tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55956912011-04-22T00:07:11.507-04:00 The consciousness of self is the greatest hindrance to the proper exectution of all physical action.Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.comBlogger731100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1107666622958112432005-02-06T01:08:00.000-05:002005-02-06T00:10:57.386-05:00

Think of this as a growth: http://www.projectmelodrama.blogspot.com/

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1107661561714931662005-02-05T22:46:00.000-05:002005-02-05T22:46:01.713-05:00

What?

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1107661537904178462005-02-05T22:45:00.000-05:002005-02-05T22:45:37.903-05:00

Holy crap

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1089006322078309152004-07-05T01:45:00.000-04:002004-07-05T01:45:22.076-04:00

Random convo. hotwhitedeath: i came out of the bathroom and got a piece of that sweet bread sitting on the table hotwhitedeath: and my dad is all like "what the hell are you doing?" hotwhitedeath: "did you wash your hands?" hotwhitedeath: i said "nah i didnt piss on my hands so dont worry about it." hotwhitedeath: "doesnt matter, your hands were still all over your penis!" hotwhitedeath: and i

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1086453766002050912004-06-05T12:42:00.000-04:002004-06-05T12:42:46.003-04:00

My sleeping pattern is completely fucked. I’ve been struggling through each day in a muffled, lukewarm condition. The entire world exists at one single volume that is somewhat less deafening than the voice in my head. On the bright side, I think I’m developing superhuman senses. The limits of smell, touch and taste have significantly heightened and everything is brighter (no it isn’t the weather

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1083027911769972992004-04-26T21:03:00.000-04:002004-05-03T16:35:34.686-04:00

Sometimes crying feels good. Sometimes hate feels better. Even if completely irrational and unprecedented it is remarkably refreshing to feel such an extreme emotion. To know that you can feel and that the extent of your feelings isn’t only limited to content and melancholy. Who the hell wants to be happy all the time anyway? I mean, what’s it to you that I don’t smile as often as I used to

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1082907761932213732004-04-25T11:41:00.000-04:002004-04-25T12:08:36.670-04:00

My kindergarten teacher used to set up activity stations for us so that we’d keep busy all morning. There was a finger-painting station, a mini sandbox, an arts & craft section, building blocks, reading corner, music lounge, board games, and blah blah blah you get the picture. Anyway, I always loved spending my morning solving puzzles. Everyday he’d set up six new puzzles at a table for me to

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1081744462900235612004-04-12T00:34:00.000-04:002004-04-12T00:37:11.233-04:00

Don’t tell secrets. But lie if you have to. Always get what you want. But not at the expense of others. Sleep late and never wake up and if people say you look like shit, blame it on your active sex life. Punch hard, but rock harder. You don’t have to do anything, but you should want to do everything Wear what you like. Write what you like. Think what you like. And if somebody

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1080578732724161632004-03-29T11:32:00.000-05:002004-03-29T11:48:07.360-05:00

I met this really annoying girl yesterday. She repeatedly insisted that I make out with another boy. And when I said no, she tried persuading me by making claims that it would be “like… totally hot”. Oh, come on. With a reason like that, wouldn’t you be convinced? (insert mockingly clever emoticon here). Did I mention she was annoying? I don’t remember getting her name. But she was Filipino.

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1080534159856831972004-03-28T23:22:00.000-05:002004-03-28T23:25:14.280-05:00

Mac & cheese, argyle socks, zombie movies, chocolate covered gummy bears, roller coasters, seemingly senseless rock, English class, green grass, hot fudge sundaes, orange and yellow skittles, gum that tastes like mouthwash, penguins, poems that don’t rhyme, cotton candy, potato salad, clam chowder, Pop Rocks, reality TV, Chinese checkers, Mena Suvari, air hockey and foosball, pinball too. Care

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1079147702476112162004-03-12T22:05:00.000-05:002004-03-12T22:17:21.030-05:00

Do crazy people know they’re crazy? And if they do, then do they know that other people probably think they’re crazy as well and would put more effort into convincing everyone that they’re not? Or do only crazy people go around denying their insanity to the entire world? Because if that’s the case, then I’m crazy and because I’m being upfront about my psychosis I am, in fact, not crazy. Right?

