Week of ________ Day 2

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What? Sorry, I was just waking up from a quick power nap in the middle of the hotel's lobby. Let me wipe up the pool of drool on the green-checkered cloth pillow next to me. The valet across the hall is giving me a dirty look for my slumber. I will say that it has been a long day already. And yes, I do believe in the concept of power naps. They have gotten me through many long drawn out days in the past. It's amazing what 15 minutes of R.E.M. sleep will do for you.

For full effect, download "First Of The Month" by Bone Thugz N Harmony and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post. That seems to fit the best for obvious reasons. And because the opening line is "Wake up, wake up..." which is exactly what I'm doing right now.

The picture above represents the cloth that I was donning as I got out of the shower last night. The hotel that I'm staying at is one of those prestigious fancy-pantsy places. I thought, 'what the heck, how many times do I get to wear a bathrobe in my life anyway?'.

This is a pretty high class hotel I must say. I would be surprised if high-roller douchebag Mike walks around the corner any minute now. I mean, it has everything. Fancy mints on the pillow, a barrage of the latest select porn flicks for only $6.99 a view, heck, this place even has order in breakfast which I abused to the fullest. I think at least one time in their lives, everyone needs to have room service. It makes you feel elite.

The reason that I'm up here is for academic college recruiting fairs, trying to get students to come to my Alma Mater to get a degree. I've said it before, I'm a traveling salesman. But at least I believe in the product that I'm marketing. One of the other recruiters put it best when he said that we're almost like creatures at a zoo, with the crowds going by and wondering what we have to offer.

High school admissions counselor: "And on the left kids, we have the University of Alaska-Anchorage with many bachelor degrees and a ferocious sports program."

Cue high school kids oohing and aahing.

High school admissions counselor: "And up here on the right, we have the Dixie State College representative. Careful though, he's a pretentious bastard."

Yep, that's all I am to these kids, just a talking display box that says what my school has for them to experience and enjoy. I may be a little bit ferocious at times, but if you just scratch behind my right ear and give me a handful of salted cashews, I'll play nice. And I'll tell you what my school has for your benefit. I am a traveling zoo patron who makes a living out of the presentation that I put on for adolescents all across the country.

After five hours of repetitive questions, handing out of brochures, and a few awkward gawking glances from odd-looking students, I pack up my bags and head to the lobby.

College Fair Organizer: "For all of the college reps, we have provided a light dessert in the foyer."

What? A dessert? You're feeding us animals now? This is great! After your excuse for a tomato veggie lettuce wrap I was handed with a bottle of luke-warm tap water at lunch, I'll take anything.

College Fair Organizer: "Please indulge in our delightful ice cream potatoes."

Cue perplexed/confused/WTF look by Swamp Thing the Zoo creature. A dessert potato? I know I'm in Idaho and that is your state vegetable/flower/animal/song. Heck, I'm sure Miss Potato Head is your annual candidate for the Miss America pageant and everything, but a desert potato? Where the heck have I traveled to?

After one glance at the above picture, I dropped my refreshment in the trash and collapsed on the 1% couch in the lobby. Fade to black as my eyelids seem to gain weight with each blink. In a few hours I'll be put back on display for crowds and people of all ages to stare at and ask questions to. Followed by a 2 1/2 hour drive to Twin Falls

With my luck they'll probably have dessert potatoes there too.

Location: In an academic zoo

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Week of __________

I don't know what to specifically call this Week of __________. Too many descriptive nouns and adjectives ran through my head. Heck, due to the picture above, It could be the Week of Putzes. But then again, I need to work on being more positive don't I? Whatever you want to call it, the upcoming Week of __________ will be following my recruiting trip to the Pacific Northwest. Hope it keeps you entertained.

For full effect, download "Comfortably Numb" by Pink Floyd and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post. That seems like the theme song for the day, even if I have used it in past posts. I was going to pick something like "Leavin' on a Jet Plane" By John Denver, but that just sounds too cliche'.

Let me back track an hour. Wait, hold on a second, let me recognize the greatness of our technology for a quick paragraph. Currently I am 29,460 feet up in the air transcribing my thoughts to all of you via my mi-fi connection. I am communicating my sarcastic subconscious and witty words from a floating metal box in the sky hundreds of miles away from you. I am beaming my updated blog status to a fart bleeping satellite in the sky and then sending it to you so that you can stay mildly pleased for 180 seconds.

Our world is a freakshow, I must say.

Back to the Putz. The fella in the picture is donning the classic douchebag high-roller businessman pinstriped suit with a haircut from his own private salon. He has a fancy leather briefcase and fancy leather gloves, and a fancy looking scarf to go with it. Who in their right mind wears scarves these days anyway? His state of the art iPhone 4S starts to ring.

High-roller douchebag: "This is Mike."

Yes there's a reason high-roller douchebag Mike that I give you that blogalias. Anyone who answers the phone second-person deserves a swift kick to their shrunken dangling participles. Amidst this imitation of a businessman's entire facade, he gives his tomfoolery away by leaning over to his muffin top co-worker and shows how he just bested his score on Angry Birds.

