Hipster #1 with thick-framed glasses: Yeah, he could do the robot [does crappy robot dance].
Hipster #2: You are so lame.
Hipster #1: No, it's funny.
Hipster #2: It's not realistic.
Hipster #1: It's supposed to be how a robot would dance. What's not realistic about it?
Hipster #2: Yeah, so a robot programmed well enough to have a dance function would do what you just did...
Hipster #1: Probably.
Hipster #2: If they were to program a robot human enough to have a dance function it would have to be incredibly advanced and I don't think an incredibly advanced life-like robot would be programed with such stiff moves. They would almost certainly give him at least slightly groovier moves.
Hipster #1: I think you're thinking of a super advanced robot. I mean, we're just talking about, like, a robot that appears in the next decade.
--Hipster dance bar
Monday, March 5, 2007
Sunday, February 18, 2007
I regret ever signing up for this blog.
Glad you knew I was such a psychopath. Too bad I didn't know you were such a fucking tool.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
WINE TASTING: BULLSHIT
From the NYT:
"The red, too, was rich, but accessible with flavors of lavender and bacon."
Give me a fucking break.
"The red, too, was rich, but accessible with flavors of lavender and bacon."
Give me a fucking break.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
We're Famous!!!
So Dorm Crew just came in to clean the bathroom, and the girl had a camera crew with her and said she was making some movie, and could she videotape while she was cleaning. So they videotaped her cleaning the bathroom and stuff and they asked could they videotape in one of the rooms. So I said fine and pointed them into Beta's room and they were shooting in there and doing all different stuff. I have no idea what this is for, but I bet we're going to be on TV!!
NCA
NCA
HENDIE HENDIE HENDIE HENDIE HENDIE!!!!!!!!
Just kidding, Beta. But what Beta isnt' telling you, is that it's not like we just thought up this name to terrorize him with. It was a nickname he gave himself. And even self-assigned nicknames die hard. So maybe Beta's gonna snap and go all psycho on us. But based on the number of times he's threatened to kill people for the most harmless "offense" (I use that generously), he's going to snap sooner or later, so it's really not news to anybody in this room (or out of this room for that matter). So Beta, your not-so-latent psychopathic tendencies are something we knew about when we decided to live with you--you don't need to remind us. We already know and we love you anyway.
<3
NCA
<3
NCA
I really hate that fucking name
Not joking around.
Stop using it before my inner psychopath breaks free.
Delta. Is that too much to ask? You can think of the airline when you call me that if you want. You can start saying "Delta, the only way to fly". Or even "Delta, you're a flaming gayhole." I don't really care. Just as long as my name is Delta.
And don't worry, my reform is never going to be so complete that it removes all of the humor from the room. Just hopefully the humor that's consistently at my expense.
D to the E to the LTA. Peace.
Stop using it before my inner psychopath breaks free.
Delta. Is that too much to ask? You can think of the airline when you call me that if you want. You can start saying "Delta, the only way to fly". Or even "Delta, you're a flaming gayhole." I don't really care. Just as long as my name is Delta.
And don't worry, my reform is never going to be so complete that it removes all of the humor from the room. Just hopefully the humor that's consistently at my expense.
D to the E to the LTA. Peace.
Monday, February 12, 2007
That's Hendie!!
Good old "Delta" . . . . and this is just his public face. . . . you should see him in the privacy of the common room. . . .
That being said, he is making a concerted effort to reform. But is reform really what we want? What would he be with out his constant interruptions, his random guesses about what you're going to say next, and his inability to avoid answering a question, even if it's addressed to someone else (and he's in the other room)? I imagine an empty shell of a man, someone who looks like Hendie, but has nothing to say. And imagine a room with a lot less laughs and a lot less fun. So please Hendie, don't Delta.
That being said, he is making a concerted effort to reform. But is reform really what we want? What would he be with out his constant interruptions, his random guesses about what you're going to say next, and his inability to avoid answering a question, even if it's addressed to someone else (and he's in the other room)? I imagine an empty shell of a man, someone who looks like Hendie, but has nothing to say. And imagine a room with a lot less laughs and a lot less fun. So please Hendie, don't Delta.
A grand realization
Yesterday when we were trying to think of positive things to say about each other, I realized that I didn't have anything off the top of my head to say about you guys. Except Nate of course. (He'll never read this, and alas, my true feelings will forever remain hidden.)
