The New Dog!

2006-02-08T17:54:00.000-08:00

Oh, wait. That isn't the new dog. That's the designated house super hunk. Grrr...

Bowser the Dog

2006-02-08T17:52:00.000-08:00

Cute, no? He was adorable up to the moment he laid a steaming pile of dogshit on each of our three floors after being let outside for an hour to complete that very task. Bowser is only 3 months old and is already infinitely offensive to eye, ear, and nostril.

2006-02-08T17:47:00.000-08:00

And this is where that magnificent mound of steaming poo came from. His balls haven't dropped yet, as you can see. When they do we'll have to get him laid. As it is he can't get enough of my leg. Apparently my leg looks and smells like a real bitch.

Woe is me.

2005-12-07T18:30:00.000-08:00

I'll preface this by saying I was not drunk when this occurred.

So I was taking a shower after a long day's work and felt completely exhausted. I rarely have the time or patience to reflect on time passed, so the shower is like my Fortress of Solitude. I closed my eyes, relaxed, and let the medicinal stream of water wash away my worries. The water started to get into my ears, disrupting whatever balance can be attained from the little hairs inside. My eyes being closed as well, I had zero feel for up, down, right, and left. Before I knew it, I went crashing through the shower curtains and tumbled onto the bathroom floor, invoking images of Kong plummeting to his own end.

Of the six roommates, three were in the adjacent room watching the tube. Expecting a hearty and well deserved verbal applause, I was surprised at the apparent lack of concern for my well being as I furtively left the bathroom. My elbow was still bleeding and blood was slowly creeping down my shin. Two of the bastards never turned my way. The third slowly peered over his shoulder to see what the commotion was about, saw the blood, farted in acknowledgement, and turned back to Curb Your Enthusiasm.

Beats living with women.

Moral Victory?

2005-11-25T17:30:00.000-08:00

A moral victory is equivalent to finding the perfect woman only to learn she is actually a man. It's not much to write home, or gloat, about.

If I had a dollar for every Texas A&M football moral victory, I'd have $11. I could buy 3 Sonic milkshakes with that.

That is all.

Unsolved Mystery

2005-11-03T20:00:00.000-08:00

So I was taking a shower at the gym and discovered I needed to blow my nose; I had a mighty congestion. Being in the shower, a place of infinite cleansing powers, I decided it was the ideal setting to let loose with a gust of hurricane force nasal winds. I was impressed by the quality and quantity of the expelled substance. It had enough mucus to allow smooth passage for the larger congelations but wasn't too liquified to seep between my fingers. Towards the end of this momentous occasion I gave it one more zealous push and felt a lone booger exit my right nostril. I looked down into my hands and couldn't find the little bastard. Where did it go? Flustered, I thoroughly ruffled through the hairs on my unshaven face and chest for the missing booger. I am certain it didn't fall to the floor, because I gave it a good lookover as well. I didn't care so much for the safety of the booger as much as my own personal hygiene. Don't get me wrong - I felt bad for the little shit and would gladly have rescued it had I successfully located it. I was more concerned that I, or someone with boobs, would come upon it at an unfortunate time when a randomly placed booger would hinder my ability to play the part of the devastatingly studly and debonnaire southern gent.

I often wonder about my mushy mucus sidekick. I pray it finds its way home, which is anywhere else but on my forehead or inside my boxers.

The End.

Oh, Samus! Oh, Master Chief!

2005-10-24T21:33:00.000-07:00

Somehow I knew Master Chief and Samus would have ugly kids. Other than not having any clear indicator of gender, "it" also has a bladder control problem. Notice the little floating fecal morph balls. He got that from his parents. Have you ever noticed how Master Chief and Samus never stop to take a dump? I would hate to be the guy who cleans their suits.

Fear the wrath of Mer!

2005-10-24T18:47:00.000-07:00

It might not be much in comparison to the wrath of Khan, but it still hurts like a bitch.

Eek!

2005-10-18T13:24:00.000-07:00

Maybe I'm a giant walking vagina, but this creeped me out as I was climbing the ladder. The neighbor's garage opened, no one came out, and this chilling little cretin was the only humanoid in view. I would look over my shoulder every 5 mintues or so hoping the anklebiter had left. After 15 horrifying minutes of sweaty nervousness, I realized it wasn't an anklebiter at all. I relaxed a bit, but still had the nagging feeling that he/she/it would come alive, sprint across the street, climb the ladder below me, and ravage my body with a morning star similar to what the Witch King used in Lord of the Rings.