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1078200086726970602004-03-01T22:42:00.000-05:002004-03-01T23:03:34.483-05:00

Who's lame? I am! My mom just waltzed into my room and said… “I’m going to sleep in here tonight.” Hmm… okay. I heard the words but… but they just don’t make sense. You’re going to sleep here? In my room? In my bed? The bed that I sleep in? The bed that I’m sleeping in right now? Yes? Ooookay. No wait, not okay. Don’t you have a bed to sleep in? Where exactly are you expecting me to sleep?

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1078071447473619732004-02-29T11:09:00.000-05:002004-02-29T11:19:33.513-05:00

I am posting today for the sole purpose of posting on February 29th, seeing as this date will not appear on my blog for another four years. Of course, the world could end by then, making this post that much more meaningful. Let’s hope.

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1077838256837345202004-02-26T18:30:00.000-05:002004-02-26T18:33:00.123-05:00

I feel so completely useless. I have no aim; no point; no direction. I am a drifter. I am but a mere drop of water in the ocean of fucking life. Have you ever felt so totally stuck? Like, there’s no room to grow, stretch, jump or run and even if you could you’d have no place to go. Everything is the same every single day, that even when something exciting does happen you fail to notice. Days

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1075766120789327572004-02-02T18:54:00.000-05:002004-02-02T19:05:25.840-05:00

I watched the Superbowl yesterday. Not because I wanted to, but because I was waiting for Survivor: All-Stars and so I went over to Carter’s to pass the time. From the three years that I’ve known the kid, I’ve been completely unaware of his love for football. Now, I don’t hate sports or anything and despite my awkward demeanor and lack of grace, I am a physically capable and particularly

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1075431978878127972004-01-29T22:03:00.000-05:002004-01-29T22:07:54.436-05:00

It's just so easy to neglect these sorts of things. So much has happened this month that I never really found the time to process, much less blog. It's like the powers that be decided to make up for the completely uneventful 2003 and cram the rest of my life into one month. Let's start off by addressing my midterms. How'd they go? HOW DID THEY GO? I. Kicked. Ass. 100% on the Science 436 exam (

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1072744177826505552003-12-29T19:27:00.000-05:002003-12-29T19:30:42.340-05:00

Confirmed kills: 10 Assists: 6 It's been a good year.

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1072325719545699262003-12-24T22:57:00.000-05:002003-12-24T23:16:19.373-05:00

My baby sister, Christine: Guess what? Me: You smell. C: No! I made a Christmas present for someone. Me: ... C: A CHRISTMAS PRESENT! (My sister is under the false assumption that not only am I deaf, but that I care). Me: Oh yeah, wow. C: Don’t you want to know who it’s for? Me: Not really. C: I’ll give you a hint. His name starts with M. Me: Mom? C: Mom isn’t a boy. Me: How do you know? C: Take

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1072046423018825842003-12-21T17:40:00.000-05:002003-12-21T17:41:19.500-05:00

I’m expecting a call. Except no one knows that they’re supposed to call me. So, I’m waiting for a call that I really won’t be getting, but what I’m hoping is that someone will realize that they have to call me and then follow through. Because, I really should be getting a call. I’d call them myself, but there is too much anxiety involved with that. What if they don’t answer? What if someone else

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1071868808769918512003-12-19T15:42:00.000-05:002003-12-19T16:21:03.340-05:00

I can only watch that goddamn Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer claymation crap once a year before I go insane and start breaking things. So what's the dilio, huh? Well, it's official. I've survived the first half of the school year. No serious trauma or injury. Just a little tired, that's all. Can you belive it though? 4 months of cafeteria food and I survived. In fact, I think things have

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1069980066358999052003-11-27T19:26:00.000-05:002003-11-27T19:42:09.640-05:00

Write a literary essay on the novel, Junk, by Melvin Burgess. The topic? Is the novel's title relevant to the story's content? Construct a timeline displaying 15 different scientists/theorists along with an explanation and picture of their atomic model. Science lab on elements and their characteristic classifications on the periodic table. Some French reading comprehension questions on this

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1069546165356361732003-11-22T18:31:00.000-05:002003-11-22T19:09:53.420-05:00

I've been really busy lately, with the doing-absolutely-nothing bit. It turns out that I've been having a much better term than I thought I was. And by better, I mean better than most of my class, which is better than soap scum. I don't know what the deal is. Some days, (like the days I'm not plotting the demise of my French teacher) I'll be really outgoing and cheery and almost even optimistic.

