For My Puka

Score, I have a blog now.

I don't really need one. I already possess the internet trifecta of a myspace, a facebook, and a livejournal; The first has been rendered hopelessly redundant by the second, and the third has over four hundred entries, dating back to the summer before my senior year of high school, in the innocent throes of 2004. So even if this site proves to be more effective than all that, personal history works against widespread adoption and utilization of yet another blogging tool; Facebook doubles as my secondary means of whining, generally only once a month, loaded with graphical content, and around the same time Eric Cartman and I bleed out of our ass. It's part of puberty, okay?

Actually, to digress or possibly just deny the ass bleeding image, I don't whine TOO much. And I don't really blog either. I mostly just chronicle my daily life, to the chagrin of whomever reads my journal, to the point that for the last few years, you could almost predict every single entry; During the week it will touch on class and say what I did after school, and after the weekend it will describe the stupid things I did with friends, the trademark exclamation of "Alright guys, Let's do something we will REALLY regret tomorrow!" followed by burning down a campsite, playing with a tattoo gun to 'hilarious' and permanent results, trying to fit as many naked people in a single hot tub as possible, or demolishing a cute little drinking game, putting everyone in figure four leg locks, and then sobbing on John Burra's couch because you just maimed everyone you ever loved. These are all hypothetical examples of what could have gone on, and by no means are things I, Kevin Grimes, have personally done. No, never. For I'm the stalwart captain of the Anti-Nude coalition, and would never have gotten in that god damn hot tub. I was also captain of my varsity football team. That's hopelessly irrelevent, especially now that I'm washed up, over the hill at twenty years old, but hell, it used to almost be like driving a Corvette. Sort of. Almost... maybe. Never mind. I drive a pickup truck. And... sometimes a mini-van.

Where was I? Oh yeah. Sometimes I do blog though, wax 'swaydo-intellectually' about stuff and crap and things, and try to put a real smug face up. You know who's smug? Mike Holmgren and his freaking Seahawks. And... Andy Reid, but maybe I'm just sore over that playoff loss too. I used to write an NFL Beat report on my journal, but it was for a sports writing class, and it got increasingly slapdash and thrown together at the last minute, until it's priority was overwriten by my weekly coverage of the women's soccer team for the school newspaper. Score.

I MEAN, GOOOOOOOOAL!

I go to St. John's university, which I thought was a fine institution, until I met my girlfriend. I also thought I had manly hands until I met my girlfriend. I *ALSO* thought I would go into the Marines after college, until I met my girlfriend. I was of course, proven erroneous on all three counts, rendered gibbering and subservient to her awful schemes and nefarious manipulations. I was watching one of my favorite movies the other day, Aliens, a real classic- the sequel, not the original which is a little to dry and drawn out for me, and I'm reminded of a quote, just before the phallic infantile creature bursts from an unknown woman's chest, she cries for mercy, she whispers "Kill me now!" But it is too late.

Actually, that was a quote from one of my friends, after foolishly deciding to join the naked hot tub club. Poor choice Mr. W-, poor choice. I tried cleaning that up a little bit, but how many dudes who have last names that start with W and hang out with me do you know? My bad.

A real quote from that piece of cinematic excellence would be "Game over man, Game over!" Because I've been won. She picked me up, in broad daylight, and she scratched me. That's another quote, slighly perverted for context; And for the first time, I mean perverted in a (mostly) wholesome manner. I could have ended this early or not at all, since that's how I usually go about these things. I've selected the latter.

Quotations are fun. Most of my quotations come from American Psycho, the movie not the Easton Ellis novel, Sportscenter, Public Enemy lyrics, and my constant screeching renditions of the White Stripes. Not quite a vast sea of citations, but certainly diverse. There is no argument there.

Let me get back to Melisa Greene for a moment, to clear something up. She's actually the best person I'll ever know, and despite the prior assertion that she has dug her claws into me, the truth is, she won my heart through noble means; The fell beast that I am, I was slayed by her honesty and courage, and devoted myself to her out of love, not fear. Uncle Joe Stalin she is not, despite the fact that she pretty much rules. I don't have a bad thing to say about her, and I won't call her an angel, because of a terrible, terrible, inside joke we have, but she is remarkably divine. And I love her. I love Melissa Greene.

'Tis All.