To make a long story short, I thought about it for a while and came to a perspective-altering conclusion.
So, my positive things to say....
Cicerone, although your style is most often quoted as one of your greatest attributes, I think that it's great that you don't ever make fun of me for asking if something goes together. If not for you, I would just be wearing a bunch of different shades of blue, all of which clashed (that's an overstatement; I have some sense of what matches.) I appreciate the help. If not for you, I would not have worn that brown vest with a black shirt like I did today, and wouldn't have received all the compliments from various girls on my "outfit". Of course, they may have just thought that I was a huge tool. After all, lots of the people we know who are tools wear vests.
Hardcore, you have a confidence about you that is as inexorable as the sea. Maybe it's because you live in Providence, which is close to the ocean, and you learned some stuff from him. Or maybe not. In either case, you are to be emulated in that respect.
And Nate, whose username I will not use, because it's even more specific than your actual first name, probably because it's your last name... you possess an ability to sympathize with people in a way that allows you to connect with them on a deeper, more intense level. Maybe that's why I've never known you to hook up with any girl who wasn't really hot. Except for that one chick, but whatever.
I imagine that numerous posts elucidating my similarities to a va-jay-jay are soon to follow after you all read this, but such is life.
I can't quit you guys. *tear*........ *SPIT*..... let's make a sequel.
To make a long story short, I thought about it for a while and came to a perspective-altering conclusion.
So, my positive things to say....
Cicerone, although your style is most often quoted as one of your greatest attributes, I think that it's great that you don't ever make fun of me for asking if something goes together. If not for you, I would just be wearing a bunch of different shades of blue, all of which clashed (that's an overstatement; I have some sense of what matches.) I appreciate the help. If not for you, I would not have worn that brown vest with a black shirt like I did today, and wouldn't have received all the compliments from various girls on my "outfit". Of course, they may have just thought that I was a huge tool. After all, lots of the people we know who are tools wear vests.
Hardcore, you have a confidence about you that is as inexorable as the sea. Maybe it's because you live in Providence, which is close to the ocean, and you learned some stuff from him. Or maybe not. In either case, you are to be emulated in that respect.
And Nate, whose username I will not use, because it's even more specific than your actual first name, probably because it's your last name... you possess an ability to sympathize with people in a way that allows you to connect with them on a deeper, more intense level. Maybe that's why I've never known you to hook up with any girl who wasn't really hot. Except for that one chick, but whatever.
I imagine that numerous posts elucidating my similarities to a va-jay-jay are soon to follow after you all read this, but such is life.
I can't quit you guys. *tear*........ *SPIT*..... let's make a sequel.
I think this blog is on west coast time
every post I make is time-stamped three hours earlier than I made it.
No more interrupting
Everyone, if I can have your attention please. Ok I just wanted your attention, that's all. (Facecious statement made out of an attempt at self-deprecation, the real basis for which is disappointingly accurate.)
I'm going to make a conscious effort not to finish your sentences anymore. Just point it out to me when I do it, because as we all know it's progressed to a subconscious, annoying, however comical, habit.
Indeed.
I'm going to make a conscious effort not to finish your sentences anymore. Just point it out to me when I do it, because as we all know it's progressed to a subconscious, annoying, however comical, habit.
Indeed.
A memo on shitting
Use the motherfucking apple cinammon spray. That's why I bought it. Hardcore picked it out personally; his feelings will be hurt if you don't use it. And that means you, Mr. "My shit smells like roses" Cicerone.
Thursday, February 8, 2007
What is a tool?
There's been a great deal of discussion recently, mostly for my sake, as to what exactly makes one a tool. Is toolishness a spectrum? Do we all have a little tool in us?
So far, we've only been able to come up with one definition of a tool: Jugo. Which means juice. Wheatgrass juice to be specific. Big, gay, toolish wheatgrass juice.
So far, we've only been able to come up with one definition of a tool: Jugo. Which means juice. Wheatgrass juice to be specific. Big, gay, toolish wheatgrass juice.
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
Letter From A Long Lost Friend
I received a letter in the mail today from a dear friend who I haven't seen in . . . . I don't know how long. It pretty much made my day, so I've reprinted it below:
Dear friends,
This spring break is special.
It is the last such break for many of us. (Someday, you younger folk
too will experience this change, which is like puberty, but less
awkward, and more horrifying.)
