JF: Dancing With Braced Ankles

Dancing with Braced Ankles

Brittany Born, Loyola's star libero, balances her passion and the simple life

Ed. Note: Hey guys, I know most of you have met Britt before but I thought I'd share this with you before we all left for New Zealand together. I wrote this piece as an assignment for my Sports Writing class so it is a bit dated but I feel like it's an adequate description of her persona. I know it's a bit long but please take the time to enjoy it.

BALTIMORE - Before last Sunday's match against St. Peter's, Brittany Born meets trainer Steve Austin in his office to be treated. Austin places pads on her back, two on her upper back and two on her lower, and channels electric currents into her muscles.

She does this before every match.

The process takes 15 minutes and makes her quiver, but she claims it is painless. It stimulates her sore back muscles and allows her to bow with the grace necessary for the libero (pronounced LEE-beh-ro) position. After some icing, she is ready for warm-ups.

The rest of the team wears their home blacks but not her. As libero, Born, 20, is designated a lime green jersey that makes her more noticeable to the officials - and everyone else. By now, she is used to standing out.

Jogging lightly, Born ducks her head under the net and bounces up on the other side, swinging her arms like a willow in a windstorm as the rest of the team warms up. The song playing on the loudspeaker is House of Pain's "Jump Around" - her favorite. Born mouths the lyrics along, swiveling her hips to the beat as she fields serves to assistant coach Rich Zwolinski. He does his best to shake off a smile.

After the balls are shagged and the game is ready to begin, she stands off to the side of the net, beams bright and darts towards freshman middle blocker Taylor Koncelik. The two meet mid-jump, Born delivers an enthusiastic two-handed high five and lands soundly on her braced ankles. Electrified, she lets out a fervent cheer to rally her teammates for the upcoming contest.

"I live for game day," Born said, with a thin-lipped, knowing smile, "it's so exciting."

What you wouldn't assume is that this game is the last in a disappointing season that began with four straight losses and ended with the NCAA tournament still out of reach. You wouldn't assume that their opponent was a struggling St. Peter's squad who had also buried the hopes of a playoff berth, coming into the match with a lowly 8-21 record.

You wouldn't stop to think that this was Born's last time donning her ankle braces and lime green jersey before she skips the spring season to study abroad in New Zealand.

Brittany born is this enthusiastic every game - and she hasn't missed one of the 362 sets Loyola has played since she arrived three seasons ago.

"I calculated it and, during the season, it's a full-time job," Born admits, almost guiltily.

At times, the commitments of Division I college volleyball makes her feel restricted, tied down. However, she does not let this affect her. She maintains her constant enthusiasm - for the sake of the team.

"[I try to] be loud, you know, celebrate every point," she explains, "every game matters...nobody likes to lose."

"You'd go nuts if you had six of her," Loyola coach Scott Pennewill jests, "but she's got the ability to get people fired up."

Senior Kimi Gabriel subs in for Born during much of the match, but Born continues to cheer from the sidelines, never completely removing herself from the action. The Hounds dig deep to overcome a late rally by St. Peter's and finish off the Peahens in five sets.

Then, it's over.

The team wraps up another disappointing year, finishing 15-18.

Following the match, they hold a banquet to honor the seniors who won't be returning to Loyola for the coming season. The next day, Pennewill gets busy courting five new recruits signed on for next year and the team takes some much needed time off.

For now, the 20-hours of weekly practice and the early morning workouts are through.

"It hasn't even hit me yet that we don't have volleyball."

Brittany Born sits in her bed across from me, legs folded Indian style, and hugs a pillow in her lap. She dressed in sweatpants and a tank top, the outfit of a girl reviling leisure. no make-up, it's not worth the effort today. Her crimped silk hair falls easy on her shoulders.

