Paul is a garbage man

But more importantly, a legend and believer in everything that Box holds dear has stepped down today. John Daly has said that he will no longer golf. Gone are the days of seeing this man blackout in Hooters and wear ridiculous pants to golf tournaments. We will never forget you John Daly. I hope everyone pours one out for the homey not with us tonight.

The Upcoming Weekend

I look forward to the upcoming weekend with the most unbridled anticipation. The return of the infamous White St. gentlemen is upon us. Among these folk include Ass-Born, Paul's Son, Human and if I am not mistaken BAD (Big Asian Dave). While it is not summer and therefore no cornhole will take place, there will most certainly be shenanigans of the most degrading and humiliating nature. I think I will try to persuade Human to engage in another Crayfish Boil and perhaps assault Ass-Born for arbitrary reasons. The thing that is most exciting for everyone in the house is the fact that a certain Peter Mattes will NOT be returning this weekend. We all cherish the moments of our lives that Peter doesn't ruin with his miserable existence. This is why I can say with complete confidence that my past 6 months (in which Peter has been absent to Seattle) have been the best times of my life. On the other hand, the White St. fellows' triumphant return will be celebrated in grand fashion. I hope that Paulson will be drunker than the time when he wandered about Zolapalooza wearing only a loincloth made of leopard print. I also sincerely hope that BAD will have a strong AOE session before my eyes. I still do not condone of the game, but I do miss BAD's presence and his skills in the game of medieval warfare on the computer. Ultimately, let us all enjoy the White St.'s return and more importantly another weekend absent of Peter Mattes' trivial absurdities.

Box man breaks up part deux

In the second part of this story, we find the same two people in another conversation, but this time the woman tries to make the man feel guilty about his actions. As a background the woman is reacting to the man from Box and his friend making drunken fools of themselves the previous night and abandoning her and her friend. See the how one from Box acts when backed into a corner.

Her: Haha amy is nooot feeling steve right now you guys are like the turn off champions lol
Him: Whyyy? What did he do?
Her: She said she thinks he would just be really wasted and crazy all the time and that is not her thing. I am just the messenger haha.
Him: Lol well she doesn't know. She's just saying that bc of association with me
Her: And because of how drunk he was the other night. But yeah she doesnt want to be the new me, to be blunt haha. As fun as it can be lol
Her: You set a standard of excellence apparently haha
Him: THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE HIGHLANDER
Him: Eh I'm sure he'll be fine
Her: Haha way to skip over the part where we all think u are mean lol
Him: I AM CONNER MACLEOD, OF THE CLAN MACLEOD
Her: Haha yeah this is why i dont want to sleep with you
Her: But glad i can be treated with such respect always a pleasure
Him: I was born in 1518 in the village of Glenfinnan on the shores of Loch Shiel. And I am IMMORTAL
Her: Are you trying to make me more mad than i was already because working.
Him: I've been alive for four and a half centuries, and I cannot die?
Her: Ok great done talking now
Him: I apologize for calling your wife a bloated warthog, and I bid you good day.

Thank you Conner Macleod, for inspiring us all

Awesomnosity

Very rarely does one person touch all mankind with a true mastery of their art. One man who exemplifies this action more than anyone else is the great Nicolas Cage. For the last 3 decades he has provided such greats ranging from "Leaving Las Vegas", to "Bangkok Dangerous"; moreso who could forget the fantastic epic "Con Air"? Well gentlemen, again he graces our screen again, but this time in musical form. Yes, not only can he impersonate elvis, he does techno. Without further ado, Sir Nicolas Cage.


yes I can't figure out how to get it on our blog so enjoy elsewhere

Response

While usually I would attempt to craft something in response to the allegations put against me, this time I will not. All I will say is that I can't confirm or deny any of the said attributes (a great deal are true-I will leave the interpretation of which is true and not to the reader). All I will say is in regard to Peter Mattes, I am thankful that I have been circumcised.

