Wednesday, June 4, 2008

Ok, so your number is... 867-5309? Awesome. I'll call you sometime.

So this past weekend, I went to CTOPS registration.  It was one of the most fun weekends I have had in a good while thanks to drunkenness, amazingly bodacious seventeen year olds, and being able to drive faster than 35mph in a majority of the city.

Friday is slow. We hang out at Chimble's house, play some guitar hero, watch a TERRIBLE show called Awesometown, and then go to pick up his drunk friend Karma. As it turn out, Karma is completely wasted I promised her that I wouldn't write about her, but I have to include this one awesome occurrence of the night. She was throwing up in the bathtub for a good hour or so when she finally decided to get out. Being the nice friends that we are, Chimble and I attempt to help her make it safely out of the tub and into some real clothes.

Despite living there for a good two weeks, he has no idea which nozzle in his shower controls which temperature. As soon as he tries to turn the water off, the bathroom starts to fill with steam and the screams of burning woman. I'm sitting by the sink, laughing, and watching him fiddle with the nozzles for a good ten seconds before he runs out of the room and goes to enlist the help of his roommate Steve.

Saturday night, we go over to a house  party. There are a good 30 people there, but one girl caught my interest. In a house full of Seersucker and Polo attire, she was wearing a cliche' 70's headband with matching shirt, some BDG jeans, and black clogs embedded with fake looking diamonds. You can tell that she's the Janis Joplin kind of girl who lives under the influence, and smokes a pack a day.

So I sit down and instantly start shooting as much game as I can. She was mine. A few lines of mine:

"Yeah, I'm going to school here next semester. I'm like, number one in my class or something back home."
"Oh, you're from the mountains? I love mountains. Some people call me an "Outdoors man". "
"You smoke American Spirits?  Cool!"
"Hell yeah, I love to paint. You should see some of my work. Pretty much all I do in my apartment is smoke and paint."
"I just got out of an abusive relationship."

It was pretty much my typical mack AKA I just made up stuff about myself.  Everything was going fine. She said we were soulmates. And then she had to leave.

Seeing my opportunity about to disappear, I decided to ask her for her number.  I told her I'd give her a call sometime soon.

After she left I asked her friend if she had given me her real number.
Whale: "She gave you xxx-xx19, right?"
Kane: *Looks at phone, sees xxx-xx20* "...Yes. Of course"
Whale: "...Really?"
Kane: *Drunk* "NO. :(*

Monday, April 14, 2008

April needs to slow down.

Parrott Had their prom this past week as well. I went up to the beach as a DD for my boy, who was trying to meet some girls; who, at those houses, were practically handed to you in a goody bag upon entering. Worse turns to worse, and I end up driving some drunk marine's tanked out truck to the store to buy some cigarettes. We'll call my passenger "Buddy", as that was a term he was pretty fond of.

"I've never been pulled over before. Two years and counting", I tell him. A fact I was really proud of at the time. Two minutes later, I'm sitting in a gas station parking lot, pulled over, with blue lights in my rear-view.

Kane: "What do I tell him? What did I do?"
Buddy: "I don't know dude, just tell him what he asks."
*Cop walks up to the window, flashlight in hand and skeptical look on his face*
Pig: "You boys been drinkin' tonight?"
Kane: "Nah, I'm actually a DD for the night."
Buddy: "I'm drunk and there is a shotgun in the back of this here truck."

There is no way I can describe the look that came over my face when I heard Buddy say that to the cop.
Pig: "Excuse me young man?"
Buddy: "I have a gun in the back of the car. It's unloaded and I ain't tryin' to get no concealed weapon ticket."

Suprisingly, him clearing that up and being so honest with the cop got him off our back. Cop pulled me out of the car, told me that I was one of the worst truck drivers I had ever seen, informed me that turning lanes an dividing lines are not just there to make the road pretty, breathylized me, attempted to get me to tell him where the party was, and sent me on my way. He didn't even give Buddy a ticket for underage drinking!

Thursday, April 3, 2008

New Month

Conversations with my boss at GS:

Rodney: So, Kane, isn't it funny how different our generations are?
Kane: Uhhhh. I guess. You wear sweaters to work, I wear polos. Crazy.
Rodney: That's not the only difference. For example, what would you say if I told you to straighten up those shelves over yonder?
Kane: Ummm... "OK"?
Rodney: Well, maybe the first time. Maybe even the second time. But on the third, I'm pretty sure you would give me some "lip".
Kane: I mean, it is my job... I doubt I would complain about having to do my job.
Rodney, as if I had answered"Damn right I would"*: I guess I should just learn to expect it. Your generation doesn't realise how easy you have it. All the rights you have that MY generation earned for you.
Kane: Rodney... You realize, I'm not black, right? I would have the same rights despite what your generation had accomplished. Probably more.
Rodney: Right... Well anyways, go home and change your shoes. You have to wear dress shoes to work. And remember to clock out until you get back.