She is taking her time, letting her weak ankles rest, and enjoying the good life

JF: In Honor of the 2010 Roster Freeze

Since the 2010 Winter Olympics will include many standouts from the NHL, the league has decided to "freeze" rosters for the duration of the tournament - meaning that no players can be traded, waived, or sent to the minors until after the closing ceremonies. The freeze is also indicative of the spectacle that is the Olympics as all 32 clubs will take a break from the politics of professional hockey and enjoy the pleasure of playing simply for the pride of your nation.


Here at TSTLN, our roster is constantly growing. I think fluidity of characters is part of this blog's appeal. Therefore, we won't be freezing our rosters anytime soon. However, I would like to honor the Olympics in some way, be it ever so simple.


Therefore, I give you, on February 12 (the same day as the NHL Roster Freeze) the 2010 TSLN Rasta Freeze:

Hey Senca, whatcha smokin?
Nothing mon, I'm BREATHING!

I went a long way for that little pun, huh?

Stay warm my rasta brothers,
Jerry

KMG: The Stairs Lead to Cork, Come Visit Me Screw New Zealand

Hello to those who valiantly traipse through the unknown treacherous trails of life, I'm Kaela. I've been meaning to write many a post for months now but I haven't gotten my act together. Tonight is the night. I figured I'd start with some advice for our readers many of whom will be traveling to New Zealand this Sunday (safe travels dear friends!!) to the others, hopefully this will resonate with your experiences.

I've now been in Cork, Ireland for one month and 9 days, this in no way makes me a pro-study-abroader but I'd like to share a couple things I've learned with you all.

Pack Goldfish. You could even have despised this salty cheddar snack at home in

the states, cursed your mother out when she put it in your Hey Arnold lunch box, but in another country you will crave it. You will feel a slow burn low in your stomach that only Goldfish can satisfy. When you ask for it at grocery stores they'll direct you to the local equivalent of PetSmart, yummy. No really, I would do sick, sick things to get a box of Goldfish right now.

Try to stay awake once you touch down on the tarmac. The trip to your new home is incredibly enlightening. The unfamiliar landscapes rolling past will help you realize you are finally thousands and thousands of miles away from home. Enjoy the epiphany, take in the view.

There's no better way to learn about your new home than by taking a trip to the emergency room (called A&E here). Everyone should have a firsthand look at their country's healthcare system. And if its because you hit your head in a McDonald's bathroom and are profusely gushing blood even better. Ten points if you end up in a bed next to a Romanian gypsy man who spends the whole night vomiting up blood (gave me TB goddamnit). 15 if they wheel your stretcher into a hallway while you are sleeping and leave you there for a prolonged period of time. 100 points if you leave the hospital with a matted gore head wrapped in gauze like a sadistic version of Rambo.

Prepare for your first grocery store experience. You'll realize you aren't in Kansas anymore. Culture shock times a million. I am now a firm believer that grocery stores can show you more about a culture and a people than most walking tours. Browse through the brands. Here in Ireland they have almost an entire aisle dedicated to different varieties of mayonnaise (ick) and 1/9 of a shelf devoted to salad dressings, which the Irish call salad cream. I was also pleasantly surprised to realize the Irish are very health and environmentally conscious, not only do they not have preservatives in much of their food but they also make you pay for plastic bags! yayyy

Have your fair share of fun in the evening hours but don't ever leave by yourself, especially when you have no idea how to get home. This could result in you wandering around blackout in Cork City by yourself for 2 hours in subzero temperatures while your friends play a particularly nasty game of Where's Waldo. Don't worry you find a way home. You slur a plea for directions from Gardai (Irish police) and they kindly offer to escort you back to your humble abode. Except when you pull up and hop out to greet your friends they realize a strange old man has driven you home in an unmarked windowless green van. NOT GARDA. I'm extremely lucky the Irish are so kind and virtuous. The Kiwis? ehhh I doubt it. DONT LEAVE BY YOURSELF EVER.

Don't be bashful of acting like a tourist, yea be all sophisticated and shit but I can guarantee the locals will know you don't belong. So go ahead whip out the fanny pack but mostly do every touristy thing you can find and take as many pictures as possible. Inhibitions out the window people!!

