I've made, notice of many people around me misspeaking. It's not that big of a deal, unless you are talking to Penguins or sleeping hobos. Everyone else, however will have no trouble noting your inability to convey an intelligent thought, using the correct verbage. Just now, before I wrote this I heard the following; "If it's any consequence to you...." Clearly the person meant; "if it's any consolation to you..." Substituting one big 'C' word for another isn't really a good conversation, rule o' thumb.
All over the place people are using the WRONG words. Another fantastic instance; "You and I have excellent communication..." What he meant to say was; "You and I have excellent rapport..." But alas it came out 'communication'.
I know it's a nit-picky topic...but come on...I love the English language because it has a word for everything and sometimes more than one word to say the same thing...WooHoo!
So everyone, needs to take the time to think of the right word as opposed to just blurting out whichever 'huge' word that pops into their puny little brains....
Good Luck and Happy Wording...
-WP
5.14.2007
Great New CutDown of the Moment
"Girning, Sweating, Asshat"
i.e. : "George was always a douche, but that girning, sweating, asshat, never ceases to amaze me."
Helpful Hint:
"girn (gûrn) intr.v. girned, girn·ing, girns Scots
1. To complain in a whining voice.
2. To contort one's face; grimace. "
Have Fun, Drink Black & Tan (Guinness/Yeungling) BADOW!
-WP
i.e. : "George was always a douche, but that girning, sweating, asshat, never ceases to amaze me."
Helpful Hint:
"girn (gûrn) intr.v. girned, girn·ing, girns Scots
1. To complain in a whining voice.
2. To contort one's face; grimace. "
Have Fun, Drink Black & Tan (Guinness/Yeungling) BADOW!
-WP
A Copy Post from a Great other Blog
From the dazzling mind of Matt Wilson
http://mw.cracked.com/2007/03/i_wish_i_could_help_you_maam_b.php
Um...hello?
Is...is anyone down there?
Ah, yes, hi. I happened to be standing on the street corner when I glimpsed you walking into this open sewer. I tried to scream to you, "Watch out! You are walking into an open sewer!" but only got out the word "Watch!" before you just tumbled right in. So I just wanted to let you know that I wasn't commenting on the timepiece on your wrist, which I did notice and find very nice. It's a Timex, right?
Hmm, what's that? I can't hear you too well -- I'm trying to avoid sticking my head too far in on account of the smell of human waste, though I'm sure I don't need to tell you that.
Oh, you need help? Well, miss, I'd be more than happy to come down there and get you out from underneath what appears to be several very large dead rats, but I'm afraid I won't be much help. You see, my hands are on fire.
Pardon? Oh, you're wondering how my hands could possibly be on fire and yet I still manage maintain my cool, composed demeanor. "Why aren't you running around and screaming, 'Jesus Christ save me, my hands are on fire!'?", I'm assuming you're asking down there, because, honestly, all I'm hearing is sort of a low rumble.
Well, first off, allow me to say I've never heard that one before! Hahahaha!
But in all seriousness, the condition is genetic. My father's hands were on fire, and his father, and his father before him. But only those three generations. Really, I'm fairly sure my grandfather just pissed off some gypsies at some point, maybe during the war.
So basically, my hands have been on fire my entire life, and I'm more or less used to it. It was pretty excruciating for maybe the first five years or so, but now I barely even notice.
I can tell you're finding this hard to believe. "How did your mother carry to term and give birth to a child whose hands were on fire?" you're probably asking between mouthfuls of what I'm sure is thousands of gallons of fecal matter.
An insightful question.
I'm not exactly sure how the physics of it work, but essentially my hands weren't on fire until the amniotic fluid drained from the birth canal, I shot out of there and they got exposed to some good old American oxygen.
"So if the oxygen in the air keeps your hands from being on fire, why not keep them in sort of vacuum-sealed plastic or just a jar or something?" you're saying down there, as you undoubtedly realize that cushy spot under your left foot is a used tampon deposit.
The funny thing is I tried that a few years ago, and it did pretty much work. My hands were not on fire for a good couple months. But you know, I decided that I've just got to be me, you know, and if my hands are going to be on fire, well, by God, they're just going to have to be on fire.
I think the more important question is how the hell I do my laundry! Hahahahaha!
I ususally pull out and fold my shirts with my teeth, in case you were genuinely wondering that.
Huh? What? I...I actually think I can kind of make out what you're saying. Hmm?
Oh, so what you've actually been saying this whole time is "Help! Shut up about your damn hands and help me!"
Well, I must say that I find that a little hurtful. I think of my hands as what make me me, you know what I'm saying?