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1067713305003143322003-11-01T13:46:00.000-05:002003-11-01T14:05:52.923-05:00

I was at HMV, picking up some CDs. I’m sorting through music, minding my own business when this freak comes up behind me. Freak: You too, huh? Me too? What? I really had no clue what this guy was talking about. How am I supposed to answer to that? Me: Huh? And then he laughed! The nerve! I could have punched him right there… but no. I could have just ignored his unanticipated statement. Of

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1067557259936216732003-10-30T18:40:00.000-05:002003-10-30T18:40:58.830-05:00

I don’t celebrate Halloween. I love candy… but I’m not going to wear a costume for it. I’ll make my sister do it. She’s going out as a unicorn. My dad has to drive her around cuz her costume is so goddamn big. Ever since my mum bought her the costume, she’s been wearing it around the house just for the heck of it. There is nothing more frightening that opening doors and finding a unicorn crawling

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1067205076989013612003-10-26T16:49:00.000-05:002003-10-26T16:51:55.526-05:00

I'm busy writing a magazine article for my Media Technology class. Here's what I have so far... There is no escape. Everywhere you look; on every channel available, reality television has taken over. These shows have all the elements needed to suck in viewers. With copious amounts of suspense, intrigue, violence, scandal, sex and competition added with the bonuses of not having to pay for

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1067125378271246082003-10-25T19:42:00.000-04:002003-10-25T20:18:22.770-04:00

Which [Finding Nemo] characters are you? A sea turtle! NOT a crab!

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1067114394000594962003-10-25T16:39:00.000-04:002003-10-25T16:39:53.360-04:00

Crab. What the fuck? You’re crabby. I can’t believe she called me crabby. I, in no way, resemble any of various predominantly marine crustaceans. Nor do I have the attitude of one. What a bitch. Just because I don’t want to go to some lame party, it doesn’t make me crabby. Being called crabby makes me crabby. And having a blog and writing abstracted messages on everything I own doesn’t make me

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1066953355476327642003-10-23T19:38:00.000-04:002003-10-23T19:57:54.683-04:00

I saw Gavin Valetti on my way home from school today. He had something stuck in his teeth and I kinda failed to point it out. But Gavin Valetti also throws rocks at squirrels, so I guess he deserves it. GV used to live above me but moved across the street because... well come to think of it, I don't really know why he moved, but I'm sure it was to get away from me. I used to take his bike out

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1066863187414181512003-10-22T18:26:00.000-04:002003-10-22T18:55:54.606-04:00

Alright, so I got my progress report in the mail today. It's not a report card, but it is an evaluation of my progress thus far. My progress compared to what? My summer vacation? Let's see, I went from doing absolutely nothing to writing English essays and reading French novels. I'd say that's some definite progress. Still, HELL feels compelled to judge my desperate efforts at success. So here,

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1066361976139341372003-10-16T23:34:00.000-04:002003-10-16T23:39:35.833-04:00

I just got a hold of last year's yearbook. I was voted Mr. Congeniality, most likely to become a runway model and "Hunk". Yeah, I voted for myself. I'd a tad embarrased about that last one though. My yearbook picture is really bad too, so I can imagine someone flipping through the pages wanting to judge my Hunk status themselves and cringing in disgust. I have a classmate that packs her lunch

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1066250016451056332003-10-15T16:32:00.000-04:002003-10-15T16:33:36.146-04:00

Kaycee: I hate you. Me: I didn’t do anything. KC: Sneeze. Me: What? KC: Sneeze, bitch. Me: You’re so weird. KC: Just sneeze and I’ll show you what I’m talking about. Me: But I don’t have to sneeze. KC: Just pretend. Me: Will you still hate me? KC: Yes. Me: Alright, here we go… ACHOO! Lady with umbrella: Bless you. Man wearing a tie: Bless you. Kid with skateboard: Gazoontite. KC: Fuck you. Me:

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1065989939292447682003-10-12T16:17:00.000-04:002003-10-12T16:18:59.266-04:00

I don't believe this non-drowsy Claritin bullshit. What a bunch of lying mf'ers!