We, the gentlemen of N34, want this break to be different from the
last, and the one before—that is to say, we don't want to spend it
watching Star Wars and Lord of the Rings consecutively in our
zippered, one-piece pajamas (with feet).
So, we're planning to make a bold move.
We're leaving the country. We're going to a place where the sun is
not merely semi-present, but instead: wholly relevant. We're going to
a place where there is sand—not on the roads, but on the beaches.
(And probably also on the roads. Sand! Gets everywhere.) We're going
to a place where there is water—not frozen to your face, but lapping
gently against an azure shore. (The water is also not potable.)
We're going where none of us have gone before (except Nic): THE
DOMINICAN REPUBLIC, or, for those of you who speak Spanish, EL
DOMINICAN REPUBLIC.
Here is the hotel:
The cost is approximately $1.88 (or 2.3 million pesos) per person for seven days, including
airfare, hotel, all meals, snacks, and adult beverages. ("All-
inclusive.")
Let us know by Friday whether you wish to be a part of this amazing
experience, which may in fact be better than watching Star Wars in
your pajamas-with-feet.
(Though I find that hard to believe.)
PCDM
You can see how I would be moved by this poetic and intensely personal letter. I feel as though my connection to my dear friend PCDM is even stronger and more passionate than ever. But there is one thing that I have neglected to mention in this post and I will say it now: my two illiterate roommates (the little dumb one and the big dumb one) are flaming homosexuals.
NCA
Dear friends,
This spring break is special.
It is the last such break for many of us. (Someday, you younger folk
too will experience this change, which is like puberty, but less
awkward, and more horrifying.)
We, the gentlemen of N34, want this break to be different from the
last, and the one before—that is to say, we don't want to spend it
watching Star Wars and Lord of the Rings consecutively in our
zippered, one-piece pajamas (with feet).
So, we're planning to make a bold move.
We're leaving the country. We're going to a place where the sun is
not merely semi-present, but instead: wholly relevant. We're going to
a place where there is sand—not on the roads, but on the beaches.
(And probably also on the roads. Sand! Gets everywhere.) We're going
to a place where there is water—not frozen to your face, but lapping
gently against an azure shore. (The water is also not potable.)
We're going where none of us have gone before (except Nic): THE
DOMINICAN REPUBLIC, or, for those of you who speak Spanish, EL
DOMINICAN REPUBLIC.
Here is the hotel:
The cost is approximately $1.88 (or 2.3 million pesos) per person for seven days, including
airfare, hotel, all meals, snacks, and adult beverages. ("All-
inclusive.")
Let us know by Friday whether you wish to be a part of this amazing
experience, which may in fact be better than watching Star Wars in
your pajamas-with-feet.
(Though I find that hard to believe.)
PCDM
You can see how I would be moved by this poetic and intensely personal letter. I feel as though my connection to my dear friend PCDM is even stronger and more passionate than ever. But there is one thing that I have neglected to mention in this post and I will say it now: my two illiterate roommates (the little dumb one and the big dumb one) are flaming homosexuals.
NCA
DATELINE: 10:55 AM
A phone rings in a crowded lecture hall. BumHard answers.
It's Chris Cullen.
"Yeah man! Sweet! Fuck yeah! Come on down! Yeah! OwWOWOWWW!!" says Nate.
Minutes pass.
The lecture hall fills to capacity as the professor collects her papers, moments from beginning the lecture.
A stocky white boy enters the hall.
"I'm dancin'! I'm dancin'!" he shouts, crip walking.
The entire lecture hall rolls its eyes.
He approaches a crowded row, where there are two open seats: one on the aisle, where he is standing, and another on the far side of BumHard, across the knees of thirty people.
"Yo yo (what!) can I get in there?" asks Cullen.
"Dude, maybe you could sit right there, you know, in that open seat next to your legs," suggests Cicerone.
"No man! I'm here! I want to sit next to Natey-baby ow ow!!! I'm dancin'!"
Thirty people sigh, and stand. Chris Cullen gleefully skips down next to BumHard. They immediately begin to make out loudly as the professor begins her lecture.
True story.
It's Chris Cullen.
"Yeah man! Sweet! Fuck yeah! Come on down! Yeah! OwWOWOWWW!!" says Nate.
Minutes pass.
The lecture hall fills to capacity as the professor collects her papers, moments from beginning the lecture.
A stocky white boy enters the hall.
"I'm dancin'! I'm dancin'!" he shouts, crip walking.