And another.

Rodney: Kane, why are your pre-orders so low?
Kane: Because we're located in the Twin Rivers Mall. We don't get any customers.
Rodney: Rubbish! What do you call those over there? *points at two little babies running around the store*
Kane: Children who's parents drop them off, with no money, while they go check the blue-light deals at K-mart. Every single day. Do you think we can get a sign that says "GAMESTOP IS NOT FREE CHILD CARE"?
Rodney: Kane, you're looking at it the wrong way. Go up to them, tell them about upcoming games. Perhaps they will get their parents to buy them later.
Rodney *to kids*: Hey guys! Heard about Super Smash Brothers Brawl?
Kids: *keep running around like hooligans*
Rodney: It's coming out soon, and it's really going to revelutionaryize the gjonder of fighting games
Kane: Excuse me Rodney?
Rodney: Brawl. the fighting gjonder is going to be revolutionaryized by it.
Kane: Ok, that's waht I thought you said. Just making sure.


Sunday, March 30, 2008

Godly in life, mortal on paper.

As if applying for college didn't make me feel "normal" enough, here I am being forced to apply for scholarships. Now, I don't know about most people, but filling out applications really brings me down. The realization that I'm not very special hits hard.

They don't care how far my guild has progressed into the Black Temple, they don't want to see my Overkills in matchmaking, and they sure as hell don't want to read my blog. They don't even care about what I do on the weekends, what my friends think of me, or what kind of person I am. All the things which seem to make me who I am, all the achievements I am proud of, are deduced into GPAs, extra-curriculars, recommendations, and essays.

Spring break is, unfortunately, coming to an end. Despite my earlier prophecies, I actually managed to have a pretty amazing time. Matt and I went up to Raleigh from Wednesday to Friday, which was pretty life-changing.

We saw Badfish, a Sublime cover-band, at the Cat's. Scotty Don't opened for them. First off, the amount of jokes Matt can make out of "Scotty Don't" blows my mind. I think I heard them referred to as "Scotty Don't put it in that hole, Scotty Don't nut yet it's only been a minute, Scotty Don't know when to get off the stage you're so terrible as a band, etc. " Ask him yourself if you want a full list. It goes on for ages.Scotty don't wast pretty terrible, so naturally, when they got off the stage, we cheered at the top of our lungs. Only minutes till Badfish was coming.

As it turns out, Badfish is Scotty Don't with the lead singer wearing a different t-shirt. Sort of like Spider-man is Peter Parker in a spider suit.   They were way better at cover songs though.  After the concert was over, Matt and I had to sneak back into Merideth. This consists of spooning in the very back of Catherine's car with Matt, laying under a blanket, with a cooler on top of us.

There is a bunch of other stuff I could mention, but I have a raid starting in 25 minutes. While it may not be important to the Albert G. Banger Memorial Scholarship Comittee, I'm getting my epics tonight.

Monday, March 24, 2008

First Random Comment

So, I got my first positive comment from a random person the other day. On my "Music" blog. This may seem like nothing to people who don't actually WRITE blogs, but to me, it's a milestone. I honestly haven't been this excited in quite some time.

Her name is "The Shrip Queen", and she writes about fish. And cooking fish. How to cook fish, and the life of a fish cook. At first I thought to myself, "What in TARNATION could a fish-cook find interesting in my blogs?", but then I noticed her personal page.

Actually, her personal page doesn't even give that much away. Her favorite movie is Don't Be a Menace to South Central While Drinking Your Juice in the Hood. Which I had to IMDB in order to see if it was real, by the way. She listens to Nirvana, Sade, and N.E.R.D.

This next passage was taken directly from her blog, from a story that deviates away from the big blue.

"It all began when I got into an accident last month. It involved sleeplessness, darkness, and a stationary utility cart sitting quite comfortably in the middle of a usually(but not at 11:30pm) highway. Bottom line? It was my fault. From the insurance company's wack-ass P.O.V, "What if it had been a small child?" If this conversation had not been recorded for training purposes, I might have revealed the answer that A. The child would have been one dead mothafucka. B. You would not be recieving a call from my ass."