Anyway, on the whole help front, you may be happy to know that there are a number of firefighters and emergency workers surrounding me now, which is something that tends to happen when I go out in public, so I'm sure they can give you all the assistance you need if you're still interested in getting your arm out of that crocodile's mouth.
And, just to say again, I wasn't commenting on or making fun of your watch, which now appears to be caught on a big tuft of pubic hair.
Hey! It is a Timex! I can see the Indiglo!
Well, thanks for listening. You know, it's not every day that I can get someone to listen to me ramble on about my hands that just happen to be on fire.
Hey, if you're not doing anything after this, would you like to go grab a cup of coffee or something?
Actually, I can see you've got your hands full with what appears to be a tiger shark. We...we can talk later. I usually hang out in the park right over here and I'm pretty hard to miss. I'm the guy with his hands on fire.
Anyway, see you around.
http://mw.cracked.com/2007/03/i_wish_i_could_help_you_maam_b.php
Um...hello?
Is...is anyone down there?
Ah, yes, hi. I happened to be standing on the street corner when I glimpsed you walking into this open sewer. I tried to scream to you, "Watch out! You are walking into an open sewer!" but only got out the word "Watch!" before you just tumbled right in. So I just wanted to let you know that I wasn't commenting on the timepiece on your wrist, which I did notice and find very nice. It's a Timex, right?
Hmm, what's that? I can't hear you too well -- I'm trying to avoid sticking my head too far in on account of the smell of human waste, though I'm sure I don't need to tell you that.
Oh, you need help? Well, miss, I'd be more than happy to come down there and get you out from underneath what appears to be several very large dead rats, but I'm afraid I won't be much help. You see, my hands are on fire.
Pardon? Oh, you're wondering how my hands could possibly be on fire and yet I still manage maintain my cool, composed demeanor. "Why aren't you running around and screaming, 'Jesus Christ save me, my hands are on fire!'?", I'm assuming you're asking down there, because, honestly, all I'm hearing is sort of a low rumble.
Well, first off, allow me to say I've never heard that one before! Hahahaha!
But in all seriousness, the condition is genetic. My father's hands were on fire, and his father, and his father before him. But only those three generations. Really, I'm fairly sure my grandfather just pissed off some gypsies at some point, maybe during the war.
So basically, my hands have been on fire my entire life, and I'm more or less used to it. It was pretty excruciating for maybe the first five years or so, but now I barely even notice.
I can tell you're finding this hard to believe. "How did your mother carry to term and give birth to a child whose hands were on fire?" you're probably asking between mouthfuls of what I'm sure is thousands of gallons of fecal matter.
An insightful question.
I'm not exactly sure how the physics of it work, but essentially my hands weren't on fire until the amniotic fluid drained from the birth canal, I shot out of there and they got exposed to some good old American oxygen.
"So if the oxygen in the air keeps your hands from being on fire, why not keep them in sort of vacuum-sealed plastic or just a jar or something?" you're saying down there, as you undoubtedly realize that cushy spot under your left foot is a used tampon deposit.
The funny thing is I tried that a few years ago, and it did pretty much work. My hands were not on fire for a good couple months. But you know, I decided that I've just got to be me, you know, and if my hands are going to be on fire, well, by God, they're just going to have to be on fire.
I think the more important question is how the hell I do my laundry! Hahahahaha!
I ususally pull out and fold my shirts with my teeth, in case you were genuinely wondering that.
Huh? What? I...I actually think I can kind of make out what you're saying. Hmm?
Oh, so what you've actually been saying this whole time is "Help! Shut up about your damn hands and help me!"
Well, I must say that I find that a little hurtful. I think of my hands as what make me me, you know what I'm saying?
Anyway, on the whole help front, you may be happy to know that there are a number of firefighters and emergency workers surrounding me now, which is something that tends to happen when I go out in public, so I'm sure they can give you all the assistance you need if you're still interested in getting your arm out of that crocodile's mouth.
And, just to say again, I wasn't commenting on or making fun of your watch, which now appears to be caught on a big tuft of pubic hair.
Hey! It is a Timex! I can see the Indiglo!
Well, thanks for listening. You know, it's not every day that I can get someone to listen to me ramble on about my hands that just happen to be on fire.
Hey, if you're not doing anything after this, would you like to go grab a cup of coffee or something?
Actually, I can see you've got your hands full with what appears to be a tiger shark. We...we can talk later. I usually hang out in the park right over here and I'm pretty hard to miss. I'm the guy with his hands on fire.
Anyway, see you around.
On the road again...Just can't wait to be on the road again...
Been on the road...now I'm back.