Wait, WTF? High roller douchebag Mike, you;re out on a business trip getting ready to do a high-profile power point presentation about the revenue gained last quarter by your integrated software upgrade in the Western region and you want to talk about your high score on Angry Birds to your co-worker? For crying out loud, you are one of the prime examples that our country is getting dumber by the minute. I'm a Communication major and could impersonate a better douchebag businessman than you're doing right now. Heck, I've already got the douchebag part down pat.

Back to 29,460 feet. The stewardess is walking down the aisle handing out cups of ice with a spitwad of liquid wrapped around them. The delightful botoxian airness named Cheryl smiles and hands me a ginger ale. Don't ask me why I always get that drink on flights. Maybe because ginger ale makes me feel a little more prestigious, almost like I'm an Englishman with a snooty nose and the heir to the Grey Poupon fortune.

Cheryl the Stewardess: "Can I get you something to drink sir?"

Swamp Thing: "Why yes, I'll have a ginger ale."

Cheryl the Stewardess: "Certainly sir, please take one of our complimentary hot towels for your face as well."

That sounds accurate doesn't it? Prestigious snoots who are heirs to mounds of mustard money get offered hot face towels all the time don't they?

The plane is beginning its descent meanwhile two puberty poppers behind me are arguably agreeing that Boise State is the best football team ever made, no question. Oh, you sheltered bandwagon jumpers. Shaking my head, I look up a few rows at high-roller douchebag Mike who is slouching in his chair like a spoiled six-year old clutching his iPhone and tapping the screen ever so slightly to get just the right velocity on his pissed off cardinal to knock over the elevated pigs. He raises his hang in the air in victory and proclaims to the rest of the plane his triumph.

High-roller douchebag Mike: "O'Doyle Rules!" (LTT)

This will most certainly be a long trip.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location: Up in the ****ing air!

What Costume Are You Wearing?

I know that I have been AWOL for the about a week and a half, but I think I have an excuse. Trust me, it has been a long, long, ten days. Please, no giggities...

With that being said, and the fact that I am unsobered up with a concoction of Nyquil, Mt. Dew Amp residue, Alka Seltzer and a Ritz cracker, I will make a feeble attempt at rejoining the blogging world, and letting my fingers keep you entertained for the next 90 seconds.

Again, no giggity.

Setting the sexual innuendo and sinus infection's aside, I would like to direct your attention to what I think is the best holiday of the year. Yes, that celebration that revives the demonic creature inside all of us. Here we are on yet another black and orange sabbath eve, continuing all of the terror traditions that have been carried out over the years of trick-or-treating and ghost stories. Pillow cases full of candy, pumpkin carving, watching scary movies… there is absolutely nothing better than this time of year. 



Halloween is one of the best holidays, wouldn't you say? I was always depressed as a little kid when it wasn't viewed in the same light as Thanksgiving or Christmas, and we never got school taken off for it. One has to wonder how random a holiday Halloween is in the first place with the main activity being getting dressed up in costumes and going from house to house asking for candy. 



I still remember my very first Halloween. I was Mario from Super Mario Brothers. Yep, that's right, fake Italian moustache and everything. Well almost. See, I wasn't from the most wealthy family in the world, so my costume basically consisted of a way too small pair of overalls, an old hat, and the plunger from my bathroom.



My next famous costume was a few years later when I was Michelangelo from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, who by the way is the best turtle of the four. But yet again, my costume supplies were low, and I had to settle on green face paint, a cardboard box, and a bunch of my clothes stuffed into a green jumpsuit. But hey, when you're that low on 
funds you learn to improvise and it works just fine. 



Over the years I have graduated from the video game toilet bowl cleaners and masked amphibian crime fighters, to the much more mature, more "hip" costumes of Matrix heroes and football legends. OK, maybe not the more mature costumes because wearing any type of costume celebrates the young person inside of all of us. 



Halloween is the holiday where the little kid we all hold back starts jumping for joy at the thought of wearing a huge Spider-man suit and staying awake eating mini Kit Kats all night long. Where else can you get away with that? I would have to say either on Jerry Springer or in a behavioral medicine clinic. 



I'm kind of stuck right now though. Here it is the day before Halloween and I still don't have a costume picked out. Should I be something funny? Should I get something that is scary to wear? Should I just not wear a costume and when people ask what I am tell them to guess? OK, maybe that last one isn't the best idea available. 



I guess the point of all of this is that there has been a mix of some of the most hilarious and ridiculous costumes ever created for this haunted holiday. However, I must say the funniest costume I have ever seen was my sophomore year in college at a party, when a kid walked in wearing nothing but a white Glad trash bag. I was intrigued by it and approached him:

Swamp Thing: “Cool costume. What are you supposed to be, dude? A ghost? A bubble? What?”



He chuckled and turned back to me, “A trojan.”



A Perverted Ghost Town

Seeing as how I’m in Arizona, and seeing as how there is absolutely NOTHING to do in this neck of the woods, I will revert to my passionate affair with a keyboard, and give you yet another blogpost. Oh, and by the way, I offer my sincere apologies to VRM Arizona Spaniard for neglecting his existence in this state. He does live within 400 miles.