This one is to you, Shrimp Queen. Keep making those shrimp and grits, and I'll keep writing for you. I appreciate your hits.


Spring has come, and, although originally dreading it, it actually doesn't seem that bad. The flowers blooming this year seem brighter than the last.

Spring break, however, has maintained the life-long tradition of boring  me. Everyone is out of town, and my "only two friends", according to someone I know, live out of town. There is literally nothing to do.

The prospect of a week out of school SEEMED exciting at the time, but I think it was just an illusion brought on by the fun I was having during the 180 days of torture. I had a "party" before we got out, and was actually able to see a glimmer of hope for the rest of the year. Some of the mentionable honors for the night were:

- A friend of mine passing out WHILE using the toilet. Pants down, on the stool, stone-cold. His name won't get put on the internet due to the fact that his mom has ties with Big Brother, but most of the people reading this know who it is. There are pictures.

- My ex-step-brother coming over with his new girlfriend. While she was over here, I happened to bring up her ex-best-friend that he used to see. I tried to play it off, but just continuously laughed in her about my mistake.  Oops.

- The toilet-drunkard getting up, driving to school at six in the morning, going to Raleigh with Science Olympiad, throwing up multiple times during the day, and STILL qualifying for the state physics competition. Tank.

- And last but not least, Justin. Just everything about him.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008


Intelligence, according to Wikipedia, is an umbrella term used to describe a property of the mind that encompasses many related abilities, such as the capacities to reason, to plan, to solve problems, to think abstractly, to comprehend ideas, to use language, and to learn.

After spending the last few nights of my life wasting away to countless episodes of CSI: Las Vegas, I have come to the conclusion that they are wrong.

Gil Grissom is the man. Anyone who watches the show knows that. When it comes to getting stuff done, he is numero uno. If you commit a crime, you are getting caught under his watch. Don't even bother messing around with the evidence, getting false testimony, changing your gender, killing the witnesses, etc. It's no good against this gumshoe.

I consider Grissom to be the epicenter of intelligence. The modern day Coeus. By diving deeper into his personality, it has allowed me to get a bird's-eye view of what intelligence really is. It's not being able to find the derivative of the limit of the log of ln(x). It's not being able to deeply analyze the world, make profound psycological breakthroughs, or even developing ideas that rock the foundation of society.

It's about knowing random facts, and being able to introject them in conversation at the correct time.
- Being able to console that cross-dresser by telling her about oysters that are able to spontaneously change gender.
- Knowing the key ingredients to everything ever made, and what the human bodies reaction to each ingredient is.
- Making references to Van Gogh when a victim is missing their ears.
- Confusious: "If you try and chase two rabbits you end up losing them both."
- Countless more examples that I can't even begin to fathom at the moment. I don't have enough time to list them all.

I present you the smartest man alive.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008


I understand that different kinds of people like different kinds of music. Different stuff floats different people's boat. However. I've noticed an increasing number of  boys jamming to The Kooks, Jack Johnson, and the GooGoo Dolls.

Being the self-proclaimed "Most Hardcore Mother-fucker Alive", I only listen to metal. No other types of bands are really music. ACDC, The Beatles and Elton John are all posers. They just take stuff that Slayer has already produced and pump it full of estrogen. Unoriginal.

That guy with the multiple piercings and 16k silver wallet chains? The one walking around school in his Lamb of God shirt every single day? The one that you always see shredding on the guitar after school; pumping out Dragonforce, the hardest metal known to man, like some sort of aparition of death? Yeah. That's me.

I laugh as I walk down the sidewalk and these Weezer fans jump out of the way in fear of the good ol' fashion five fingers of fury. I can't think of a kid in town whose ass I haven't kicked.

Yeah, I've got a weapon on me. More than one actually. Razors, Iron knuckles, my spiked HIM belt, all that. If you were raised like me, you more than likely would also. Murders, kidnappings, I've seen it all. Done it all.

Damn right I'm in the Anime Club. I co-founded it. You claim it isn't good? That I'm a weeaboo? Shows what you really know. Anime is the best form of artwork in the world aside from Slayer albums. It is able to capture emotions and ninja techniques ten times better than film.

I just figured I'd tell all the other guys out there to quit being girly-men, and start rockin-n-rollin like I do if you ever want to get somewhere. If you don't have Slayer playing on your iPod every waking second of your life, do me a favor and get out of mine. Get a taste in music, and realize that you're wrong about what is right.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

March, trying to meet quota.

