some universal truths

Nine out of ten Josh's are potheads

3 out of 4 Mandi's are big bitches

If you know more than one kid named Eddie, you are a fucking liar

A kid named Dwayne is almost always going to be black

A Michelle in the hand is worth three Diana's in the bush

Rile is a gays name

So is Bruce and Julian. There, I said it

Chris, Steve, Roger, and Joe are smart kid names

To stray from the subject of names for a little bit:

There are few things better than a Jerry Garcia guitar solo

Or when he hits "laad-y" in Terrapin Station

The "Inspiratiooooooon, move me brightly" part will give you goosebumps

That part in Divided Sky and Down With Disease will too. just different kinds

Fat girls who aren't shy are really fucking annoying because they talk too much, and they are fat, and who wants to hear fat girls talk about food, eating scabs, and popping zits?

For the most part, girlfriend's friends are the sworn enemy of any righteous boyfriend

There is no substitute for saying I love you

Cody ChestnuTT's lyrics are absolutely true

Everyone needs a little sometimes

Getting mad solves nothing

Being happy all the time isn't impossible

The best things in life are a girl, a bed, a whole Saturday, and tons of fun

Blowjobs are pretty sweet too

And so is going down on the girl you love

You should listen to a lot of Bruce Springsteen and rap music, so you get a jist of what is really out there

Life begins and ends with steak and potatoes

The world isn't necessarily stacked against you. The world is wide, vast, and beautiful, and it shouldn't be feared

Recruiting trips are meant for you to forget about what you hated about the college you visited

There's no such thing as a cool conservative. just conservative's that you don't hate

Little brothers make life fun

Mountains everyday. the American dream

When the sky is blue, play soccer, when it's cloudy, but not cold, play soccer. when it's raining and cold and miserable, play soccer

Theres nothing more beautiful than looking down at the girl you love, and see those beautiful green eyes looking back at you in the same way. you'll never be the same after that moment hits you

Being in love isn't for everybody, however

It's Karl, not Carl

It's Brendan, not Brenden or Brendon

And it's certainly not Brandon

But we miss him everyday

Yeah, I can see that you support the troops, but drive faster, fuck-face!

now i'm claiming to be the most patriotic person in the world, far from it, but i have some support for our troops in iraq. i feel very, very bad for them. i feel they are unfortunately put in the line of fire every damn day for reasons still oblivious to me. freedom, sure, maybe, but what about the other countries that need freedom as well? where there isn't any oil? oh yeah, there's a still a few more of those left. those i know who've been over there have faced unimaginable sadness and hardships. it just doesn't seem right to me to pack up thousands of our young men and women and send them halfway across the world to die for no reason. and i truly feel bad for them. that being said, i'd wish to comment on the fact of those patriotic men and women with the "support our troops" stickers.
these simple stickers can tell a lot about the person driving in front of you. political, social, and even religion is displayed with a simple support our troops sticker. the more famous "god bless our troops sticker" is a less subtle way of showing the inner beliefs of the driver.


now, as i stated before, there is nothing wrong with support of the troops. i can deal with that. i'm sure, however, there is a myriad of things that they are doing over there that i cannot support, such as the murder of men, women and children. now i know you red-staters will hate to hear that, but atrocities are going over there committed by our troops that our unspeakable. just visit bbc, al-jezera or any israeli news station. what pisses is me off, is that these conservative, backward-ass fuck-baits drive 10-to-15 miles slower than the usual vehicle. that is a national statistic by the way. which leads me to say, i don't give a fuck if you are fucking soldier, drive a little faster ass-job, i know you must be scared shitless to drive fast on your leave at home, with scenes of fallujah and najaf pounding through your school, the smallest muffler snort reverting you to your martial instincts, but seriously, cut me and the other six-thousand drivers behind you some fucking slack! support the troops, fine, go ahead, i don't give a shit, but if it makes you drive faster, tell them to get bent, and let's all hope and dream that this war will one day be over, and these men and women can all drive fast through city streets, allowing all of us the freedom's we hold so dear.

If you don't know anything, Brit Hume, maybe you should shut the fuck up!