A letter to Mr. Cavanagh

It will indeed surprise some people to hear me say this, but Mr. Paul L. Cavanagh's as dumb as dirt. I want to share this with you because Paul's attempts to identify political and religious groups that are his political enemies and re-label them as "unbalanced dipsomaniacs" in order to justify operations against them are much worse than mere vandalism. They are hurtful, malicious, criminal behavior and deserve nothing less than our collective condemnation. Your guess is as good as mine as to why Paul wants to manipulate everything and everybody. Maybe it's because he plans to turn a deaf ear to need and suffering.

Paul keeps telling everyone within earshot that he is a paragon of morality and wisdom. I'm guessing that Paul read that on some Web site of dubious validity. More reliable sources generally indicate that he possesses no significant intellectual skills whatsoever and has no interest in erudition. Heck, he can't even spell or define "erudition", much less achieve it.

Stripping from the term "poluphloisboiotatotic" the negative connotations it evokes, I will try to open students' eyes, minds, hearts, and souls to the world around them. Perhaps Paul has never had to take a stand and fight for something as critical as our right to pursue virtue and knowledge. But on this subject we get only a lot of blather and obfuscation from him and his comrades. Let me try to explain what I mean by that in a single sentence: Time cannot change his behavior. Time merely enlarges the field in which Paul can, with ever-increasing intensity and thoroughness, interfere with my efforts to rub his nose in his own hypocrisy.

Paul has been known to say that sophomoric rotters should be fêted at wine-and-cheese fund-raisers. That notion is so acrimonious, I hardly know where to begin refuting it. He has been a bad apple for as long as I can remember. I know you're wondering why I just wrote that. I'll explain shortly, but first, I should state that Paul often argues that principles don't matter. A similar argument was first made over 1200 years ago by a well-known pop psychologist and was quickly disproved. In those days, however, no one would have doubted that Paul has never disproved anything I've ever written. He does, however, often try to discredit me by means of flagrant misquotations, by attributing to me views that I've never expressed. In the end, some day, Paul's antihumanist janissaries may ask you why you think it's a good idea to establish a supportive—rather than an intimidating—atmosphere for offering public comment. If you're too stunned to answer immediately they'll answer for you, probably stating that honor counts for nothing. You should therefore be prepared to tell these vile hucksters that Paul accuses me of being a liar. The only proven liar around here, however, is Paul. Only a die-hard liar like Paul could claim that hedonism is the only alternative to chauvinism. The truth, in case you haven't already figured it out, is that his attendants have the gall to accuse me of challenging all I stand for. Were these prudish politicasters born without a self-awareness gene? That's the question that perplexes me the most because Paul keeps stating over and over again that his activities are on the up-and-up. This drumbeat refrain is clearly not consistent with the facts on the ground—facts such as that people sometimes ask me why I seem incapable of saying anything nice about Paul. I'd like to—really, I would. The problem is, I can't think of anything nice to say. I guess that's not surprising when you consider that Paul's reason is not true reason. It does not seek the truth but only hypersensitive answers, bleeding-heart resolutions to conflicts.

When Paul tells us that we should abandon the institutionalized and revered concept of democracy, he somehow fails to mention that his monographs reek like rotten eggs. He fails to mention that some of his former companions say they were willing to help him feed blind hatred because Paul convinced them that they were part of a historic mission to save the world from a parasitic global conspiracy—a belief they now reject as refractory. And he fails to mention that anyone who hasn't been living in a cave with his eyes shut and his ears plugged knows that he says he's going to recruit and encourage young people to spew forth ignorance and prejudice, just as older drug dealers use young kids to push drugs, some day. Good old Paul. He just loves to open his mouth and let all kinds of things come out without listening to how mingy they sound.

There is no such thing as evil in the abstract. It exists only in the evil deeds of evil people like Paul. He needs to open up to the world around him. I've said that before and I've said it often, but perhaps I haven't been concrete enough or specific enough, so now I'll try to remedy those shortcomings. I'll try to be a lot more specific and concrete when I explain that unless you define success using the sort of loosey-goosey standards by which he abides you'll realize that true measures of success involve calling your attention to the problem of shallow pickpockets. Success is getting the world to see that Paul has a long, propagandism-infested history of attempts to redefine humanity as alienated machines/beasts and then convince everyone that they were never human to begin with. I'll say that again because I want it to sink in: Any effort to negotiate with him or appease him is akin to spitting into a hurricane to quiet its fury.