The entire lecture hall rolls its eyes.
He approaches a crowded row, where there are two open seats: one on the aisle, where he is standing, and another on the far side of BumHard, across the knees of thirty people.
"Yo yo (what!) can I get in there?" asks Cullen.
"Dude, maybe you could sit right there, you know, in that open seat next to your legs," suggests Cicerone.
"No man! I'm here! I want to sit next to Natey-baby ow ow!!! I'm dancin'!"
Thirty people sigh, and stand. Chris Cullen gleefully skips down next to BumHard. They immediately begin to make out loudly as the professor begins her lecture.
True story.
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
Dog Show
It's weird, I found out today that BurnHard has the interior monologue of a golden retriever. His inner thoughts go something like this: "I'm hungry! what's that smell? look! a tail! bite it! where's the ball!? lick myself! pee right here! where's the ball!?"
Except that, unlike his canine counterparts, his inner monologue is punctuated by long pauses when his mind is completely empty.
But I guess that's just how it is with philosophers. You get to a certain level of intellectual ability and mere thoughts are no longer important.
Although I still don't understand why Cullen is always smearing himself with peanut butter.
NCA
Except that, unlike his canine counterparts, his inner monologue is punctuated by long pauses when his mind is completely empty.
But I guess that's just how it is with philosophers. You get to a certain level of intellectual ability and mere thoughts are no longer important.
Although I still don't understand why Cullen is always smearing himself with peanut butter.
NCA
Defenseless
So, unless Delta and Bernhard (by the way, sweet codename man) post once in a while on this thing, it's going to—read: already has—devolve into Hardcore and I trashing on the two of you. Consider that.
Just saying.
Just saying.
'Codename: Hendie' has a new moneymaking scheme
The jury's still out on whether this one is better or worse than the "get paid $5/hr working 1 hr/wk" scheme, but there's no question this is just ludicrous. It may sound crazy, but this seems to be the scheme: I go around surfing on the internet and a company pays 'Hendie' to tell them where I go. Now it may not seem that way due to some digital magic that makes it appear that 'Hendie' is not passing on any information to them. But what it amounts to is Agloco hiring him to spy on his friends.
Well I've got news for you, Agloco/Hendie, P.I.: you do not want to see the shit that comes up on my computer screen, and I know the same is true for Cicerino in the other room as well. We've seen things that would burn the eyes out of the middle-age MILF who's in charge of aggregating the data that we generate surfing Japanese 'specialty' sites.
So go ahead and track Bernhard--you'll get safe, family-friendly sites like webmail.fas.harvard.edu and facebook.com/cullen
NCA
Well I've got news for you, Agloco/Hendie, P.I.: you do not want to see the shit that comes up on my computer screen, and I know the same is true for Cicerino in the other room as well. We've seen things that would burn the eyes out of the middle-age MILF who's in charge of aggregating the data that we generate surfing Japanese 'specialty' sites.
So go ahead and track Bernhard--you'll get safe, family-friendly sites like webmail.fas.harvard.edu and facebook.com/cullen
NCA
Monday, February 5, 2007
So this might not be public material, but here goes
Dear friends,
Next time you leave a foot-long steel-wool pube on the toilet seat, please consider knocking that bad boy into the toilet—if it isn't too heavy for you to lift. Seriously, we could have built a suspension bridge with this thing.
Just saying.
Next time you leave a foot-long steel-wool pube on the toilet seat, please consider knocking that bad boy into the toilet—if it isn't too heavy for you to lift. Seriously, we could have built a suspension bridge with this thing.
Just saying.
Self-Defense Against Hip-Thrusters
Pete showed me "the gatling gun of finger-banging". Suffice it to say that it is appears to be more a form of self-defense than an instrument of pleasure. Its suggested use is to repel ditzy but hot chronic laughers. I don't know if it's effective or not, but somebody in this room has to give it a try. (Although if Nate's experience is any indication, it may have the opposite of the desired effect.)
NCA
NCA
Welcome to Brokeback Room
Thank you to Pete for that fitting opening to the Brokeback Blog. I was thinking of the best way to write an introductory post that would be appropriate, and would epitomize our room and its membership. I was thinking of a lot of things, but none of them could have characterized the [probable] nature of this blog like Pete's premature gay reference. I'm hoping for a post in which Pete describes the important differences between "good gay" and "bad gay" and which one that was. . . .
NCA
NCA
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