Went to the "land of the fingery-looking state" or Michigan for you untravelled types. I was there to shoot my friends wedding. Sorry to use an industry 'buzzword'. Before you have visions of me walking into ole' boy's wedding with a sawed -off Remington 870 express magnum, sending slugs into the wedding party and various guests and family members, I say shoot because I'm a photographer. So, recap, no shotgun; "I was there to PHOTOGRAPH my friends wedding. " Better, you goon?
Anyhow, it was a fun time, Nic is a good guy and Krissy is a sweetheart. The only problem was, people rolling in without paying any attention to the proper dress code for a wedding. You've got Local Yokels arriving in untucked shirts, dirty pants, running shoes, socks and sandals. When does it stop? I 'rolled' up into the wedding as the photog, in a $1500 suit, that I own. The only folks that wore something moderately appropriate were the wedding party. They guys however were wearing rented tuxes. The women looked great in their pastel purple dresses.
Also, even thought they are only, what, four states over? They don't carry Yuengling in Michigan. Weird. or possibly Communist. or Both.
So there you have it.
-WP
Went to the "land of the fingery-looking state" or Michigan for you untravelled types. I was there to shoot my friends wedding. Sorry to use an industry 'buzzword'. Before you have visions of me walking into ole' boy's wedding with a sawed -off Remington 870 express magnum, sending slugs into the wedding party and various guests and family members, I say shoot because I'm a photographer. So, recap, no shotgun; "I was there to PHOTOGRAPH my friends wedding. " Better, you goon?
Anyhow, it was a fun time, Nic is a good guy and Krissy is a sweetheart. The only problem was, people rolling in without paying any attention to the proper dress code for a wedding. You've got Local Yokels arriving in untucked shirts, dirty pants, running shoes, socks and sandals. When does it stop? I 'rolled' up into the wedding as the photog, in a $1500 suit, that I own. The only folks that wore something moderately appropriate were the wedding party. They guys however were wearing rented tuxes. The women looked great in their pastel purple dresses.
Also, even thought they are only, what, four states over? They don't carry Yuengling in Michigan. Weird. or possibly Communist. or Both.
So there you have it.
-WP
5.10.2007
Cali is the Liberal Left, Hence Dark Side, and is also the Literal Left
I'm well aware the title has nothing to do with the post, I merely used it because I used it in an email this morning and thought it was witty.
I went to a birthday party last night for my buddy Tony's wife. It was a lovely party, hosted at one of her co-worker's houses. The house was amazing, hardwood floors, beautifully tiled kitchen...etc. We had a grand ole time, cajoling and carrying on. Enjoying a delicious black and tan with Tony, we enjoyed talking about worky type things. Mandy and I commented on how fantastic the food was and how nice the house was.
The problems arose when I made a risque` joke about an inderect compliment I paid Tony, in an effort not to come across like a fag. Unbeknowst to me, our lovely hostess was infact a lesbian. Ouch. I know. Mandy did her best to discreetly tell me, but I wasn't getting it until she gestured over to a picture on the entertainment center of the two of them and their child (Dog).
I honestly felt like a tool. But not in the damn I feel bad kinda way. It was more like the had I known I would have used my one try much better and complimented their carpets or something...ha ha BADOW!
Yeah so there you have it...drink Black& Tan
-WP
I went to a birthday party last night for my buddy Tony's wife. It was a lovely party, hosted at one of her co-worker's houses. The house was amazing, hardwood floors, beautifully tiled kitchen...etc. We had a grand ole time, cajoling and carrying on. Enjoying a delicious black and tan with Tony, we enjoyed talking about worky type things. Mandy and I commented on how fantastic the food was and how nice the house was.
The problems arose when I made a risque` joke about an inderect compliment I paid Tony, in an effort not to come across like a fag. Unbeknowst to me, our lovely hostess was infact a lesbian. Ouch. I know. Mandy did her best to discreetly tell me, but I wasn't getting it until she gestured over to a picture on the entertainment center of the two of them and their child (Dog).
I honestly felt like a tool. But not in the damn I feel bad kinda way. It was more like the had I known I would have used my one try much better and complimented their carpets or something...ha ha BADOW!
Yeah so there you have it...drink Black& Tan
-WP
5.07.2007
2cool4school's song of the week segment...
Welcome back. hope you all enjoyed last week's session. If you liked last week's song prepare yourself cause this one's even better! don't be fooled by the false ending...once you think it's done keep listening.
Brand New- Jesus Christ enjoy...
...Enjoy
Brand New- Jesus Christ enjoy...