I can't wait to hear about all your adventures and stalk the crap out of your facebook pictures. Safe travels. Go zorbing and take a pic of a glo-worm cave for me.

Always true,

Kaela G

DK: Wandering Strays

The Wandering Strays

By Daniel Koster

“That dog is going to die if we don’t feed it,” I said as I pointed to a Mexican stray with his ribs protruding from his sides. Otherwise, it was a lovely mutt, most likely possessing a fair deal of Dalmatian blood.

I was in college. I was in Mexico. What had brought me there was a service/immersion trip to the Tijuana region of the Ameri-Mexican border. For a week-and-a-half, I lived with my peers in solidarity alongside some of the developing country’s poorest. On this afternoon, we found ourselves being served lunch at a facility that harvested honey from beehives. Right before lunch, our group gathered around one of the Mexican ladies as she explained to us the mission of the farm that we were visiting. A member of our team translated her monologue into English.

“The honey will be harvested and put into tubes,” her words were translated by a young man who had volunteered to guide our group. “From here, it will be distributed and sold to members of the community. Its invaluably healthy, compared to what the children are used to eating. They love junk food,” he chuckled. “Additionally, it greatly helps children develop resistance to local allergens…” The young man continued on and eventually, lunch was served.

“These ladies can cook,” one of the girls announced to the group. Everyone’s head was buried in a plate.

“Like nothing I’ve ever eaten,” I responded. By the end of my meal, I had eaten so much that I felt as if I had wrapped a tire around my waist.

All the while, I knew that there were those who would be granted no such feast. Countless human stomachs all across Latin America would go hungry. These countless stomachs belong to countless faces that to this day lack voices as far north New York, as far north as San Francisco, or DC. These faces were hidden within the communities we were visiting, or they could be seen in plain sight on the streets. Today, children, women and men would all go hungry. Yet some of these faces were on all fours, circling our tables as we ate. Some of these faces were being tormented by the smell of fresh beans and newly heated tortillas.

One face in particular caught my attention—it was here that I encountered the aforementioned dog. Sitting with perfect K-9 posture, my new friend eyed me. Ehh--more accurately, he eyed my tortilla. Regardless, his eyes revealed that I was his last shot at life. Like moths to a flame, his presence at our meal was drawing quite a crowd of my team members.

“Why isn’t there an ASPCA down here? I hate to see these dogs on every corner,” a girl remarked. “How hard could this problem be to fix?”

“Considering how many people are going hungry in this city alone, something tells me that stray dogs aren’t on the top of the Mexican government’s list of priorities,” I reminded. “I licked my plate clean, now its this guy’s turn.”

I exited the hot Mexican sun and stepped into the building to grab a handful of tortilla chips. I knew I had to be subtle. To feed a stray inhabitant of the Mexican streets is an action universally looked down upon.

I knew what I had to do. With ten to fifteen tortillas on a plate, I reentered the Mexican-midday-inferno. I looked over at the girl to my right, a short and pretty brunette that I had had my eye on throughout the course of the trip. I locked eye contact, and with a flat affect said, “woops.” I kicked my toe into cinderblock, and executed a control fall to the ground. Tortillas rained down upon my Dalmatian-mix.

“Don’t let the dog get those!” Our trip’s supervisor, had been wise to my wily-ways. “I know its difficult to see them standing there like this. But the area is covered with strays, and if we feed this little guy now, he’s never going to leave the people who live here alone.” Like a swat team on the ready, from either side, members of the team shooed the dog away from his prospective meal.

“Nice try,” the girl that once stood to my right consoled.

“We’re feeding that dog, or I’m walking back to Baltimore,” I openly declared.

“Count me in,” she smiled.

“We can have our cake and eat it too. We won’t feed him here. It’ll just upset everyone,” I told her.

The two of us, united for the first time, began to pick up the now dusty tortillas that had fallen in the dirt. All the while, the dog’s eyes were locked on the plate, craving what must have felt so close, yet so far. We walked down the driveway, through the gate, and out onto the street.

