...the origins of my username. I've had a lot of people ask me about this, so I'm making it rather simple for everybody. As best I can remember, this is how it all happened:

Way, way back in the old days--we're talking spring of 2002 here, people; dinosaurs hadn't even been invented yet--I was chatting with my friend Jesi in College Prep Senior English (the high-falutin' English class, for the record) about an episode of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air we'd seen recently. In said episode, Will warns Hillary that if she doesn't get over Trevor and date, she'll wind up with some fool named Grady and wear nothing but a shirt that says "Jam!" The way in which he said "Jam!" amused the everloving crap out of me, and she and I repeated it several times. (Given our behavior in this class--singing Madonna's "Like a Virgin" out loud, and [frequently] fighting over something asinine, me calling her a misogynistic slur almost every day for the last two months of school, etc.--nobody thought this was particularly unusual of us.)

Somewhere along the way, this turned into our spelling the word "jam" as "Djäm". (For those of you that care about such things, that's the letter 'a' with a diaeresis over it.) Because it was an English class for students that actually wanted an education, Jesi questioned this. Because I was and am a weird guy, I defended it:

JESI: There's a 'd' in 'jam' now? So it's pronounced 'duh-jam'?
ME: No, it's still pronounced 'jam'.
JESI: So the 'd' is silent?
ME: Yep! Like the 'k' in 'knife' and the 'r' in 'fork'!
JESI: ...So wait, now the 'r' in 'fork' is silent?
ME: Absolutely!

As stupid as it was, I would not have renounced this theory to save my life. In high school, once I stumbled on a really stupid in-joke, I desperately clung to it. I drove a '91 Plymouth Laser until my first car wreck, and while I had it--for that matter, until a few weeks after I lost it--I wouldn't let anyone refer to it as anything other than "the Laser." I made them do the air quotes and the Dr. Evil voice when they said it. If you told me that I made even my parents and my teachers do this, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised. Besides that--it was really funny at the time.

Thus, it became part of the lore of our group that the "r" in "fork" was, is, and ever will be silent. Chris in particular had some difficulty grasping this concept, as I recall:

CHRIS: So it's pronounced 'fok'?
ME: No, it's pronounced 'fork'!
CHRIS: ...But you said the 'r' is silent.
ME: It is.
CHRIS: ...So is it pronounced 'fok'?
ME: No! It's pronounced 'fork'!

He eventually figured it out.

And there you have it: the hidden meaning of my username--the silent "r" in fork. Admittedly, I'd planned to make my username "silent_r_in_fork", but I goofed up and forgot the final underscore. And thus was born silent_r_infork.

silent_r_infork refuses to divulge the story behind the third-person, small-fonted afterthoughts. Some skeletons are best left in the closet--especially the gay ones.

- Greatest instance of dirty talk ever:

GUY: I want you so much, baby!
GIRL: Yeah? How bad you want it?
GUY: I totally killed my roommate just to get in your pussy!

- ME: If you were fucking a girl and she said she killed her roommate just to have sex with you, how would you react?
MARLEY: I'd sleep on my stomach.
ME: So she couldn't cut off your dick in your sleep?
MARLEY: Exactly!

- MICHAEL: You know, thinking about it, nothing makes my hypothetical snatch wetter than roommate-on-roommate homicide!


...My roommates are funny.

So this morning, as I woke up, realized I had a hard-on that could have ended world hunger, went to the bathroom, and took a leak that was not only so constrained by the weight of my erection that it literally took two minutes to finish up, but also sent urine all over the toilet and my left leg due to the erratic nature of boner-streams, a thought occurred to me:

"I am so happy that God didn't see fit to make the same thing happen when we shit with an erection."

Let THAT thought permeate your mind's landscape as you go about your day.

[Author's note: This is written with loving parody directed at many of my friends--and somewhat at myself, as I've been guilty of this kind of behavior too. Maybe this is just me, but I've noticed that whenever I don't like a certain aspect of my behavior and I make efforts to correct it, I see it a hundredfold in those around me. That, or the people I'm describing herein really are nuts. I don't know. Either way, don't get your panties in a wad, because I'm well aware of the dual nature of the pendulum's swing.]