I need a beer to restore my man juice (no, not that kind of man juice).

I rock.

2005-10-18T13:19:00.000-07:00

As promised, this is the north side of the house. I may have exaggerated when I mentioned there was little difference between the old and new paint. Still, it's a major pain in the ass. I could be murdering Huns and Greeks instead of doing something productive.

2005-10-16T22:41:00.000-07:00

My dad thought this was funny; Superman usually doesn't need bandaging.

Dammit Meredith!

2005-10-13T21:26:00.000-07:00

You actually broke the news to yourself, seeing how you are the only one who actually cares to read my pathetic blog. To any anonymous lurkers, yes, I, Ben McBride, do suck and am moving up north to try my hand at DC. I really don't feel too bad leaving Meredith behind in Middle-of-Nowehere, TX. She lives there on her own volition. I'm kidding. I might miss her weaponized elbows and unnatural pillow-fighting abilities a little bit.

Below is a map of my new home. The house is a block away from Eastern Market, the nearest metro station. Apparently it has a decent BBQ restaurant; I'll reserve judgement until I've tried it. Pennsylvania Ave. is loaded with bars, so I'll be sure to investigate thoroughly the quality of Yankee booze. I will miss dearly the shameless Texas marketing labels on the Bud Light bottles. Maybe I'll have my parents ship me some in case of sudden homesickness.

I leave on the 27th of this month, so I'm going to enjoy the last bit of Texas I have left. Unfortunately, that involves painting my parents' house. I'll post a picture to show how little the difference is between the old and new paint. Oh well. I'll be getting a tan at least. If only I can keep from falling off the ladder. That hurt like a bitch. Maybe a few beers will help keep my balance. It's worth a shot.

2005-10-13T21:16:00.000-07:00

My new home!

2005-10-11T13:07:00.000-07:00

This is my bitch.

And the Lord said it was bueno.

2005-10-11T12:38:00.000-07:00

After many hours of grueling sweatshop-like labor, I believe I have found the proper format and background for a blog only I read. If nothing else, I have been added in one roll. Mission accomplished.

If, by some chance, anyone reads this and doesn't like the background, I really don't care; the picture is perfect.

2005-10-11T00:11:00.000-07:00

Texas. We're better than you, and we know it.

Never Trust a Woman with Directions.......

2005-10-10T23:13:00.000-07:00

......especially one with the initials MJM. Good grief. Pointy elbows and all, Meredith single-handedly diverted our course 63 miles, causing us to trek through every litte crap town between Waco and BFE. She maintains that I, a male with perfectly healthy testicles, somehow managed to get us lost. She also claims that a kolache is some type of weiner wrapped in bread. According to anyone other than Meredith and the imaginary friends she creates, it is not.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kolache

Ha! Eat it. They're quite tasty.

I had one hell of a weekend. Texas beat the snot out of OU. A&M lost handily. The Cowboys stomped a mudhole in Philly's ass. I was right, Meredith was wrong; on all accounts. Order is restored in the world.

Between watching football, drinking to unimaginable excess, waking up in a random apartment, waking up in my own car, running into my own car, selling my soul to Starbucks, driving one corpse and her uncontrollably yappy friend with unnaturally dangerous elbows through the armpit of Texas, laughing at the Nordstrom's piano man, realizing the same man actually has a job, stuffing my face with eggs benedict alongside an ice cold beer, and praying for dear life as our intoxicated driver caromed through downtown Dallas, all the while finding twenty synonyms for "hooker" to call his girlfriend, a psychotic bitch destined to be a resident of either Arkham Asylum or lot #38 of Dallas County Cemetery, I had an uneventful weekend.

Real Bloggers of Genius

2005-10-06T11:18:00.000-07:00

Bud Light presents: Real American Heroes
(Real American heroes)

Today we salute you, Mr. Pointless Blogroll Filler.
(Mr. Pointless Blogroll Filler)

Thru the miracle of mindnumbing and utterly senseless web publishing , you allow those of us with no friends or marketable social skills to pretend we actually do.
(I'm no longer a loser!)

Through bad times and worse times, you've got an electronic friend that will always fill your roll.
(Thanks but I'm not gay!)

What else says "I'm a winner" like a blogroll more full than a gay man's ass in a San Francisco prison?
(Wow that's really full!)

So crack open an ice cold Bud Light, Mr. Pointless Blogroll Filler guy. We may not have any human friends, but thanks to you, we can feel like we do.
(Thank you Mr. Pointless Blogroll Filler!)