“We’ll walk a block or two,” I suggested.

“Is that really going to trick the little guy?” she asked. “He’ll be back as soon as he’s done.”

“Principle.” I clarified.

That day, I acquired an invaluable commodity. During my entire trip, I had seen so many hungry people. I had been introduced to so many problems with no realistic solutions in sight. I wished often that I could multiply myself by a thousand. A million. Only then could I feed all of the children that Mexico needed fed, mix all the cement that Mexico needed mixed. Only then could I irrigate every dusty football field or dry farmland in Latin America. But I can’t. I am one boy, becoming one man—not a thousand men. Yet through this K9, I have since found a way to justify the baby steps. I’ve learned that while I may be damned should I try and fix everything, everyone will be damned should I try and fix nothing.

After we took our two or three block walk, we placed the plate on the curb.

“I think he’s happy,” she observed.

“Then allow me to live vicariously through him,” I suggested.

She leaned against me, her arm locked with mine. We took a few steps back and watched our new friend eat.

JG: Happy Birthday.. To Me!

Hi friends.

As I was hungover and bitter on the morn after my 20th birthday last year, I wrote this...

2/11/09

And then there was 20. I don’t even know what to say. Perhaps the f word. That might make me feel better. What perturbs me is this: if I’m this dissatisfied with my first score, how am I going to feel at 40. Fuck mid-life, I need a quarter-life crisis just to get back on track. I’ve lost any semblance of motivation I ever possessed. I’m more than half convinced (yet again) that there’s absolutely no need for college and I shouldn’t be here. In general, I’ve felt its unnecessary being before, but I never really thought it could hurt. Yet now, I think this place actually might be hindering me. I feel like I’m taking crazy pills. I know. I’m a bitch. I can hear me too. But shouldn’t I be doing something with my life? Shouldn’t I be smiling? Shouldn’t I be outside? Shouldn’t I be? I’ve been trying to find beauty in the little things, and to many extents, it’s working. But wallowing in a cumbersome layer of self-

pity is expediently trite, and the gloom of this dorm room isn’t helping much – just miles & miles of clichéd carpeting. The word mundane means lacking interest or excitement; dull, and I’ve used it often lately to respond to the hab

itual inquisitions of ‘how are you’ and ‘how’s it feel to be twenty’. Firstly, this word should not be a go to in my vocabulary. Secondly, this definitely should not be the response to such casual niceties as the aforementioned inquiries. But it just seems to come to mind. And again (I’ll make this piece full-circle here) I just don’t know wh

at to say. I know how to respond, yes, with sadness, anger, perhaps even further self-pity. But I still don’t know what to say – not even out loud, just an internal whispering of how to overcome. But I mustn’t fret because, despite my -1000 self esteem, I do admit I have one good (& refreshing) trait,

and that’s the fact that at

some point in my worries, I laugh. Sometimes it takes longer than others, hell, maybe I even have to cry first, but eventually it happens, and it’s brilliant. Just laughing something off because, well, in the long run, I really don’t care. I’ve never been a big fan of the inquiry ‘why?’ Sure for personal matters worth truly caring about I’ve used it many times. But in general, not a fan. To me, we are where we are, we can’t change the past, so who gives a [insert curse word here]? Go forward, move along, go yonder (whatever that means), do something. Hell, write a diary if it helps. I still love the Vonnegut quote – “Here we are stuck in the amber of this moment; there is no why”. And that’s brilliant to me, even if it was a quote from an extraterrestrial being. We’re here, we’ve reached some current brink, don’t overanalyze, just do – live your life, your moment, embrace the temporary, put quite simply - be. (Aside: this is also why I’ve never quite enjoyed history classes, but let’s not delve too deep and get carried away). I guess the whole point of this is that I’m confused. I need to explore more, and I mean that in the broadest sense. I’ll never be convinced on the school ideal, I never have been either, and yet I keep coming, so there must be something to it. The only real question is whether I’ll care enough to continue obtaining decent grades. That and the fact I’m no longer a teenager, coupled with the world of metaphorical losses I feel are a side order of dropping the ‘-teen’ from the end of your age. But right now, I don’t even know what to say. Just be.