------

[At a sci-fi party, the crowd converges on a lone girl, who for the sake of argument we'll call Rose... ]

PARTYGOER #1: We want to talk to you.
ROSE: Um, okay.
PG #1: What's this about you not pursuing a relationship with Doctor Who?
ROSE: What?
PG #2: Yeah! Everyone here is trying to pursue a relationship with Doctor Who! That's what you do when you encounter Doctor Who! He makes you better, God dammit!
PG #3: Jack over there told us you went out on a few episodes with him, gave him the "let's be friends" speech, and just left it at that!
ROSE: Um...yeah, that's right.
ALL: FOR FUCK'S SAKE, WHY?!

[Accusing silence presses down on Rose like a silence-pressing thing.]

ROSE: Um...well, honestly, he's not right for me. I mean, I can see why everyone else is into him, I really do. He's kind of funny in a quirky way, there's a certain brilliance there. The plots are connected in the all right places, if you get my drift--

[The partygoers shout over her with agreement, mentioning such random incidents as Bad Wolf and Professor Yana, but Rose interrupts them]

ROSE: But honestly, it's nothing that I just need to get involved in. For one thing, I'm not looking to get involved in a series right now.
PG #4: Why not? I mean, you don't think he's perfect? All that says is there's episodes you haven't seen.*
ROSE: He's not! Honestly, there's some kind of dating lore about the guy that says if you have one episode with the guy, you're signing up for "to have and to hold". There are people who have been on relationships with him since the 70s, for Christ's sake, ranting away about decades-old episodes like common Trek-whores!

[A scandalous statement has been uttered.]

PG #2: Oy! If you're not interested in a relationship with the Doctor, why do you make casual conversation about him? On the night of October 7, did you or did you not watch the "Last Doctor" trilogy** with us?
ROSE: Hey, I didn't get to finish the episode when it came out! I saw something that was mildly interesting to me--only after someone explained it in full detail, I might add--and I datecrashed someone's episode, and that's it!
PG #3: You know what? You're in denial!
ROSE [flabbergasted]: What?
PG #4: She is!
PG #5: Look, I know that this is the kind of thing you have to get into on your own, and you can't have others talk you into it, but...

[PG #5 goes into a five-minute rant about the series and how insanely awesome it is.]***

ROSE: Guys! Seriously! I will not be forced into this! Can't you understand that I have a polite interest in the Doctor's existence, and that's it?
PG's: NO!

[They argue more, until a handsome man in a green shirt shows up, pointing a futuristic pistol at them]

MAN: Hey, hey, hey! The lady said no, and we're not going to press the issue! [to Rose] Need a ride out of here?
ROSE: Yes, please.
MAN: Seriously, people!

[The partygoers make a path for Rose and the man.]

MAN: That was seriously weird.
ROSE: Hey, don't give them a hard time about it. In their defense, it is a very pretty show, and it is made for long-term involvement. But me, I'm just looking for something that's real brief, real intense, and full of insane twists and turns. Something that hasn't been around the block so much, so it feels a little more special, you know?
MAN: I know just what you mean.
ROSE: Oh, I'm Rose, by the way.
MAN: Hi. I'm Farscape.

[Later, in private, Rose tastes a delicacy known as "mivonks".]


* Yes, someone said this to me.
** The fun thing about writing something like this is that if I make reference to an episode or arc and I'm not 100% sure of what it's called, I know someone will call me out on it within the day.
*** I had this "conversation" too. I don't think the irony of the situation ("I know it's something you have to get into on your own", followed by a long monologue about the awesomeness) occurred to him. On the subject of real statements given to me about why I should jack off over this show: The "he makes you better, God dammit!" thing isn't one of them, I just made it up on the spot. However, knowing that this is said unironically would not surprise me.

