub Man. Poor Red was wet behind the ears but had a drought in his brain when it came to the asshole game. It is very disappointing because it shows that there are too many rookies and not enough pros. It goes to show that it takes no faint of heart or lack of brass to compete with the Dub Man. I am happy that Alex can write free amongst the fruited blogging plains and never be harassed by those who have a lack of testicular definition. Thanks to, well… me, you can all enjoy Alex’s intellectual jargon free of Red. Not to sound facetious, but Red really had no chance against this insult powerhouse. I’m messing with you I intended to be grossly facetious. Whether I am throwing slurs, profanity, blasphemy, vulgarities, or just plain mean shit, not many can step to this. So ladies and gentlemen don’t worry what others say and always…always keep it real.

L-Dub (slick dick the ruler)

Top Ten: Things Not to Pack

Well, seeing as I'm going to be jet-setting and all tomorrow morning, and as I'm incredibly bored after having finished packing, I thought it'd be a good idea to remind myself of some of the things I shouldn't be bringing with me, Letterman style!

10. Fireworks. Not because it's a hazard, but because it's the 22nd of July. I'm lookin' at you, Graham.
9. Safety scissors (My brother had a problem with this last time we got on a plane).
8. Toenail clippers (Again, the airline industry has several of my family's clippers).
7. A hand grenade filled with safety scissors and toenail clippers. Authorities tend not to appreciate the pseudo-irony here.
6. My collection of illegal immigrants... but they're so cute!
5. Strippers. Though technically not a security issue, they make getting through security take A LOT longer. Believe me.
4. Large calculators. Every single time I brought mine tucked inside my turban I was pulled over for a "random" security check.
3. Body/limb casts of any sort. Apparently airport authorities think your will to live (and thus your likelihood of not blowing up a plane) decreases immensely when you have a gimp of any sort.
2. Fat people. I'm pretty sure they left one of my bags behind to accommodate an extra large dude one time.
1. Condoms. They break...and my body can't handle that much cocaine at one time.

And when you're packing, remember the immortal words of Dave Attell:

"Just grab a pile of shit. We'll get a bag at the airport."

I'm Sailing Away

Well, it's about time for me to return to good ol' Zoo-town, Missoula, Montana. I'm flying out of Springs at 6:00 in the a.m. on Saturday morning. Should be some good times up there. Unfortunately for this blog (like anybody cares, right?) I'll actually have things to do, which means less time to spend being a geek on the internet. It's a rough trade-off, but I think everybody involved will manage. But here, to lighten the whole "Alex is leaving" mood, my favorite joke:

Q: What has two legs and bleeds?
A: Half a cat.

Poetry Corner: Circles

As per Chelz's instruction, I'm putting up a poem (I hope) she hasn't seen before.

Circles

Raindrops fall, the infinite eyes of an unknown god,
to the callous ground. Only the worms,
cylindrical engines made to plow the earth’s heart,
understand: Enterprise is nothing. Rise up.
The writhing commonwealth, no longer veiled
beneath the mysterious folds of silt and gravel,
throws itself upon a cracked, grey cul-de-sac,
alter to their god. They await curved ritual blades,
and are not disappointed. Magpies, sparrows, ravens
spiral from the heavens, arriving neither early nor late.
The peacock struts, consumes the eaters of the earth
and turns. Pearls of moisture fleck his bespectacled plumage,
the all-seeing eyes of Rousseau and Jefferson.

The worms know they will one day collect their lost brothers,
cornerstones of the collective consciousness.
The birds know one half the circle only.
We are the second pi, the lower concavity
on which they cannot perch, cannot feast.
We do not feed the birds. They merely consume us.
The earth shall consume them and we shall feed upon the earth.
We feed ourselves. We feed the circle, our circle.
Life, Time, is cyclic, circular.

Oh, I'm still not sure that I'm finished with this poem, so keep the peepers open for another draft/version.

Bringing the Troops Home

Well, avid readers, I think it's time I shut down the Alex vs. Red blogwar. Red started deleting my comments from his site and, though I was hoping Red's comments here would get more creative... they haven't. The rivalry just isn't entertaining to me anymore. Clearly, I'm the victor, what with L-Dub's support and all. I might have him draft up a declaration of peace with Red... as vulgar as his last bit, hopefully. Here's a copy of my favorite deleted quote from Red's site:

Red, Red, Red, Was that a "Fuck you, you fucking fuck" you left on my comments? Classic, I must say. Where's the nasty backup friend comments on my blog... or yours for that matter? I was expecting more from a bastard like you... unless you don't have any friends. Nonetheless, you don't have "The Asshole" on your side. I can see how you'd puss out. Anyway, before you comment on my blog again, please, please, please clean the sand out of your vagina (I rented a dump truck for you) and come up with some better insults, you mealy-mouthed crotch pheasant. Ale.x out.

P.S.-Don't cry too hard before you go to bed tonight, Red.

P.P.S.-I fucking hate P.P.S.'s and I hope you do to, bee-yi-yotch!

I apologize for my strong language, but it needed to be used. And with that, peace, all.