...And my attempt to follow...

2/09/10

As I drink beers alone on the eve of my 21st birthday, I feel it's only right to wax nostalgic. As per my self-scrutinizing manifesto of a post from about a year ago, let's analyze. Quick recap, My goals: explore, be happy, be myself.

What's wrong with it is that I actually was happy sophomore year, and I've always been pretty damn good at being myself, or else I really wouldn't make so many misguided fashion decisions. It's just that when your hungover, angry, still slightly maudlin, and tell yourself you should write something, you tend to write things of this nature. But one year later, as I again shit my pants in the wake of the realization that my immature self is fast approaching the real world, I feel pretty much the same person, and I'm about 78% proud of that fact. I still lack self esteem, I still don't know what I'm doing in school (though by no means do I hate it, I just still don't

know what a Marketing major actually does), and I still sip 'n scribe (copyright DK). In my effort to embrace life, I feel I am doing so. A man named Robert once told me to "Rage", and I try to live my life by his words. I am drinking beers. I am going to a double-island fantasyland called New Zealand. I am seeing a Wilco concert. Will I steal street signs or break hilarious objects, well that is yet to be seen, but I feel whatever happens it will be right. Either way, what I think I'm trying to get at as I lay in my bed and sip a pseudo-American Budweiser, is that I'm content. Basically, on a list of emoticons, I'm a standard smiley face, and in a world where Avatar & Twilight are considered groundbreaking and Sandra Bullock is up

for an Oscar, I think that's all I can ask for - in fact, I'm overjoyed. So here's to you, fellow comrades and TSTLN'ers, cheers, I love y'all (except perhaps for whoever CR is, I think that's more lust than anything else). Hey, I just wrote a whole paragraph without even cursing, maybe I am growing up.

SB: The Face of Evil

While optimists such as Meag McKeron speak of the joyous faces of puppies, all I can think of is the face of evil. The hippo. You may not think these here hippos look evil, but deep down they are carnivorous assholes who prey on the helpless and roll around in their own doo doo. If you see a hippo in swamplike area lake thing, do not, I repeat, DO NOT go swimming or fishing in that same body of water. They WILL get you.

BB: Rage - A Social Commentary

Rage. Most love it, a select few live it. Wikipedia (a veritable treasure trove of information endorsed by academics everywhere) defines rage as, “a mental state that is one extreme of the intensity spectrum of anger”. While I’m a simple Nebraska boy so I dont done reckon I know what an “intensity spectrum” is, but I do know that Wikipedia done got it wrong. I’ve since tried to edit this page, but I am still blocked from editing Wikipedia for past transgressions. I digest. Getting back to the topic at hand, rage is defined by myself as an expression of disdain for societal constraints. Society, however, is a big fish (great movie) to fry, so often it is necessary to take performance-enhancing drugs. Now, i’m not talking about steroids, HGH, or dietary fiber. What I AM (yahweh) referring to is the crisp pilsner taste of natural light or its more powerful and mysterious cousin natural ice. With such aids (too soon) one can perform the noble task of sticking it to the Man, i.e. society. Whether its urinating in public(now a sexual offense in several states), stealing hilarious street signs, or breaking hilarious objects, rage empowers the individual to do what he/she pleases, regardless of what stuffy old society says. I had the opportunity to fully live rage in the land of new Z’s. There, police don’t carry weapons and thus are pushovers. Even without rageahol, one feels empowered. With the addition of a few bottles of what happened, one can show the kiwi establishment who’s boss. Whether it was breaking handrails and trash cans, urinating on landmarks of national significance, or blockading highways with the help of the ubiquitous safety cones, I really showed that stupid country why the rage, white, and blue gets it right. Here in Amurica, rage is so prevalent that society and its butt-buddy government have created all sorts of laws and statutes to hinder individual expression. In order to counter this, we, as Americans, must rage even harder to overcome such fetters. I never realized until I trekked to NZ that Americans rage harder than any other nation. (Though I did see us defeat Germany [again!] in the cinematic adventure Beerfest) As the keepers of rage, Americans have a responsibility to the world to show them the light. Citizens need no longer chafe under the yokes of totalitarian regimes. Indeed, if Iranians (Persians) raged more, instead of wearing nice jewelry and designer clothes, their oppressive government would surely crumble. With this in mind, I leave you (the reader) with the words of a true titan of rage, the Reverend Dr. Sir Martin Luther King Jr. M.D. Esq. PhD. who said, “The time is always right to rage”. On this Thursday night, Dr. King, I believe you’re right.
-Bobby Brown