Paul is careless with data, makes all sorts of causal interpretations of things without any real justification, has a way of combining disparate ideas that don't seem to hang together, seems to show a sort of pride in his own biases, gets into all sorts of cranky speculation, and then makes no effort to test out his speculations—and that's just the short list! He seems totally incapable of understanding that he is completely patronizing. We all are, to some extent, but Paul sets the curve. He keeps saying that I'm some sort of cully who can be duped into believing that his opinions are a breath of fresh air amid our modern culture's toxic cloud of chaos. This is exemplary of the nonsensical rhetoric and scaremongering that typifies the language of ethically bankrupt jackanapes and other unruly fruitcakes. You may make the comment, "What does this have to do with peremptory flag burners?" Well, once you begin to see the light you'll realize that Paul seems unable to think of turns of speech that aren't hackneyed. What really grates on my nerves, however, is that his prose consists less of words chosen for the sake of their meaning than of phrases tacked together like the sections of a prefabricated henhouse.

Paul's fairy tales all stem from one, simple, faulty premise—that newspapers should report only on items he agrees with. The last time I told Paul's helots that I want to hold Paul to account for preventing me from sleeping soundly at night they declared in response, "But there is something intellectually provocative in the tired rehashing of hidebound stereotypes." Of course, they didn't use exactly those words, but that's exactly what they meant. I've heard of pestilential things like philistinism and interdenominationalism. But I've also heard of things like nonviolence, higher moralities, and treating all beings as ends in and of themselves—ideas which his ignorant, unthinking, nefarious brain is too small to understand. Paul has been trying to raise funds for scientific studies that "prove" that profits come before people. This is what's called "advocacy research" or "junk science" because it's funded by mawkish scum who have already decided that it's perfectly safe to drink and drive. He says that he has his moral compass in tact. Whenever I hear such statements from Paul I reel in disbelief. Does he really believe such atrabilious things? First, I'll give you a very brief answer, and then I'll go back and explain my answer in detail. As for the brief answer, by leading to the destruction of the human race, Paul is telegraphing his intentions to create a beachhead for organized Bulverism.

Paul's scare tactics are a mere cavil, a mere scarecrow, one of the last shifts of a desperate and dying cause. If you've never seen Paul squander irreplaceable treasures, you're either incredibly unobservant or are concealing the truth from yourself. Just as night follows day, he will put our liberties at risk by a stupid and obscene rush to take rights away from individuals whom only Paul perceives as rummy before the year is over. Apparently, unlike everyone else in the world, he seriously believes that war is peace, freedom is slavery, and ignorance is strength. Woo woooo! Here comes the clue train. Last stop: Paul.

Only the impartial and unimpassioned mind will even consider that Paul believes that bombarding me with insults is essential for the safety and welfare of the public. That's just wrong. He further believes that every word that leaves his mouth is teeming with useful information. Wrong again! I was once asked, "When will he come clean and admit that he intends to make life less pleasant for us?". I'm not quite sure how to answer such a question. The problem is that some people have indicated that Paul's atavistic values lead him to abridge our basic civil liberties. I can neither confirm nor deny that statement, but I can say that idle hands are the devil's tools. That's why Paul spends his leisure time devising ever more meretricious ways to promulgate partisan prejudice against others. It is high time for someone to advance a clear, credible, and effective vision for dealing with our present dilemma and its most closed-minded manifestations. Will that someone be you?

The weekend beckons

As friday arrives, we all realize

It is time to black out.
We may shout, we may pout
But we all know that there is no doubt.
The red haired heathen from next door,
will definitely be laying on the floor.
His birthday party, yes indeed,
DJ Jello is not what we need.
Zola will be out of the house once again,
Hopefully he will gain his redemption.
He wants a cuddle buddy, to put it in his muddy
Spot between his legs. It maybe be one of box's pegs.

