Pictures- an attempt to be completely honest.

I recently returned home after a reasonable incubation period of college. When I left, my mom turned my room what may be best described as a “memorial” of me. Pictures, awards dating back to elementary school adorn the walls. The pictures are hardest to look at. Even harder are the yearbooks. Girlfriends, girls that I should have made friends with, that picture of me with that grin of spiteful arrogance. I get a flash backs and that sinking feeling in my stomach when I look at all of this, thinking of who I was then.
Do you get that feeling when you look at yourself in pictures? The feeling is like the one you get right before you get in trouble.
I think the cause of this feeling is my current guilt for some of my behavior. Behavior like telling classmates of questionable intelligence that I'm destined for greatness, unlike their destiny of working at Jiffy lube. I also remember refusing to give a free autograph in their yearbook. I believe I said something along the lines of “since I would most likely not be frequenting Burger King or staying in this poo-dunk town with people who are so idiotic that they may forget to breath, it would be un-genuine of me to sign your yearbook because I don't gripe at all in the thought of never seeing you again." When that blank look of confusion would wash over their face I would translate. “I don't care about you enough to get your phone number just so I don't call you, and I don't want to give my name or phone number.”
That was mildly cruel. I should have just wrote in their yearbook...

“I hope you don't bring down the collective I.Q. of humanity by having children. Have a great life in and out of jail”

-James Bond.

You know what, I feel guilty for not writing that. I'll just have to live with that guilt.

Whoredom

“I like chewing gum.” coming from a early-teen cheerleader; the voice demands a disdainful shudder. That phrase, for whatever reason, etched into my mind for several days. It's like a bad case of rabies with the whole foaming at the mouth... But it triggered a course of memories, flash backs to `nam... I mean, the days in yearbooks or better known as high school.
Anther phrase kick started thoughts, “And he was like whatever (squels) and I was like whatever!” that almost throttled my hurling reflex, but irony had it that the Commercial was being played during a break in the an episode of southpark titled “I'm a stupid whore”. A throbbing commentary about Paris Hilton. During reflexion of the scotched taped replay of that commercial in my mind while watching south park I asked myself the question, are we (society) celebrating status-defining vanity and whorish irresponsibility?
In the greek system I encountered many “sorarsituts” who demonstrate the advantage of an upper class upbringing with listening to great thinkers of our time like 50 cent. (Pronounced fiddy.) And using their advanced college vocabulary of along the lines of “Crunk” and in speaking in phrases like the famed valley girls. They also dress in step with Paris Hilton, the current role model for young girls who want to get ahead in life. Their actions at fine fraternity balls, I mean dance parties and festive gathering are appropriate to the attire they wear. But let's not forget the fo-hawk sporting, tight shirt wearing, keystone drinking frat guys who yell in drunken incoherence “woo, yea! Woo, Yea!” repeatedly between bong hits and socializing with the fine ladies of the sororities. It is safe to say that college, is mired in Paris-like whoredom.
That brings another question to mind, what does Paris Hilton do? Why is she a house hold name? Can I too be a house-hold name if I release a porno with yours truly as the star. Perhaps the secret lies with the with terrible camera angles and the use of night-shot. Maybe Nobel winning?
Maybe I'm wrong to assume that whores are bad, they do wonders for entertaining the masses. And maybe the young cheerleader's commercial is stuck in my mind because the voice is so horrid that suicide is within my grasp, or perhaps the worse possibility of all... I'm a pervert.

Naw.

I prefer to get my ladies crunk. Wink.

Why there is so many fat people in America.

There was a time I came home from college on a break and my mother called me a fat-ass and lazy. She was commenting on my beer gut, to be honest wasn't caused by beer but by rum, and further more she stated that there was no justifiable reason to have a gut rather than a six-pac at my age. Keep in mind I'm 6'1 and weighed 205. I wasn't obese, I could see all my lower extremities. But I did become paranoid about my fat and started to eat better and workout. I would've been “hurt” if I had feelings, thankfully I don't.
I was a little shocked that my mother would say this to me, mainly underexposure to her cruelty had made me weak. Also it's so socially taboo today to comment on someone like that, (except for those fucking evil smokers who are almost as evil as baby killers). Come to think about it I remember back in third grade I was sent to the principle's office and i think suspended for recommending to a fat girl to go see jenny craig.
Think of the repercussions that would occur if you called someone a fat-fuck? You would get sued, maybe loose your job, and they would get fatter eating donuts to make their bruised feelings go away.
What kind of over sentimental, weeping, fainting goat society do we live in? If we were allowed to criticize fat people openly like we criticize smokers we'd all get paranoid and eat better, maybe workout and ultimately be healthier. We could set an example to our illegitimate children.
There is that distinct possibility that sheltered fat people would kill themselves. But then again I think about all the times I was on a six plus hour flight sitting next to a person who's rolls would roll off their coach seat onto my arm causing it to cramp in pain. Being fat like that is indicative of their heath anyways right?

I don't know, it's just a thought.