So, did you get way WAY too drunk becvause of a fight with your girlfriend? Send tetxt mesages you dom't undersetand the next morning? Well, listen to Adam "I had four shots and two beers before I lost count because I put myself in 'fucki it' mode before responding to an admittedly bad etext message first thing in the morning:" JUdge's Easy Hangtover Cure!

1. Eat a metric fuck-ton of candy corn!
2. Have a pizza!
3. Let your rommmate show you a Leslie Nielson movie you haven' seen in ten years, and only remember that one scene where Nielsen fucke d agirl and you shouted "SHE WAS NAKED IN [insert movie here]!" [Author's note: Do your best not to remember what actress, what movie, and in what scene she was naked. Evene remembering what she looks like is not conducive to the hangoever process.]
4. Wake up to your cat attemtping to use your roommate's blanket to get off...on your person!
5. Throw your cat quite literally across the room!
6. Take a shower solely because you don't think you can handle standing up, having an erection , and actually urinating IN the toilet at the same time!
7. Take several drinks of cold water straight out of the faucet, foregoing the cup process and electing instead to put uyopur mouth directly to the faucet!
8. Have yet ANOTHER pizza!
9. Consider the possibility of standing that is STAYING up late to drink your body weight in water!
10. Hopefully get some sleep before your 3 PM shift!

Andf you, too, canb drink like a jackass with no visible repercussions in the workplace the next day!!

EDIT: The incomplete tag originally read "I think 'smir-noof!' is the only time in the post that I actually used the backspace key". The irony is that I misspelled "used". There were seven characters for a four-letter word. And I had to use the backspace key seven times, at the least, to write this edit correctly. Make that eight. Thank you and good night.

You know, it occurs to me that the phrase "private parts", when used to describe any primary/secondary sexual characteristic or the butt, is kind of a misnomer. Sure, it's private in the sense that you don't normally show these parts (well, some of you don't), and that society dictates that we should cover them when we're out in public, but aren't your internal organs infinitely more private?

Any one of you, right this very moment, could expose your junk to somebody. We gentlemen have the privilege--nay, the God-given right, to whip out the dick and let somebody take a good long gander. Males in the restaurant industry can take part in the Penis-Showing Game by tricking a chef into seeing the Bat Wing, thus earning you the right to kick him in the ass twice and call him rude names. Ladies, you can get free drinks at just about any straight bar on the planet with a good old-fashioned top-dropping. You can be immortalized on film by lowering your bikini bottom and proving to a man with a camera that you're shaved, so long as you sign the disclaimer stating that you know that this video will be played with steel drums in the background. You can totally do these things--and not just because I'm giving you permission. Underneath those clothes is a totally naked person, just waiting to come out.

But who among you can show off those sexy kidneys at the drop of a hat? Will you EVER call a friend after that awkward first date, mortified because your pancreas was hanging out and he was totally staring at it? You can't settle a debate about who's got the longest large intestine by just pulling them out and grabbing a ruler--hell no, you've gotta hit Wikipedia for that. (Average length: about 4.9 feet.) How much more private do you get than something that requires a felony or medical assistance to show off?

So please, the next time you're teaching a small child about the differences between boys and girls, and you're tempted to refer to his pee-pee or her vagoo as "private parts"...won't you please think of the internal organs?

Fuck you, nostalgia. Fuck you in your sentimental ear, you pussy.

Yesterday, Marley and I were at Target, trying on hats and making fun of each other. (Marley, of course, was the one who pointed out I'd been wearing the hat backwards for quite some time. *facepalm*) One that I feel the need to share is from when he put on this floppy straw hat:

"You look like Jimmy Buffett's gay grandson. What, are you wasting away again in Appletini-ville?"

BEST EVER.

Another hot makeout session ruined by premature eructation!:-(

So! My week.