Brit Hume is possibly the worst human being to ever live. Now coming from a man who shares network space with Mort Kondracke, Fred Barnes, Sean Hannity, John Gibson, Neal Cavuto and Bill O'Reilly, that's quite a feat. It isn't necessarily the clear come-over he wears with devestating phoniness, nor is it his gigantic growth dominating his right cheek. Although those all fit into the equation, if only aesthetically. The truth is that Brit Hume is the most relentless, and yet oblivious tool in human history. Hume is in charge of a sort of media wrap-up segment to get his right-wing viewers mouth watered for the O'Reilly Factor. Incidentally, the only Factor on the O'Reilly Factor is untruthes, both brutal and discouraging. Bill O'Reilly ISN'T looking out for you, but I suppose you realized that by now. Hume commands Kondracke and Barnes, the so-called Beltway Boys, with insurmountable ease. He changes their opinions if contradictory to his or his administrations. And although Hume has no sway in the administration, he's part of their propaganda wing. In the aftermath of September 11th, Hume gallantly attacked those who offered peace as an alternative. He vigorously challenged any opinion, for he is apparently the ultimate authority on everything martial, and knows way more than you, even the smartest man on the planet, Noam Chomsky, who he considered delusional. Now calling someone like Chomsky (someone with brilliance, knowledge, and above all, honesty) is a heavy deal. Yet when asked about it by liberals, he vehemently denied it. It wasn't so much that he called one of my heroes delusional in the wake of a national tragedy. It was just that he is more delusional about his beliefs than anyone other person on the planet. After Hurricane Katrina, he sided with an administration that he believed made NO mistakes. He did the right thing, however. He donated money, organized pledges and even housed several displaced citizens. Oh wait, that wasn't him? Seriously? Actually, Hume criticized those too poor and old to leave the city, and hinted that they deserved to die. Brit Hume is also a careless, nefarious person, strong words I know. So Brit, I challenge you to a battle of wits, and although you are unarmed, I'll battle you regardless. I care that much about you!

George Best 1946-2005

I tried for too long to act like this would never happen. I tried to believe that will all of my might, whilst Besty lay dying in that London hospital, that he'd pull through, as he did in 1999, when it seemed to be the end. That he'd pull through long enough for me to say hello, and shake his hand, and feel the most influential English footballer to ever lives grace, wisdom and venerable power. I hoped beyond hope that he would shake his liver disease and be able to last long enough for me to say thanks. I tried to long to ignore writing about him. But he's too important to me for that.

For when we all talk football, we all mean George Best, who was football to millions throughout his career. We all mean that shaggy-haired, wide-eyed, son of a Belfast ship builder, splendor of a man. His untucked jersey, his short-shorts. That number 7 seemed to appear extra long on the back of his jersey. The prodigy, the heartbeat of Manchester United, and the most important player to ever miss out on the World Cup. Imagine if England would've had him in 1970. Brazil would've been a walkabout. But there was always something about him those pundits and plaudits back then didn't realize. His drinking, and womanizing, although well-publicized, was something they all looked past. But to know Besty as I and my generation know him, is to realize that the most gifted athlete on the face of the earth at that time (fuck you, Pele) was juiced out of his gourd a mere hour or two before every game.

Yet I can look past that. We that love him can look past that. For the myriad of reasons why he was he was, the most important aspect about him was his character. Although, he was a brilliant player, his speed was unmatched, his finishing ability, incredible. And although his side had a Holy Trinity of talent (Best, Charlton, and Law), he shone brighter than all of the proverbial stars in the footballing galaxy. His goals against Benfica to claim English football's first ever European Cup were the work of his insistent work effort and tireless gamemanship. Throughout the course of the match (helped substantially by Alex Stepney in the net, and the midfield impetus of Nobby Stiles), he changed the game from Eusebio's, the consummate striker of the day, to his own. With the memories of Munich, 1958, and the Busby Babes still fresh in their minds as they lifted the European Cup high over the Stadium of Light, the world was introduced to his genius. But like Hughie Gallacher at Newcastle a quarter century earlier, and like Robin Friday's life a few years later, Best would fall victim to himself. Time after time, until he forced out of the club by Tommy Docherty, the man who believed his morals weren't up to the standards of England's "only club built on Catholic tradition." Ironically it was Docherty to resign from his post a few years later after he was purported to have an affair with the club seceratary, a charge he couldn't deny. That was the end of Best's glory years, and he sank further and further away from the footballing life, unlike his cohorts, Law and Charlton. Finally, his journeys ended last Friday at a London hospital, and the man was only 59.

There are no players like George Best alive today. They were forced out of football as the game became more commercialized and greedy. Vinnie Jones brought his spirit back, but even the Welshman can be bought and sold. In the lack of Best's, there have been enough wankers to fill the new Wembley. Hacks with not as much skill, but more than enough swagger. The Champions of Europe of 1999, mostly now all gone, save for a brave few, still point to their inspiration on the mural at Old Trafford as their guiding light. Best was the original maverick in the days of mavericks, before Alan Hudson, Roy "Chopper" Harris, and Michael McDonald. Before Keane, Viera, and Gazza, there was Best, a genius in the time of geniuses, enough of one to have Pele to declare he was the best living footballer. Fuck Pele, Beckenbauer, Muller, Cruyff, and Jimmy Johnstone. George Best was and will always be the most influential footballer to me, and to millions. Thanks for the memories. It's been quite a ride!