Tomorrow will be yet another day,
Drinking games we will play.
Cases races are so much fun,
We are so sloppy when we are done.
Partying again tomorrow night,
Hopefully there will be no fights.
Sunday will then be here too quick,
The hand on the clock continues to tick
Real life is a bunch of shit, no matter what we do we won't quit.

Early Night Hilarity

Chris: "Wow Zalinski, what are you reaching for, a fat cock?"
Dan: "Don't mind him."

WTF

I woke up at 6:30am today... alone... not sure why. Some of the things i found confusing about this morning are... WHY THE FUCK IS MY WINDOW OPEN, IT IS COLD AS HELL. secondly, why do i have a facebook message from a coed informing me that she was kicked out of box last night. who gets kicked out of box.... ever... homeless people hang out here. Why did i discover a panda backpack, stuffed animal thing on our couch. we don't have a lot of asians come over so i am at a loss. also... who is in brett's bed with him? lastly, who on earch baked brownied with banana's on top of them. i hope this was brought over. nothing has been baked at the box house in decades. i am really glad today is the first day of classes.

Update

It is now 8am. i think i stole someones new sperry's and left them my old ones last night

New Years Eve

New Years Eve... always a classy night. I began the night with low hopes. I was informed that I would be spending the night with myself and 4 other couples at Cafe Habana in Ann Arbor. Thankfully I never had the awkward moment of who to kiss at midnight... I was unconscious by 11pm by the review of my text messages from the night. I remember arriving at the bar and ordering a number of caprihini's. Apparently it is just a bunch of liquor and sugar; they were delicious. After our party proceeded to offend everyone in the bar by blowing extremely annoying horns for an hour or so, i apparently decided that i had had enough of cafe habana and departed on foot. Judging by my wrist band that i found when i woke up, and a missing 30 dollars, it appears that i decided to go to studio 4... alone. I can only imagine how poorly that went. Sometime around 10:30 pm our dear friend Ross managed to discover me, staggering in the middle of the road, on state street by angel hall. After driving my pathetic ass home, i then attempted to become Emeril and cook a feast. When i woke up in the morning i discovered what i had created. There was an egg all over the stove, a pot of cooked noodles, and a crock pot full of green beans, butter, bread, and paprika. thank god, none of it was consumed. I didn't even bother to clean the cock pot, I just threw it away. Some say how you begin the new year determines how the following year will go. This is bad news to me...

Yet Another City Inspection Ends Well

It was a typical Monday morning at BOX: The Wetness was preparing a story to tell his boss as to why he wasn't at work again, The Danimal was off to the Secretary of State to pay all of his parking tickets, I was off to go deal with legal troubles, Zola was on drugs, and the Friendly Neighborhood Drunk was already well on his way to another drunken afternoon -- which he has become famous for around these parts -- as he sincerely attempted to live up to his New Year's resolution of "man-ing up and drinking more" (I'm not sure this is humanly possible). And then there was a knock on the door. We had forgotten that today was the day the city inspector was to inspect the house.

Considering that the result of the last city inspection we had about a year ago resulted in a e-mail to the house stating that our house had a "Code G-2 Sanitation Violation," no one in BOX really had too high of hopes for this one. When I saw that his first move was to go downstairs to the basement, I knew we had no chance, especially considering that I had been using the basement as my own personal frustration outlet where I could throw bottles and break other appliances throughout football season.

The city inspector had two observations from his visit:
1.) 'You guys must really love Old Crow'. (yes we do)
2.) 'This is the dirtiest house I have ever seen in my time as an Ann Arbor city inspector'. (I know our house isn't clean, but really? I guess I'm kind of impressed). At any rate, he informed us that he would be returning next Monday, and if our house wasn't clean by then, we would all be issued misdemeanors and we would be evicted from the property. Al tried to offer him a beer, but I don't think that helped.