- I worked 6 hours of overtime to help not one, but two other stores because their management are BASS-ACKWARDS PIECES OF SHIT.
- I made a move on a girl, who rejected me on the basis that I am not nearly kinky enough for her.
- Another friend of mine overheard this conversation and decided to call her bluff. Cue me and MaleFriend spending the rest of the week planning for and building a St. Andrew's cross, as well as getting related paraphernalia, so that he could get FemaleFriend in the sack...well, on the rack, whatever. (Sadly, nothing came of this venture.)
- I had three or four discussions with MaleFriend2 about, shall we say, getting a private viewing of him and MF2Girlfriend having sex. Guidelines have been set, but no date has been set.
- A night of rather hard drinking (six beers and at least two shots) leading to an incident yesterday morning that I have not yet been able to process, and will not discuss after said processing. One word: donut-lover.

All of this, made a little bit more acute by the fact that that fucking bitch who I hate and want to die dumped me so she could lick every cooter in California* I just broke up with someone I cared about but can't be with any time soon fine, WE broke up. I went from Dawson's Creek to a Penthouse letter out of nowhere. It's been...odd.

Peace out.

*No, not seriously. Jeez, what's wrong with you people?

I saw "Stardust" recently, after repeated requests by a friend who loves, loves, loves the movie. But one scene stands out in our viewing:

CAPTAIN SHAKESPEARE: *throws the mannequin out the window, drags Yvaine to his cabin*
CAPTAIN SHAKESPEARE: I'm taking this wench to my quarters for a few hours. Anyone who interrupts will get the same treatment.
CREW MEMBER: ...You mean, you'll, uh--
CAPTAIN SHAKESPEARE: No, you idiot, I meant I'll throw you off the ship!

This line, for some reason, made me laugh my ass off. Korn, however, had never, in multiple viewings of this movie, caught the inference. Good to know my brain still automatically looks for homoerotic subtext in all of Robert DeNiro's lines.

I don't feel like posting anything of worth, so I'm totally going to tell you about one of the greatest humans you've never heard of: Dogwelder.





Dogwelder. As in, his method of attack is to weld a dog to your face.

Garth Ennis and Steve Dillon, two of the most brilliant comic book creators in history, were at a pub with some of their buddies, and they came up with a contest to see who could come up with the most bizarre comic book character. Dillon's entry was Dogwelder. The rest is history.

Livejournal would be more convenient if it came in a bottle. And/or had tits. And/or paid me for my opinions.

Dear 1960s,

Except for the music*, TV shows, and the exceptionally brave men in our military, you really contributed nothing to history. Why people rant and rave about what a "life-altering era" you were, I will never know. Mostly, I look at the media from your time and see a bunch of whiny douchebags and draft-dodgers. YOU WERE NOT THAT IMPRESSIVE.

Although you did encourage chicks to go braless, so thanks for that,
Adam

*Obviously excluding protest music, especially anything with Neil Young. I want to punch him in the face while playing "Southern Man" and wearing blackface.

Next season on Dexter: Dexter actively rapes a poodle in front of LaGuerta, and she STILL doesn't catch on that he's a bad guy because SHE IS INSANELY OBLIVIOUS.

Discuss.

(Obviously, all comments probably have spoilers.)

It's about 6:30 in the morning, and I could not sleep. Both minutes of my attempt were entirely unsuccessful. When I realized this and actually turned off the show I'd started marathoning*--because everyone knows marathoning shows is how you get to sleep--so I could get to sleep for realz, I COULD NOT STOP THINKING.

I'm rather tired of thinking. Let's try typing for a change. Here's some of the random shit going through my head:

- I actually type out "for realz" in serious conversation. And the other day, I used WTF as a verb. Damn you, Internets.
- I want Dani not to be sick. Last night was one of the very rare nights where she and I did not chat on AIM for at least an hour, and it felt weird. I honestly wonder if I'd be posting this had I chatted with her--given our propensity for Lily/Marshall-like "THIS IS EVERYTHING I DID TODAY" conversations, probably not.
- I want at least three weeks where I don't think about my future.
- Oh, look. Prom season. And it's right smack dab in the middle of Lent, during which I've given up boozing. You know, if I could pick between one or the other of my back-and-forth inner monologues about how my reactions to this exercise in self-control prove I am/am not an alcoholic, I'd feel better about it overall.
- Having money (yay, tax returns! Fuck Caesar, and fuck whether he got his--IRS, render unto me that which is mine!) is an odd sensation. It's not enough to do anything (except get my car checked out and pay some debts), but it's more than I'm used to having in one month put together. That I shouldn't get used to this, especially given my recent demotion and making less money each week, has not escaped my attention. Nor has it escaped my attention that this is the time where I want to START SAVING SHIT-TONS OF MONEY--see above, re: future.
- Also? Three weeks where I don't think about my past, re: college and fucking up. Or re: girls and fucking up. Really, just re: fucking up.
- Babylon 5 is nice, but odd. We'll see.
- Given how much shit I have to catch up on entertainment wise, I will purposely vow never to watch "Arrested Development". I know that none of you will react to this news in any way, shape, or form.
- I blame nobody but myself for the fact that I will get under four hours of sleep before my shift.
- ARGH.
- On the bright side, a personal project for which there has only been "We'd like to do this" led to a creative breakthrough that was so fucking obvious, it felt like an ideashovel hitting me in the face. True, it requires taking care of simpler projects beforehand so we CAN take care of the one I created, but still, it was and is AWESOME. God bless didgeridoos.
- I will not clarify which of the above thoughts led to a metaphor about going three weeks without taking a dump, and how you probably wouldn't want to eat because of all the feces backing up into your stomach.

I freely acknowledge and do declare that the above list is made voluntarily of my own will. No claims are made that the legitimacy of these complaints are equal to or greater than those made on my friendslist (unless said complaints are about people not taking Twilight seriously, in which case the second party is invited to fornicate with the nearest electrical outlet).

*The Days, a so-fast-you-might-as-well-not-even-bother-blinking-because-it's-already-gone midsummer series from ABC about three or four years ago.

"BRING IN THE CLOWNS AND CANCER STICKS, BABY"--dth_vlly_queen, and no, I'm not sharing the context.

MICHAEL: It's just like undressing a woman!

MARLEY: I like his.
MICHAEL: No, no, yours is better, because it's nicer and much harder to find.

MICHAEL: I was handling it last night. It's a good size.

MARLEY: This part shouldn't slide out, but I lubricated the FUCK out of it. I'm covered in grease!

MARLEY: Let's look down the hole!

MARLEY: No, no, Michael, you need to keep on twisting.

MICHAEL: Where did the condom go?

MARLEY: You're not making it very hard for me.

MARLEY: So I lubricated its crevices very well.
MICHAEL: Did you have to get your fingers in there?
MARLEY: Reapply--
MICHAEL: And force it?
MARLEY: No, no, you don't have to force it.
MICHAEL: No, you just be firm yet gentle.
MARLEY: Just grab the knob!

MARLEY: It is kind of hard to make it give, so you gotta hit it a little bit at that point.

MICHAEL: I got pinched by it.
MARLEY: Then you're not using it right.

MARLEY: I love the way it holds. It's hard to take out.

---

So how many of you guessed that they were talking about Marley's new rifle, a Mosin Nagant Chinese-variant type-53? (Oh, and the condom? He was talking about Marley's sleeve for the rifle.)

At one point while typing this, I had to yell at them, "You're being gay faster than I can type! YOU ARE GAYER THAN 90 WPM."

The gay physics jokes/conversation that arose from this? Is RIDICULOUS.

A FRIEND (to OtherFriend): It must be nice to be right all the time, OtherFriend. Why must you ALWAYS have the last word?
ME: Holy shit! AFriend used to be sitting in that chair, and now there's just a pot!
AFRIEND: *laughs his ass off*

*is proud of himself*

***

After hearing about a work problem that Brian likened to putting on a blue shirt that removes your nipples--and it IS appropriate to the problem--I texted him with an appropriate response. And he won.

MY TEXT: My blue shirt removed my nipples. :-(
HIS: < Shirt style="position:relative" > < nipple/ > < nipple/ > < /Shirt >