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1065894109849374382003-10-11T13:40:00.000-04:002003-10-11T13:41:49.566-04:00

So here's the short story I got 96% on for English, which is amazing... but not sensational. Every morning, thousands of people in Montreal travel by metro to school, to work, almost anywhere they desire. All with their own places to go and errands to run, people to see and things to do. Except none of that is important, because when you’re riding down the blue line you become one in a crowd

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1065753790007951522003-10-09T22:42:00.000-04:002003-10-09T22:45:50.930-04:00

I'm going to try being nice to people tomorrow. Well, the people that deserve it.

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1065753665883658482003-10-09T22:22:00.000-04:002003-10-09T22:41:05.463-04:00

Do you ever find yourself walking behind someone you really dislike? And you're afraid to pass them because they might say something... to you. And you really don't want to say anything to them, but you're running late for class and you're caught in this dilemma. Instead you decide to just follow along behind them but your legs are so much longer and the only way not to pass them is to take these

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1065732199968793272003-10-09T16:21:00.000-04:002003-10-09T16:43:19.690-04:00

Nothing beats an afternoon of crazy French people humping each other.

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1065223861590887412003-10-03T19:23:00.000-04:002003-10-03T19:31:01.306-04:00

I just realized that my blogging resembles that of a teenage girl with PMS.

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1065131745308900862003-10-02T17:49:00.000-04:002003-10-03T17:48:28.570-04:00

Today I blazed through English, pretended I knew math, slept through History and suffered through French. I have to stop complaining. I'm drawing a blank. It's sad that this is what my life has become: one giant complaint. I should seek some professional help but... no. I think I think I'll make a sandwhich instead.

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1065061772181647692003-10-01T22:10:00.000-04:002003-10-01T22:29:31.890-04:00

Oh my, it's getting quite chilly, wouldn't you say? And that rain doesn't seem to be helping much. I wish my phys. ed. teacher would notice. The fool had us playing football outside! On the grass that doesn't exist! In the cold! In the rain! In our t-shirts and shorts! I don't even like football! The whole point of my existence was to "fake run" (which probably isn't even a real football term

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1064532628418405302003-09-25T19:20:00.000-04:002003-09-25T19:30:59.740-04:00

I decided I'd keep score at the girl's volleyball game. It got me 4 hours of community service, which is 4/5 of the requirements for this term. I didn't really deserve it though. It was actually only 2 hours and I didn't do such a great job. Teams have this nasty habit of switching positions. It got me all confused and I ended up giving a couple players 0 points and now I'm afraid that those

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1064460333017303702003-09-24T23:11:00.000-04:002003-09-24T23:25:32.793-04:00

I got 96% on my short story for English. I'm not complaining. My teachers all think I'm crazy. Probably because I am. Atleast it gets me noticed. My science teacher always seems to know that I'm present, which saves me the chore of acknowledging my existence. I'd like to thank Wendy's for their super value menu that lets me buy three Jr. Bacon Chesseburgers for less than five bucks. Bawls

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1063577798436919092003-09-14T17:51:00.000-04:002003-09-14T18:16:38.493-04:00

I don't like a lot of people. And so sometimes I'll squint at them really hard, in hopes that my incredible genius will develop into some sort of psychic ability, giving me the power to set people on fire. But there was this one time where I was caught squinting at Jaime the Slut. You’re laughing because you know who I’m talking about. Everyone knows Jaime the Slut. Anyway, Jaime The Slut though

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1063468524375721132003-09-13T11:54:00.000-04:002003-09-13T20:37:43.110-04:00

