Names for My Kids

by B.J. on 11/27/2007 09:29:00 PM 1 comments Print this post

Mahmadou, Kaka, Deion Pupunu, Didier Drogba, Socrates.

The names I want for my 5 boys.

Aren't those some cut-your-teeth-on-this kind of names?

If whoever I'd marry/mate with wouldn't concede these as first names, then you can bet that I'll stick it in there as lucky middle names.

I would make Mahmadou, Kaka, and Didier Drogba focus on playing soccer. Only soccer. Make Deion Pupunu play American Football and only American football --- don't want to mess up his life or anything, and I'd stick Socrates in a room full of math theorems, the Principia Matematica, and Hegel's writings.


I'd raise them on a farm, then move to a slum so they'd be some hardass kids, but I'd have enough for a car and drive their asses to get a good Catholic school education.

They would all learn how to build houses, filter any type of water and help so-called third world country water systems, and how to produce edible food out of garbage.

I want my next generation of genes to be able to kick the asses of and be much smarter than your kids, and live in real self-sufficiency.

When my job of kid-raising is done, my mate and I would move to the house that I had built up and stored, and rented out all these years. And all we'd do is live there, watch TV, fuck, then eat. Then write a book about it.

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by B.J. on 4/03/2005 06:20:00 AM 0 comments Print this post

A Funny Fucking Nightmare

So I was there about to fail a fucking test. Not just any fucking test. . .a fucking math test.

What the hell was I doing taking a math test ?

Well, it appeared that I needed to complete my math college credits after all, strangely back in my 11th-12 grade teacher Mr. Pascale's classroom, full of students who had attended class.

Right when I walked in, some random white guy who was in a preceding dream (which I've forgotten) asked me to give him the answers to this test via his cellphone as As he settled down in some desk, Pascale yelled at him in that manner that he always had. Though generally an affable guy, Pascale is this big, intimidating guy with the capacity to outyell a lion and a knack for making you feel pretty low especially come testing time.

I walked in feeling guilty because I had ditched class all quarter and here was Mr. Pascale right before the test talking up how hard it was, but in a way that said I-know-you-guys-and-I'm-going-to-give-you-a-boost kind of way to the virtuous students who had attended class regularly.

I'm pretty sure he looked at me and just didn't want to say anything to my class-ditching ass. I was the last person he would want to give a boost to. He was probably thinking, "man what happened to that virtuous, quiet Delas Armas kid who would ask for help occasionally ?" Then that thought was probably rimmed over by "oh well, he's going to run over by this test. . .but much worse than those other kids."

So that's what was going through my mind before I took the test. I was going to turn in the test right away and accept my F and hopefully somehow make it up during the quarter. I was also thinking how I should've dropped the class maybe like I should have dropped the History of Medicine 3D (hopefully that's not the case as my grade is still not revealed to me) rather than take the test.

Right before the test comes up, Piero Gonzalez, fellow OMGCer, Acting Friend, fellow Loyolan, current Brigham Youngin', turns around in a desk to my right in front of me tells me he's going to fail, that he didn't study all the material in the book. I sat there thinking, yeah but you still know worlds more than me cause you've actually been to class and do your homework. Shut the hell up, Piero. Stop rubbing it in.

I opened and took one glance at the book I never opened and it indeed looked really complicated. Each of the problems looked like they had a long process that required deciphering and translating. On top of that, usually I'm not really good at remembering these long processes without long intensive study. To think, all this could have been avoided had I gone to class. At least I would know where to begin. I'm pretty sure there were matrices and sigmas --- just stuff that I really couldn't wing.

Then some kind of Hawaiian Music with Kanye West played and the test began.