A Note to Assholes Everywhere

Alright, there've been a lot of negative comments here... mostly posted by my friend Red. However, there have been a few annonymous negative comments as well. These were deleted. Not because I can't handle the flak, but because these people are vag. badgers. If you're gonna be a bitch, at least attribute it to a name and a website like good ol' Red has. Oh, and Red, if you're the one posting as anonnymous, quit being a nut gobbler, use your name. And please continue to link to your site. It makes it easier for me to give you scathing comments. I know it hurts, Red, I know. Also, any reconstructions of the basic phrase "fuck you, you fucking fuck" will probably be deleted. If you wanna bitch and moan, make it constructive. "Hey, Ale.x," you might say, "I strongly disagree with the use of alliteration in your poetry, but I will respect your written word." That would be appropriate. Ale.x out.

Poetry Corner: The Chase

Well well, well, it seems that Red doesn't much enjoy poetry. It also seems that I have several more poems to post. Coincidence? I think not. Anyway, this is, i think, more reflective of my poetic style. I hope you guys like it.

The Chase

Our love is an excruciating cartoon,
The mysterious dance of the coyote
and the roadrunner, high speed pursuits
halted repeatedly by a descending piano
or anvil from the sky. The open plains
and high plateaus are your playground.
I bow to you, blue king of the American
Desert Roads. You have no equal here.
Why, then, do I persist? Why do I?

Your sinuous body, a runner’s physique,
cannot possible contain enough calories
to justify my inexorable efforts.
True, it would require much less energy
To saw off my own limb with a hacksaw,
consume it, and grow a fresh one
than to continue my hunt. But it is quality,
not quantity, I desire. Your azure feathers
contain the most tender of meats. A delicacy.

In a secluded ravine, I light the fuse
on my brand new red ACME rocket.
You sprint by, sapphire streaks
against sunburned sands and pale cacti.
Will I capture you? “Meep, meep!”
The canyon walls whisper impossibilities.

Ladies and gentlemen, now for a word from my friend, "The Asshole."

*Disclaimer - The following message has been brought to you straight from the mouth of my bud, L-Dub. The views expressed in the remainder of this post do not necessarily reflect the views of Alex or any of his subsidiaries. Alex does, however, find the aforementioned views to be hilarious and appropriate in the description of his buddy, Red. Oh, and on a side note, L-Dub is one fly, though gimp-legged, cat.*

Greetings from the ‘Glenn in Colorado where it’s straight up gangster bitch. This is L-Dub, the man, the legend, "The Asshole.” I spend time in a land where there is no shortage of people to rip on, Golden Colorado. Ale.x and I reside at the Colorado School of Mines, where the beer flows like diamond water and the women spawn like mangled disease infested salmon. I have reached mythical asshole status in the eyes of my peers at Mines and I made quite a career for myself. Whether it’s trashing international students, resident weirdoes, republicans, Showtimers or the terminally fucking retarded they all stand in awe of the sheer rawness of the Dub. I was asked to talk about the 40 year old petter-ass that has been harassing my man Ale.x on his blog thing. To tell you the truth there is no more spectacular a nut less ass licker than Red Peters. Red, my man you are the most pathetic piece of excrement that I have come across and I lived with someone from India for god sakes (take as much offense as you want, Jukas). To think that a fucking adult has a website completely devoted to finding stupid political Photoshop pictures is beyond my comprehension. Didn’t your sister teach you how to masturbate, you fucking loser? Jesus, man, you act like you were born face down in the god damn shit house… oh, I forgot you said you where from North Carolina. You obviously have deep-seeded issues that must have come from your dad beating off to you tongue kissing a sheep. Why don’t you exercise your second amendment right, buy a gun and put a 45 to your fucking skull. The best thing you got going for you right now is that you have dellusions of grandeur while updating your website. I can only pray that you don’t find some toothless succubus roaming the shit head plains of North Carolina to spread your seed and pass your plague of impotence and ignorance. Well we have scratched the surface Red… the next move is yours. And let me say this, if you are anything but gay, I will be surprised. It has been a pleasure writing for you and I hope to be back to ridicule and harass anyone who wants to step to this.

Peace,
L-Dub

The adventures of Red the gay redneck...coming soon to Fox

Well, looks like I've finally made my first geeky e-enemy, people. I'd like you all to meet him. His name is Red and he runs a blog for... anal stimulators? I forget. It's at theangryredneck.blogspot.com for anybody who wants to check it out, maybe leave a few comments. I'd like to thank Red for being a 37 year old creepy dude, who apparently likes to do nothing better than argue with college kids on the internet. He's been updating that redneck blog every few minutes with stupid crap for the past while now. Get a job Red! I would like to thank him for supplying about half the posts on my blog so far. Good show. Oh, and can you tell your sister to stop calling me? It was just a one night stand, and she wasn't that good.

Poetry Corner: Falconnet's Cupid

Time to get into Alex's artsy side, I guess. Here's a sample of my poetic work. Most of my stuff is a but more... flippant (look it up, Drew), but this is a good one of my "real" poems. It's published in Hanging Loose volume 85, I think. Can you believe they paid me $5 for this? That's like 10 cents a word. Anyway, here you go...