MM: Puppies: My Anti-Drug

As my days in America dwindle away and I find myself having minor heart attacks every few hours at the thought of flying all the way to the other side of the world to the mysterious and fantastical island of New Zealand, I require something to calm my nerves – some sort of happy potion to take away all my anxiety and transport me to a world where there are no worries, just laughter and love.

My drug of choice: puppy videos. There are various kinds of puppy videos out there on the Youtubes to brighten your mood and melt your heart when you need a nice pick-me-up. This may not work for heartless, puppy-fearing souls such as Christie Welch, but I think a majority of the human population will agree with me when I say, “Puppies are freakin’ awesome.”
(That's my doggie, Gordo, by the way. He enjoys protecting our house from squirrels and stealing gum out of people's purses)

1. HELPLESS PUPPIES
After watching a helpless puppy video, you just want to pick the poor thing up and give it a big hug. How could the wittle doggie’s owner allow such torture to occur? But it does make for wonderful entertainment, I will admit.


Now, if you watched that and are legitimately concerned about whether or not the puppy ever righted itself – fear not! DK found the epic conclusion to this video.


2. FROLICKING PUPPIES
Puppies playing, puppies running around, puppies falling over, etc. Pure puppy fun. This one made me laugh:


3. SLEEPY PUPPIES
We all love puppies when they’re rolling around and jumping on things and having a grand old time, but they are just as entertaining when it’s time to turn it in. Often times they are not quite ready to admit defeat, but eventually sleep wins.


4. PUPPIES VS. CATS
This category is pretty self explanatory. Puppies > Cats. End of story. Try to argue it; I don’t really see how you would win.


5. PUPPIES BEFRIENDING OTHER ANIMALS
Puppies love everyone. For example, this puppy loves a duck. I just hope the guy that adopted the puppy doesn’t plan on eating him. I can’t help but think that every time I see a Chinese man with a dog, due a traumatic 8th grade Social Studies lesson that I really don’t want to get into detail about right now so stop asking me!


6. DUMB PUPPIES
One of the most endearing characteristics of puppies is their stupidity. Whether they are chasing their own tails, terrified of the vacuum cleaner, or, as in this puppy’s case, fascinated by their own reflection, they capture our hearts with their silliness.



7. SCARED/DEFENSIVE PUPPIES
As they become acclimated to their environment, puppies often feel the need to defend themselves and their surroundings. Watch as this dog engages in an epic battle with some really sweet robot that I kind of want.


8. CUTE PUPPIES
Sometimes the puppy doesn’t need to do anything but be adorable. The “happy feet” are not what is cute about this video; Rosie’s good looks carry the whole clip. By the way, this puppy is not doing “happy feet” as her obnoxious owner claims; she simply wants to get down the stairs! Poor thing.


9. BABIES AND PUPPIES
What is almost as sweet as a puppy (but not quite)?: A BABY! Put the two together and you’ve got an overload of cuteness. This video is a bit drawn out, but just watch at about 0:25. What a beautiful moment.


10. DRUNK SQUIRREL
Yeah I know, squirrels are not puppies. They are not even close to being on puppy level. In fact, they are the worst animal ever to set foot on this planet. But I enjoy watching this rodent struggle after eating fermented pumpkins. Enjoy!