My first official week (5 days) of school is now over and I have already learned so much. 1) People don’t change. They simply find more ways to annoy you. 2) I stand no chance against the forces of algebra. 3) Dude, school sucks. 4) If you interrupt people and say “like” and “wow” a lot people will like you. Or at least pretend to like you. 5) There’s something in the water. 6) Rust doesn

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1063145341993137042003-09-09T18:09:00.000-04:002003-09-09T18:12:43.383-04:00

My dad is such the spaz. Whenever I lose something (because I do so very often) he'll ask me a bunch o' questions, but nothing like "do you remember where you last had it" or "would it help if I looked too?" He'll tell me to "go get it!" or ask if I "know where I lost it." Right dad, because I know exactly where I put it. "Why do you always have to lose things?" Because I like to waste your money

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1062587067280881682003-09-03T07:04:00.000-04:002003-09-03T07:04:27.300-04:00

People always seem to be thrown back by my cat-being-pushed-out-of-the-window story. It’s a really good story, which is why I’m so surprised people don’t warm up to it as much as they should. Young, tiny Mark had a pet cat. This cat’s name was Bumper. Young, tiny Mark also made poor decisions. And still does. Now, Bumper was really cool and Mini-Mark loved him very, very much, but holy moley

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1062346948011046832003-08-31T12:22:00.000-04:002003-08-31T12:22:28.063-04:00

Enough about me, tell me something about you.

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1061956692897020822003-08-26T23:58:00.000-04:002003-08-26T23:58:42.066-04:00

Yum. I'm eating a banana. Yum. Okay, what the fuck do you want? That's the most interesting part of my day, I've got nothing else. So live with it and let me eat my banana! It has those kinda mushy, brown-ish parts though that I don't think are good for me.

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1061680070208546262003-08-23T19:07:00.000-04:002003-08-23T19:07:50.293-04:00

I have to stay out of the house. If my mum or dad catches me they'll give me crap about not working at the restaurant. They're both out for most of the day managing the restaurant themselves, but now and again they'll stop by the house to pick on me. Oh, how I hate working at that restaurant. It's a great place and a huge success and all, but I can never spend too much time there. My mum is

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1061503695309677902003-08-21T18:08:00.000-04:002003-08-21T18:15:20.230-04:00

Along with having a swearing problem, I am a pathological liar. Great guy, huh? The lying started way sooner than the cussing did. I was an evil kid and got into my share of tomfoolery. What was I supposed to do? I wasn’t going to admit that I broke that vase even if it was ugly horseshit. Or confess that I was the one that painted Ryan Berger’s face black and red even if no one liked the chump.

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1061442476251909322003-08-21T01:07:00.000-04:002003-08-21T11:01:08.193-04:00

HELL wasn't that bad. It wasn’t as bad as I was prepared for it to be. It didn’t take too long and most importantly I didn’t have to deck anyone. I saw Freddy vs. Jason with some people after. Yeah, that movie was holy shit amazing. Only not. It was good, but when has good, ever actually meant good? I don’t want to hate, because I have to admit I jumped a few times. Sheep are scary man. I’m

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1061236531981628372003-08-18T15:55:00.000-04:002003-08-18T15:55:32.000-04:00

Summer is almost over. Eh. I have to go to HELL on Wednesday to confirm my application and hand in my student fees. Eh. They make us come in a few days early for this shit and I hate it. Those few minutes pose a perfect opportunity for an awkward confrontation. There are just some people that I can’t stand seeing before the actual school year starts. They’re the people that say “hi” and ask

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1060750884974385702003-08-13T01:01:00.001-04:002003-08-13T01:05:26.273-04:00

I saw the notorious ‘M’ today at the library. He said hi and I went on to punching him in the jaw. :) Okay, no. He said hi and I said hi (actually, I said howdy) and then he offered to buy me lunch to which I replied by ripping his arm off and beating him with it. So, I accepted the offer and we went to Nickels. But what I should of done was go all out Mortal Kombat on his ass, flawless

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1060692759437182362003-08-12T08:52:00.000-04:002003-08-12T08:55:37.213-04:00

In an attempt to find myself a shred of dignity, I instead find a picture of my 6th birthday. And I remember that was the day that I fell into the fishpond. I don’t remember where we were exactly, but it still remains very clear to me that there was a fishpond and that I did, in fact, fall into it. I know Mackenzie was there and of course she’s a freak, so I’ll just assume that it was her bright

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1060105916074531982003-08-05T13:51:00.000-04:002003-08-05T13:51:55.956-04:00

In other news... I have no dignity.