And as Eric Cantona, the mercurial Frenchman and fellow United number 7 said: "After his first training session in heaven, George Best, from his favourite right wing, turned the head of God who was filling in at left back. I would love him to save me a place in his team, George Best that is, not God."

Driving past Hawthorne today in the fall, and a thousand memories reawaken within me. The memories of our first championship are there, when Curtis, Dias, Kelly, Mazurek, and Chambers brought us the trophy and the picture, then played with us. Me, as a 10 year-old, not wanting anything more out of life than winning the state high school soccer championship, and realizing now that it's in my grasp is an unfiltering and unsettling feeling which permeates even the bounds of this stream of conciousness, for now, in two hours, when the shit finally does hit the fan, where will i be? will i be like geoff, stoic and forbidding in the back? or will i falter, like we faltered last year, incapable of finishing the final hurdle, instead yielding again to those fucks from billings with their hair all wavy and lame. they talk, but we have more room. this is the soccer capital of the state, this is our home, this is our time, but maybe it isn't and maybe we'll falter again, yet, with the entire town watching, i couldn't bear, and god i love katie

The Second Annal of the Bittersweet Legend: My Entrance Into the Communion of Doubt. A fictional prose based on me

Rays of sunlight catch the dust, which dance and sink into the depths of inate jubilation, and cast shadows on his face, stoic and intent on concentrating about his love for this girl that he's known for a year and a half, yet have already shared so much love and joy, that is seems like it's been forever. She's immaculate, indescribable, perfect even, he contends, and that scares the living shit out of him. Because how is anyone supposed to find the one they are to marry in high school, he used to think? How bullshit is saying I love you? How bullshit is the blase ethics involved in every mediocre relationship that high school couples tend to fall into? But how much bullshit is denying feelings, and not loving someone to their absolute extent? When he found the one, he thought, it was all over. He would give up on looking, he didn't need to. But he was forced to when she gave up on him, time and time again, they gave up on each other. And they were miserable, but said they'd never been happier. And instead of having the balls to tell her, he said this is what he wanted, this is what was better for him at that time. Fuck that one chick who gives me misinformation about the girl, he thought. She's trying to end it right now. Yet something inside of him grew, and it grew until it was bigger than himself. Quietly, and with a subtlety that would make Jerry's guitar proud, a love was found, deep underneath the sadness and pain. Below all of that was the love, unextinguishable, and he found it one day. And then a few days later, so did she. And they began conversing, and figured out some days later that they loved each other, nothing sappy or maudlin, but the kind of savage love that two people should have for one another. They both love each other for the same exact reasons, and don't expect each other to be people they aren't. They want love and comfort, and they want to sit with each other and kiss each other on the cheek, and maybe she'll get him off (cause she always does) and maybe she'll let him try (although she's a bit hesitant) and they always say "I love you." Sometimes it's her saying it first, then him another time, it doesn't matter. What matter's is that they say it all. They all have friends who say it but regretted it. Yet, now, they are one of those couples that say it and mean it. No matter what is going on in their lives, they can always rely on the love they share, the most intrinsically beautiful and mundanely optimistic love that too people can share, scared as hell for the future, but focusing on the present, when they can love each other and kiss each other on the cheeks and smile at each other and not have to have a reason, apart from them loving each other. And now, the love they share grows, from day-to-day love, to an amazing feeling when she even rubs his back or hands. It's because when the growing was rough, those two kept fighting for each other. It's because when the worst was occurring, they fought through it. They loved each other for a year and didn't even realize it. And now, it's the best thing in the world.

i'm trying to get as much of this down as possible, with the ringing in my ears that accompanies a massive blow to the head. but there comes a point in time in which one road, the most travelled and comfortable, should be THE road, the only road. the path is wide and long, it's beautiful up there. there's a few columbian ground squirrels rolling neatly on the ground, covering each other's asses from embarassment and trepidation. silently, a stream gathers from a mountain spring, spilling forth upon the luscious green grass below it. that road, not the road i've ever seen before, is the most beautiful. the other road is filled with fear and doubt, and the possibility of not being as beautiful. but it matters not, for today, and all the other days left, i will travel down the road i love, clear in mind and feeling fine, that i've found a road worth walking, a road which i can love.