...Enjoy
2cool4school's song of the week segment...
welcome back. hope you all enjoyed last week's session. if you didnt well to bad and you can piss off. but you better like this week's release!
LCD Soundsystem- North American Scum...
...enjoy!
2cool4school's song of the week segment...
Welcome to my song of the week selection show.
It is here that I will be posting my new favorite song for the week. I will do my best to do this every weekend, leaving you with a new fave for the week. I'll
start it off with this doozy...
Plain White T's- Hey There Delilah
enjoy...
It is here that I will be posting my new favorite song for the week. I will do my best to do this every weekend, leaving you with a new fave for the week. I'll
start it off with this doozy...
Plain White T's- Hey There Delilah
enjoy...
5.03.2007
SAG, LAG, or FAG?
Ok so my fanastic friend Patrick McH and I were having a discussion about looking at people's hind-ends while they are leaning inside of vehicles or where their faces or chests are obscured...
The debate fueled a new movement that I dare say is WetJetting the nation. Here are the main players: Situational Assessment Glance or SAG: this is the cursory glance to determine the gender of the target. Lingering Assesment Glance or LAG: this is the longer more observant, hopefully you've determined the gender of your target and are drinking in the majesty of that particular strangers hind-end. FAG is self explanitory; a FAG is someone who commits a foul and finds himself inadvertently LAG-ing at what turns out to be a guy.
We decided to create this scale of measurment to prevent the ridicule that ultimately is the result of not only LAG-ing, but if you are in a car full of your buddies and you announce that out the right side of the car there is a beautiful rump-end bent into a car and it turns out to be a guy, you can have your dignity. First of all, you have exactly 7 (SEVEN) seconds to determine whether or not it's a guy or girl. This SEVEN seconds is call a SAG. Within that SEVEN seconds, if it is a guy you'd better avert your gaze, for if you continue you turn it into a LAG and are a FAG. If it is a woman you have SEVEN seconds to turn the SAG into a LAG if you fail to do so then you are a FAG.
So apply this simple formula to your ogling and you'll never be called a FAG.
Piece Out,
WP
The debate fueled a new movement that I dare say is WetJetting the nation. Here are the main players: Situational Assessment Glance or SAG: this is the cursory glance to determine the gender of the target. Lingering Assesment Glance or LAG: this is the longer more observant, hopefully you've determined the gender of your target and are drinking in the majesty of that particular strangers hind-end. FAG is self explanitory; a FAG is someone who commits a foul and finds himself inadvertently LAG-ing at what turns out to be a guy.
We decided to create this scale of measurment to prevent the ridicule that ultimately is the result of not only LAG-ing, but if you are in a car full of your buddies and you announce that out the right side of the car there is a beautiful rump-end bent into a car and it turns out to be a guy, you can have your dignity. First of all, you have exactly 7 (SEVEN) seconds to determine whether or not it's a guy or girl. This SEVEN seconds is call a SAG. Within that SEVEN seconds, if it is a guy you'd better avert your gaze, for if you continue you turn it into a LAG and are a FAG. If it is a woman you have SEVEN seconds to turn the SAG into a LAG if you fail to do so then you are a FAG.
So apply this simple formula to your ogling and you'll never be called a FAG.
Piece Out,
WP
Alright You Scurvy Dogs...
Um...yeah that title meant absolutely nothing. But alas and I have returned. I'm still going throught the ringer of trying to get out of the Marine Corps and who'd a thought that it's easier to say forget it and stay in. Really. Getting out is harder than staying in, which is probably why so many people do it.
UPDATE: I'm getting out June 1st. I signed a 6 month lease on a house. I'm going to Community College for that very same 6months. I will be attending the Universal Technical Institute in Mooresville, NC. If the good Lord wills it, I will graduate and move on to a 16 week Volkswagen specific course in Pennslyvania, upon graduating from that particular course I will return to beautiful North Carolina where I will gain employment a local Volkswagen Selling Establishment as a Mechanic. WooHoo.
Also, My Manda and I are still doing great and I have another post brewing that has nothing to do with this so until next time....
Piece Out!
WP
UPDATE: I'm getting out June 1st. I signed a 6 month lease on a house. I'm going to Community College for that very same 6months. I will be attending the Universal Technical Institute in Mooresville, NC. If the good Lord wills it, I will graduate and move on to a 16 week Volkswagen specific course in Pennslyvania, upon graduating from that particular course I will return to beautiful North Carolina where I will gain employment a local Volkswagen Selling Establishment as a Mechanic. WooHoo.
Also, My Manda and I are still doing great and I have another post brewing that has nothing to do with this so until next time....
Piece Out!
WP
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