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A Dream

by B.J. on 8/18/2002 08:21:00 AM 0 comments Print this post

In my last level of subconsciousness, I stood poised ready to attack a bunch of Iraqi rebels surrounding a broken down school bus with water balloons and knives (haha, no kidding). Our commander was barking out instructions that I couldn't understand, and as I began the descent from the slider on the rope, I forced myself back because I was too scared ! Suddenly, I end up in front of this Baghdad-style marketplace with UHHH---MURR-I-KUNN people. I felt like I was in that Tofu Festival all over again. All of a sudden, we (I assume the crew) end up at this booth with a celebrity, maybe Big Boi from Outkast. A security guard steps in my way to see Big Boi and says it's past hours. He then gets some blonde security guard girl with her top twisted in a knot revealing her belly and threatens me with a plastic-handled serrated edged knife. I say, "Uh uh, it's not Cutco ! You can't do damage on me !" The security guard girl and I have a shouting match as I am slowly walk away and tail off into some Beverly Hills mansion, where army men with sunglasses tell me the mission failed. Aye !. . .Caramba !

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Another Dream

by B.J. on 8/11/2002 08:38:00 AM 0 comments Print this post

Just a few minutes ago in my REM stage, my mom died. I grieved and felt so disoriented that I was going to just close my eyes and let my car just fall off the hill I always "bust a U" on. All of a sudden, I was driving on this flooded freeway with the Doc trying to get home. It was like Noah's Ark only there were about 1000 other high-speed arks trying to get to their places as well. I ended up at Ray's house, which magically morphed into what looked the bottom floor of the old condo I lived in. I found out that I was dead, as well as the Doc, K-Dawg, BLEP, Shar, Ray, the whole crew ! Ray sang this song about how BLEP died, which was thru cancer, which gave her headaches everyday and spread and spread. After that Jungle Book-like performace from Ray, he and K-Dawg told me that I could play with the minds of people who were alive by turning the lightbulbs on. . .counterclockwise. . .like Ray's house, haha. So I did that for 2 or 3 tries, and some big black dude who knew Keith, with magic glasses hugged the hell out of me. Then, I heard a herd of people coming up the escalator in Universal Studios, where I had magically travelled to, meeting up with other dead people and taking pictures. Out of the herd, I actually embraced my AP teacher and counselor. Then I finally saw my mom walking casually in her customary red long-sleeved collared shirt and black pants, gave her a big hug, and woke up to a a drunk-faced George W Bush. Wow, was it the 3 sips of the Smirny or the mystical effect of seeing the city and being a bit closer to the stars ?

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Another Dream

by B.J. on 8/02/2002 09:07:00 AM 0 comments Print this post

In my REM stage of sleep today, I asked my old entrenador de correr about my status on the team. Then I remember the assistant coach and a kid that looked like his son running up to the van where my old coach and I were at. This thin son running up reminded me of those freezing days as a competitive runner, wow. No matter how fast I ran, I would only end up in the middle of everyone else, this lost pack of red, blonde spikey- haired white boys in black jumpsuits, and I felt the blood freeze in my vains every time (maybe also because the rains started in October, but that's not the point !). I would come hulking after each race, always worrying about how I couldn't F-I-N-I-S-H and how I would be able to even withstand the next race. This is where "Stan", Eminem's song, blitzed thru my mind before every damn race, which lead me to finish in the bottom middle as opposed to the middle middle in the last three races of the year. Gid Gad.

On a lighter note, today on the Today Show, this tackified, fake-mustached hack (not HHAC !) ripped Goldmember by calling it the worst movie of the year. Well, this guy Gene Shalit also hated AP 2, so I wasn't expecting a good review anyway (Realistically, is there any way to make a teen movie that will get rave reviews from tight-assed, white, middle-aged scumbags like him ?). Gene ripped Mike so badly I cringed and clenched my stomach. He took shots, re-loaded, and took shots, till Mike was nothing but a single grain of ash. However, I was spiked most when he plain-out, straight-up called Beyonce a bimbo. Kinda funny though, how I will heed his advice, and not pay to see it. Hello Keith's computer !

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