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1060105206459623322003-08-05T13:40:00.000-04:002003-08-05T13:40:43.060-04:00

Everyone is really tired and it's really hot, so we're just laying about and eating ice cream. There's an electirc fan in the corner of the room and it's making this annoying gargle sound. I got bored so I started doodling on a popsicle wrapper and came up with this: That electric fan swivels From left to right. No say in his movement, A lack of control. Trapped within a metal cage. He's kept

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1060054521720173262003-08-04T23:35:00.000-04:002003-08-04T23:35:21.666-04:00

Reggie has a pet reptile. I know, reptile is a very broad term, but I cannot honestly tell you what it is. I know it has legs. And it's brown. Sometimes. It's only brown when it's not green. A chameleon maybe? Are those allowed to be kept as pets? I'd never ask R what it is myself, because then he'd pick it up and make me hold it and conduct a PowerPoint presentation on the thing. It's mating

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1059952881746514892003-08-03T19:21:00.000-04:002003-08-04T13:21:40.253-04:00

Ever find yourself searching for "cheap easy funny murder ideas" over the net? No? Really? Just curious. I mean a friend of mine is curious. Not me. I don't want to know at all. I'm just asking for them. Yup. You know what? The next time you see Nick Tell him I'm gonna stick some needles in his face And watch him on his knees Watch him when he sees that I'm not fooling 'Cause I'm through

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1059583176819247362003-07-30T12:39:00.000-04:002003-07-30T12:41:06.043-04:00

I have a fuckin' swearing problem. I'm fully aware of it. To my credit, I am very very responsible with it. I do not swear in front of adults or little children. Unless of course they're swearing at me, then all bets are off. I always fully evaluate each and every situation to determine just how curse-worthy it is. Sometimes you can get away with a “damn” or a “crap”. Other times, like in a

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1059339438314726742003-07-27T16:57:00.000-04:002004-03-01T22:44:15.840-05:00

You know what I hate? When people think they can get away with stupid behavior and their annoying antics by claiming, “it’s a free country.” So what? And these people say it in this know-it-all tone, as if I was completely unaware of my own country’s independence. They’re all proud too, like they just read a really big book with really big words and now understand that the country they are living

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1059141549478784692003-07-25T09:59:00.000-04:002003-07-26T12:56:53.150-04:00

Sooooooo tired. Sooooo lazy. Sooooo very very lazy. Man, I don't want to do anything today, I'm so lazy. I'm too lazy to even look up a synonym for lazy. How about... tired? No wait, used that already. Cranky? No, that's not even a synonym for lazy. But I'm cranky nonetheless. Cranky and lazy are not a good combination. What's 'lazy' in french? Isn't is something like parreaseux? Too lazy to

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1059104950266120402003-07-24T23:49:00.000-04:002003-07-26T12:57:39.986-04:00

Once upon a time, there lived a young lad by the name of... umm... Mike. Mike had amazing good looks and a personality worth being jealous of. He also did very well in school and had parents that let him get away with a lot of bs. Mar... uhh... Mike had it all. His life was great... but not perfect. You see, deep down inside Mark... shit, I meant Mike. I swear. Where was I? Anyway, deep down

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1059090445240602092003-07-24T19:47:00.000-04:002003-07-24T19:48:11.036-04:00

No, I'm not actually pregnant. And no Clint, I still won't have sex with you.

