There is a ton of evidence finally being associated with me and it’s high time we acknowledge it. I’m finally being accepted as a straight twenty-something guy. In the four years since I’ve left High School, I have  let H&M, my fragile bones and my love for colors allow me to appear like a homosexual. While, I don’t have anything against gay men, I think it’s important for people to realize I am not one.

Let’s take a look at my progression from “fashion forward” to “don’t touch me or I’ll have DJ knock your teeth out.”

Here’s the earliest picture of me on Facebook:

Look at this guy! Just in some typical lounge wear, you know straightened hair, a painted American Apparel track jacket, patched jeans. I’m not trying at all! What? You want to make out and listen to some indie British bands? Well OK!

See the rest of the fellas on the runaway after the jump…

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Hello internet world, its me, your American Hero with another movie review. This time I’m soder and ready to rip the shizzle out of one of the worst movies of all-time. So hold onto your keyboards as I go off on this terrible movie.

So I get to the theatre a little outside San Jose to see The Knowing. I knew very little about the movie except that it was about the end of the world and one of my favorite actors, Nicolas Cage, was in it. So I was pretty amped up for this movie and ready for Nicky boi to put an end to the end of the world. So after buying my ticket at the great price of 4.50!…unheard of in San Jose…I got some popcorn and a little so-derrr pop and headed into the theatre.

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In my previous “post” (I put post in quotation marks because I was inebriated when I wrote, hence it doesn’t make much sense and, honestly, the topic was pretty piss-poor to begin with) I wrote about my dislike for long division. To sum it up (pun intended), I have some trouble tackling the abstract reasoning that the process innately represents. Also, I find the idea of owning over five dozen apples at any one time to be inconceivable, juvenile and, frankly, obscene. Not surprisingly, my viewpoints have ignited a firestorm of controversy. DJ somehow cracked into the mainframe of my funny-box (re: laptop) and proceeded to rant and rave in favor of mass fruit consumption, then my ex-friend Megan chimed in and exacerbated the whole thing even further. How did she exacerbate the whole thing even further? Well, she called me a douche. Also, (and this is really where the exacerbation happens, because I already knew I was at least marginally douche-a-lious) Meg insulted my natural distaste for the taste of chocolate. Well, you know what? In the end (not that it’s the end, because it’s not), not liking chocolate was the best (debatable)  decision (wasn’t a decision) of my life (if that’s what you want to call what I do with my time).

Pssh, like that would ever work.

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This article from the Telegraph (quite possibly my favorite news source) is a heartwarming tale of a widow finally finding out what was in her husband’s mysterious trunk. It had always been locked and he never showed her what was inside. When she opened it, what would she find? Gold Deblumes? The body of his first wife? Something sexually explicit which when written the context of a blog post seems really immature after you finish laughing at it? No, she found a box full of his favorite toys which he kept since the 20s. The fucking 20s. I wonder what people will find out about me when I’m maggot food? …Besides the unspeakable atrocities which are the contents of my three current hard drives.

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