I hope these puppies brightened your day! Don't do real drugs!
Peace out!
Meag

CR: Supermodel Size Me!!!!

As I began the process of trying to stuff all my super cool and non-trendy clothing into my two suitcasi(plural), I ask my self why does “the system” always passively hint that less is more? Why should I be troubled in choosing whether to bring my 35 lb dumbbells or to compromise with 35 lbs of shirts? This is not fair. Airlines…highly influenced by Big Gov’t is subtly making us make decisions about size all the time; leaning heavily to the side of thin is in-fat is a sin. The idea of smaller is spreading venom into the houses of Americans like you and I.

Today America is obsessed with the concept of slim and minute( pronounced minute) . Technology for instance has forgotten that size is a good thing when it comes to capacity. For example in the computer world the larger DELL shells are being abandoned for those of lightweight ultrathin!! MACs… Furthermore Vhs is no longer fit enough to entertain us DVDs are sexier and shinier. . McDonald’s Happy meals are tiny (this could be the fact they appeared larger when I was a child and I am stuck with that same perception but who cares they are smaller.

Remember the days when you and your friends played tag in the back seats (get your minds out of the gutters) of those Suburbans; you had your own mobile playground. Now you must strategize your departures from buildings to be the first to say “Shotgun, no blitz, no Jedi guns, no punches to the back of the neck( ps Jerry things my back of the neck is ugly…yeah I just don’t understand)” so as not be the one cramped in the back of Dad’s hip new smart car. I recall my days of elementary school when my peers and I had to read complete volumes of Encyclopedias for HW( every child should have to do this by the way its a great way to stay out of trouble and learn about obscure things that you can bring up in casual conversation making yourself seem a lot cooler than everyone else)...nowadays US weekly and People magazine are chosen summer reading. It might be a quality quantity debate but larger is always better in my mind.

I feel like I’m losing you guys so let’s role play a little bit. I’ll be Guy 1 an angry Dell customer calling to try to fix his laptop ,and you can be Dude 2 informally known as John- a masked agent of Corporations trying to portray himself as a caring, flag waving American.

Guy 1:“Oh oh where’s my iPod?? {worried}”

Dude 2:“What I thought it was too small to be anything and threw it away?{said with shock and a hint of malice}

Guy 1:“Oh darn I should have stuck with my walkman and burned CDs.{ Said with defeat while snapping fingers}”

Bro 3:“CDs nuts!! Hahaha{ JAJAJAJA}”

Well I’m sure this has happened to all of you or at least one of you. So how convenient is buying a new Ipod?? It’s not… Guy 1 would never have lost his walkman because it’s bigger and obviously used to play hot beats; and if he avoided farting on Dude 2’s pillow.

IN CONCLUSION:

Yeah I’m gonna follow the baggage weight policy and not eat breakfast or lunch so as to make my fighting weight of 191. Sure, I decided on packing 35 lbs of clothes instead of my dumbbells. This might seem counter intuitive but who cares bc I'm a simple boy stuffed into a 72 inch total dimensional suitcase known as society. You can’t always get whatcha want, you can’t always get want you need (The Rolling Stones are who you are thinking of). It’s because conformity trumps positive self image ever time, that is why I write this; so as to shine some light on those two kids making out during AVATAR…show some respect for James Cameron. Come on!! Those kids represent rebellion and fighting the system. Don’t be like them because it ruins great blockbusters/oscar nominated motion pictures such as Avatar( Avatar symbolizing all the embodies America).

So pack light, go on Nutri-system, buy iPads, but do take extenze (hypocrites). Fight the system!! The next time you see something tangible (not something like a rule or policy because they aren’t tangible) that you feel doesn’t reflect the true spirit of our founding Fathers, grab it firmly and accelerate it toward the ground. Though this action means nothing except you owe someone a new very expensive iMac. Damn it!

Note: None of the following represent the views or opinions of the writers, editor, publishers, sponsors, Roman Catholic Church, or Brian Fellows. These views should not be associated with Chris Robinson in anyway.