With Super Smash Bros. Brawl released, I don't know if I have time for life anymore. As sad as it sounds, I feel like I just had a deployed father come home to me.

My ex, who I am still good friends with, isn't allowed to talk to me anymore because she has a super clingy boyfriend... hope she is able to get out of that one!

Monday, February 4, 2008

Sports. Serious business.

So, as I assume everyone already knows, the Giants unexpectedly won the Superbowl last night. I watched the game up in Wilmington, and was actually rather excited that someone got the Patriots back for beating the Panthers. We were all kind of drunk when it ended, and a few of my friends brought up the idea of calling Stu and Big John up in New Bern to ridicule them about their "Unbeatable team" losing the Superbowl.

Before I go any farther, let me just make it clear I have no interest in football, or sports at all for that matter. Instead of watching the game on Monday night, I sit at my house and kill Internet dragons with my buddies. I was just looking forward to the chance to make someone mad.

So Gunderdick sends Stu a text massage saying "Haha patriots lost".

Almost instantly, Stu calls him up and begins to flip out. He talks about how Gdick doesn't know what he is saying, about how lucky the Giants got, and how Gdick is a moron in general. About 14 minutes into the conversation, it doesn't even have anything to do the the game anymore.

Gunderson slams his phone shut, vows that he will "Kill Stu", goes inside, and slams the door shut; more than likely waking up the two girls that were under us.

Naglefar, the voice of reason, sits outside with me for a while and we both came to the conclusion that sports are a game, and if if they make your life, you're a tool. However, we also decided that we would egg both of them on in a chance to see two of our good friends fight to the death. I'm putting money on Gdick, and will be selling tickets on a future blog post if the events do occur.

In conclusion, if you let sports rule your life to the extent that you are willing to get in physical fight over a game and a text message, you're doing it wrong.

Thursday, January 31, 2008


As most of you know, I have an undying love for video games and dinosaurs. Therefore, years ago when I saw Turok 64 on the shelves of Target, I was instantly sold. Well, not instantly actually.

Here is a quick synopsis of the storyline of Turok 64: You're an Indian who is in the past, but is ALSO in the future. At the same time. I don't know how they sucked me into believing that, but I was eight years old at the time.  You're in the past to kill another Indian, but the game doesn't give you a reason why. He didn't kill your family, he isn't attempting to rise to power in any way, he doesn't do anything bad at all. He just lives Indian life, and probley smokes hookah all day.

On the way to kill him, you also slaughter hordes of dinosaurs. Again, for no reason. At all. Hell, it's not even in self defense. You hear a T-Rex roar on the other side of the continent, run over, and stick your sword in his butt. Then you treck ALL the way back to the other coast and start chasing after your Native American rival again.

Eventually you get to some tower in the middle of the jungle, fight a giant praying mantis, and kill the Indian at the top. With a crossbow, for some reason. You use semi-automatic firearms throughout the entire game, but when you fight your rival you have to use a crossbow. Not just any crossbow either. This was a Future-Past Crossbow.

Turok came out for the 360 today, and my work had too few copies for me to check out. Boo hoo; I suppose I have to wait. I. the meantime, I guess I'm going to sell my body in an attempt to buy a Wii before SSBB come out.

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Foreign language

Ever since Sophomore year, I have had a lack of enthusiasm for school. I haven't been able to do my homework, I haven't been able to pay attention in class, and I have definitely not been able to respect many of the teachers that are employed that are often in charge of leading the classrooms. Although I was hoping the teachers would get better as I made the slow and steady trek through high school, it turns out most of them are the same.

If you want to talk about a terrible school department, ask me about Spanish. I took Spanish 1 in my Sophomore year, and honestly consider it the worst mistake I have ever made. Actually, the first two weeks of class weren't that bad. We had a decent teacher who knew what she was doing. Then, out of the blue, she decided to retire. Two weeks into the semester and she decides to retire. Of course, the Craven Country School System, being the incompetent people they are, had no idea what to do.

Two days later we have a new teacher. Her name is Mrs. Nogalam, and she seems to be a decent lady. "Como esta!" she greets the class, as if we're some sort of spanish natives. She is returned with silence, mainly due to the fact that no one had any clue what she said said. "¿Que'tal?" she inquired; only to be met with blank stares and questioning faces from her students.