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1059074851408474952003-07-24T15:27:00.000-04:002003-07-24T15:28:43.693-04:00

Clint, the captain of the football team, just asked Barbie, the cheerleader, out to a movie tonight. Boo-hoo. What ever will I do? Should I tell him that I'm carrying his baby? Oh drat, I should have never let him drive me home that night. Curse me and my horny ways. Tracy says that I can prevent pregnancy by eating fish right afterwards. I didn't have any fish, so I munched on a handful of

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1059071493765727202003-07-24T14:31:00.000-04:002003-07-24T14:31:33.800-04:00

A good friend of mine has scoliosis, a disturbance in the alignment of the spine. He will be undergoing surgery today. I wish him and his family the best. http://www.umm.edu/orthopaedic/spinal_deform.html/?source=overture

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1059066087316045702003-07-24T13:01:00.000-04:002003-07-24T13:08:28.500-04:00

I was woken up at 3-ass-crack o'clock by a phone call. It was *D(erek). D: Mark? Mark, are you there? Me: Hello? D: Shit shit shit. Me: Who? D: Mark? Me: Yeah, it's Mark. Who's this? D: Shit! Me: I'm sorry I think you have the wrong number. I don't know anyone by the name of shit. Well, given names anyway. There is this one kid who I consider to be shit-worthy and if this is you then I'm going

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1058978778847997742003-07-23T12:46:00.000-04:002003-07-23T12:56:14.860-04:00

the first dance the last words the end to that great book the break of day light the whisper of the wind the scent of your coffee the time as it ticks by the colours of the sky the memories of yesterday the light passing through the window the drip the splash the rain the taste of summer the touch of winter the tear in your new shirt the hole in your left sock the hole left in your heart the

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1058939843399014832003-07-23T01:57:00.001-04:002003-07-23T02:05:21.033-04:00

I've been having some crazy dreams lately. For instance, last night I dreamt I was waiting at a train station with some friends, except they're not really my friends in real life, just people I know (but in this dream they ARE my friends.) Then all of a sudden they get up and walk away. What the hell man? Where is everyone going? They’re practically running away from me. As if I were the plague…

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1058823050137970032003-07-21T17:30:00.000-04:002003-07-22T00:46:17.896-04:00

It took me a while to realize that M knows exactly who he is, but doesn't know exactly what I think about him. So, if M were to find this little corner of the internet that I've made my own, he'd figure out that hey! i hate his bloody guts. Should I be worried? Should I regret what I think? No. It's about time people found out what I really think of them.

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1058811761653504632003-07-21T14:22:00.000-04:002003-07-21T14:24:58.000-04:00

Personality tests are fun. Funny Asian Man What's Your Personality Type? brought to you by Quizilla

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1058806888894909652003-07-21T13:01:00.000-04:002003-07-21T17:25:37.430-04:00

Crap. Look what I've gone and done. My blog is now tainted with pathetic complaining and bitter feelings that I'd rather keep to myself. I know full well that I could simply delete the anomaly and that would be that. It never existed. But then what would the point of this blog be? Isn't a journal means of expressing one's feelings regardless of how outright dumb they may be? So by deleting that

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1058771128037773542003-07-21T03:05:00.000-04:002003-07-21T03:05:28.056-04:00

Okay, now I can't fall asleep because I feel guilty about not acting serious over... what I did. And I'm worried. What am I going to do now? Lie to even more people? UGH!

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1058764255950889402003-07-21T01:10:00.000-04:002003-07-21T01:11:29.756-04:00

Hmm... feeling better already. That took all of about 5 minutes. Maybe it would have meant more if I cried. Damn it, I do too have emotions. They're just flawwed by the sharp teeth of excessive sarcasm and cured easily with ice cream. I hate it when I get all sentimental with my writing/typing. I'm never able to think straight at that time so whatever I write/type is just a slur of semi-thoughts.

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5595691.post-1058762984890587782003-07-21T00:49:00.000-04:002003-07-21T17:34:37.200-04:00

M is being a jerk. I can't stand being around him, but with my luck I'll be seeing him tomorrow. If he would just SHUT UP for two seconds, I might be able to tolerate him, but right now all I can do is keep myself from tearing out his eyes and playing marbles with them. G'ah! NEED. TO. KILL. I swear I even drew a picture with my sister's crayolas of the many ways I hope he'll die. If I have to

Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02442966323646271877noreply@blogger.com0