Falconnet's Cupid

called Love and Eros
he raises one finger
to alabaster lips

mischeviously bidding
onlookers to keep
his secret

a remaining hand
poised over a quiver
of marble arrows

ashen wings raised
one slightly higher
than the other

he sits idly
on a mountaintop
or cloud

a granite rose
placed tenderly
at stone feet

Mines Goggles?

Alright, time to explain the title of this blog like I promised... in song. Well, I'll explain it regular, then I'll drive the point home with a song. OK, first off, I go to the Colorado School of Mines, an engineering school and a geek school in every right. Most notably, the male:female ratio (affectionately known as the bro:ho ratio) is something like 10:1 (they tell us it's 4:1, but I think they're lying). With the extreme lack of feminine influence, the women that do exist at Mines (and everything else, by the way) slowly becomes more and more attractive. This phenomenon is known as "Mines Goggles," a close relative to the more common "Beer Goggles." Unfortunately, many at Mines choose to combine the two effects, leading to disasterous consequences and really ugly babies. But I digress. Now that everybody's on the same page, here are the lyrics to the song "Mines Goggles" (written by myself and Adam the R.A., vocals usually by myself, and guitar accompaniment by Fat Mat himself).

Chorus:
Back home never looked so good. (Omit first time only)
I've got goggles on my eyes and I don't know what to do.
Mines Goggles on my eyes and I'm lookin right at you.
Goggles on my eyes, you look better than you did before

Give it a month or two and I'll be ready to jump your bones.
Nothing I can do to control these wild hormones.
Your medicre body shakes me to the core.
Helping people get laid since 1874.

Chorus

You'll look like Cindy Crawford on a double shot of Jack.
Let me grab my goggles and it's time to hit the sack.
The first time that I saw you, you weren't worth a second glance.
But now I've got my goggles and there's a tent up in my pants

Chorus

Mines Goggles! Mines Goggles! Mines Goggles take me away! (repeat 2x)

There you have it, the official unofficial Mines theme song. If anybody would like to propose a new verse, feel free to leave it in a comment on this post. There's always room for more.

Mountains

Well, here's a decent picture (1440x900 for anybody who's wondering). I took it on a bike trip in Missoula, Montana. Cool, eh? Just thought I'd throw that out there. Feel free to comment on how I have an amazing photographic eye and how overall awesome I am.

Alex's Very First Geek Rant

OK, after a hard day of...you know, eating breakfast and doing stuff... I retired to play some Halo 2 with a friend from back home. I'm not going to lie for the sake of modesty, me and Dr Dru (my geek buddy) are awesome. Shotgun surgeons, pistol pimps, sniper...insert s-word here...you get the idea. Anyway, during the course of our time spent meeting the geek quota for the day, we ran into some rapscallion cheaters, two sets of them, in fact. The first set may have deserved whatever mods they had on, since it was clear that they had muscular dystrophy and were playing with their feet. Dru and I managed to massacre them soundly. The second set had no excuse to be a-cheatin' as they quickly rocked us (Dru's butt is still sore).

What the hell? Why do people cheat on videogames. It's 'tarded, and let me explain why. Basically cheating-through whatever dastardly means you choose-in a video game makes you a poser-geek. How lame is that, folks? I'll tell you: the lamest of the lame, lameness that has settled to the bottom of the lame pool and is currently seeping into the aquifer of life, poisoning it with... well, lame. (Phew) If you want to be a part of the geek phenom, just join in, and do it properly. Let's just say that a nightclub tailored to people with pasty skin and a sack full of different sized dice would be far from exclusive. And, not surprisingly, the geek community (the thing I'm using the nightclub as a metaphor for, for those of you who didn't catch on) is not difficult to enter into. Trust me... I'm writing a rant about video games in my own blog after all. Now, maybe these cheating street-urchins don't want to be part of the geek arena and are just in it to mess with the geeks, high school style. In this particular case, then, they're spending something like $70 just to piss people off. This would, hypothetically, put them in a lameness bracket that i cannot even begin to imagine, and I'm a published poet.

So, in conclusion, if you're not good enough to play with the big boys (i.e. myself), just don't play with them. Oh, and don't cheat either, you poser-geeks. ALE.X out!

Scramblin'

Et, voila, the first picture of Alex. Pretty hilarious if I do say so myself. If you don't get it, just wait... It'll come.

Take off your shoes...

Welcome to my blog. It straight-up rocks. Anyway, my name's Alex. That's all you get for now. More on me later. I'll be sure to explain the blog name and whatever else sooner or later. Mostly, this should be a place for easy access to cool pictures of me et cetera. The real reason I made this was probably a power issue. I can edit everything on this sucker, including whatever you write. So if you say anything bad about me it'll be changed to something good. If you say something good about me, it'll be changed to something better. Hah. Big thanks to my friends who encouraged me to do this (right...) and of course, the big man upstairs... for not playing his music so blasted loud tonight.