That was when it hit me. The Craven County School Board hired a Columbian woman who had no idea how to speak English. She had no clue how to speak English, and we had no clue how to speak Spanish. What an awesome learning environment.

She passes out notebooks and tells us "Work please." No instructions, just "Work please." "Please tell me this is a joke God."  I had to suffer through her class for the next 16 weeks of my life. I finished my workbook, the one that is supposed to take all semester, in three days. I figured she wouldn't actually check them, so I just rewrote the question in the answer blank. Hell, I my friend Whitey wrote the word "Pero-gato" in every answer blank in the book and finished in three hours. For those of you who don't know, this means "Dog-cat". We both got 100's.

Over the course of the class a few interesting things happened. A black kid in my class spilled lemonade on the floor, and she tried to suspend him for urinating in her class. We tried to tell her it was lemonade, but she didn't listen.

I had gotten to class early one day, so it was just myself and her in the class. I say "Buenos dias" and go to sit down when I hear trampling feet behind me. A 6'x" black kid runs into the classroom, leaps all the way to the  ceiling, screams "KOBE!!!!!" at the top of his lungs, and karate chops a pinata, hanging over the desk she is sitting at, in half. It explodes and candy rains down from the heavens as if we're in some sort of sugar carrying El Nino. It lands all over her, myself, and practically every other square inch of the classroom. The kid falls to the ground, grabs a piece of candy, and bolts out the door. I have never seen this kid again but, to this day, he is my hero.

In retrospect, I actually had quite a few funny moments in the class. I also didn't have to do any work at all. Too bad I didn't learn anything and have to suffer for it now. I have Mrs. Drofmom this semester, and she honestly isn't that bad.

Monday, January 28, 2008


I'll admit it. I'm a pretty shallow guy. Go ahead and scold me for it, for frankly I don't care too much. It's not like it's something I can help. I sub-consciously like good-looking people more than others. You probably do it as well, even if you haven't realized it to the extent I have.

Soon, to sound as cliche as possible, I'm going to be heading out into the real world. I'm meeting a lot of new "virtual friends" (I am awesome) who will be going to school with me next year, and I can already tell that this is going to be a problem. I get AIM messages from people that have found my name through Facebook, and look them up to see what they look like before even responding to their hello. Here is how a typical conversation goes with someone I don't find to my interest.

XxFaTbItCh69xX: Hey! I saw you on Facebook and you seem like a really interesting person. I'd really love to talk to you and find out more about you, as well as your plans for next year.
Me: Hello. (I then realize I accidentally responded before the necessary inspection, and go to search for them on Facebook. I realize my mistake in responding).
XxFaTbItCh69xX: What's up?
Me: Nothing much, I was just printing off some pictures of you.
XxFaTbItCh69xX has signed off at 11:32:45.


XxFaTbItCh69xX: Hey! I saw you on Facebook and you seem like a really interesting person. I'd really love to talk to you and find out more about you, as well as your plans for next year.
Me: (No response)
XxFaTbItCh69xX: What's up? You there?
Me: (No response)
XxFaTbItCh69xX: HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY! Where are you! I really want to talk!
Me: (About fifteen minutes after her first message) Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to leave my AIM on. You won't believe it. I just finished my sculpture of my level 70, Orc Shaman.  I made it out of toothpicks, took me two years.
XxFaTbItCh69xX has signed off at 11:32:45.

I think that I just need to watch Shallow Hal a few times and let the morals sink in.


So I was sitting at lunch a while back with Kelsey, Macbook, Emily, Bridges, and Philo when I decided to take a look at the T.V. overhead that was displaying glamor shots of all the people who went to Prom. All the sudden, I see a whale appear on the screen.

I think "Wow, If I looked that, I would never leave the house." Being around friends, I tried to express my opinions by pointing at the screen and stating, "I don't understand why someone like that would spend a couple of hundred dollars trying to look good, when they're still going to look awful." This only elicited responses such as "You're an awful person" and "You still want to look good for Prom, even if you're ugly".

I'm talking about the girls who aren't made out of sugar, spice, and everything nice. The ones I'm talking about are made out of thalidomide, gallons of alcohol, and bad genes.

I guess I'm just against the whole prom thing in general, really.


So for some odd reason, I have decided to start a blog.

Now I know that any of my friends reading this are going to say "Isn't Kane always the one who relentlessly makes fun of bloggers?" Well... yes. I am.

So yeah. That's about it. Read on if you want, but you'll more than likely be bored out of your mind.