Today’s recruiting journey has brought me through the lovely town of Sedona, and down to a place called Cottonwood, Arizona. Unfortunately there aren’t any psychics in this part of the great A-Z, so I asked the violet-haired hotel receptionist Kimberly what my options were for entertainment.

Purple Kimberly: “Well, do ya drink?”

Cue blank stare followed by slow negative horizontal head movement.

Purple Kimberly: “Well, there is this ghost town called Jerome, about nine miles down that way, you can always find somethin’ to do there.”

My ears pricked up. A ghost town? Like populated with ghosts? Actual floating sheets have claimed residence to an abandoned rambling of homes? I didn’t even listen to the next sentence that came out of the haggling hair-cutted hippie’s mouth, and jumped in my Rogue to see what this desolate former mining community had in store for the frightening of my life.

May I put out a disclaimer that I enjoy scary things. Wait, let me rephrase that. I L-word scary stuff. I would rather listen to a chained tale of ghost stories around a withering campfire, and then go sleep in a century old graveyard than most people would. I think it is the stories that are generated from these bewitched colonies that gets me the most intriguesd. Either way, Jerome was my place to be.

And sadly, I was let down. Cue four-part instrumental harmony of “Nearer My God To Thee” by the dead members of the string quartet as the Titanic was going down to get full effect throughout this portion of the blogpost. That was how saddened I was.

This wasn’t a ghost town! It was a tourist trap for out of state schmucks like me to wander around and buy useless stickers that say “Jerome: Population, Asylum” and magnetic jewelry bracelets that I can use to keep the negative energies away from me. This wasn’t some abandoned graveyard with eerie spirits wandering the streets. It was a Mecca for numbskulls to purchase independent oil paintings that a man who hasn’t washed his three-foot long ponytail in six months can rip you off by selling them to you. This, is NOT a ghost town!

Aside from the meager art stores every ten feet, the only other things that I saw were attempted appeals to the audience were bars, and boutiques. Holy Schnikey’s (LTT) were there a lot of those. There was a bar on every corner with a boutique right next to it. Almost as if the town mayor was saying, “Go get wasted on beer and black liquor, and then buy your wife an erotic pair of fuzzy handcuffs from Puffin’ Stuff.” Seriouly, that was a legit store, Puffin Stuff. I kid you not.

Was I the only sober person wandering around this ghost town? Were they classifying it as a ghost town because people thought they were hallucinating things left and right despite the fact that their blood alcohol level was .50? I wandered into the town museum and saw an ad for a Ghost Tour, meaning a 2-hour introduction to all of the haunted things that Jerome had to offer.

Swamp Thing: “Ooh! Sign me up for that!” I exclaimed to the second-hand smoke-smearing secretary named Evelyn.

Evelyn: lighting a cigarette. “Sorry hon, we only do those on weekends.”

Swamp Thing: confused/perplexed/WTF look across my face “Wait, so why are you advertising for it now?”

Evelyn: “Oh, just to get everyone excited for when we do offer ‘em.”

Swamp Thing: “Hmm…alright. Well, is there anything else to do in this town?”

Evelyn: “Well do ya drink?”

Cue blank stare followed by slow negative horizontal head movement.

Evelyn: “Well, there’s boutiques all around, you can always go buy somethin’ for the mrs.”

Cue blank stare followed by slow negative horizontal head movement.

I walked out of her office being let down by the fact that Jerome isn’t really a true ghost town. It was such a let down to come up here in the first place. Almost like being seven-years old, pouring out the entire box of Lucky Charms on to the counter only to find that there’s not a surprise in my bag of cereal.

As I walked past the former insane asylum now transformed into a museum, I looked in the windows at where they used to hold psychotic patients bundled up in straitjackets. Staring inside, I could see something written in the dust, almost as if a ghost had found the means to be able to communicate with us through messages in a dirty window. Squinting just a little bit harder, I made out the words, and instantly starting chuckling to myself. Cue picture:

Not only is this a ghost town, it’s a perverted ghost town. Somewhere I think Quagmire is lurking around.

My Psychic Experience

I will say as a preface that this may be one of the greatest blogposts that I will ever write. This will be of epic proportions. This may generate more feedback than all of my Week of Sex posts combined! This, my friends, is the story of my psychic reading.

Let me back up for one moment to preface the grounds on which this entire post occurs. By the way, for full effect, download “Psychic Chasms” by Neon Indian from iTunes and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.

Back to live action.

Currently I am on the western leg of the Arizona High School recruiting tour trying to convince students to come to my college. I was going to do a Week of Arizona blog, however I don’t think that it would have been as entertaining as the Week of Wyoming.

Right now I am in Sedona, Arizona, which is a beautiful, quaint little tourist town just outside Flagstaff. My evening plans were wide open due to the fact that I’m single and don’t know a soul within 400 miles. Minus the Swede. After an overpriced chicken enchilada, I strolled down the road and found a neon sign begging for my attention. Cue picture below.

Now I have never been to a psychic, but I have always been intrigued as to what occurs behind the purple curtains and misty crystal ball. This was my chance, and as I walked into the psychic reading store, I had my game face on, ready to challenge this supernatural superfreak. Biting my tongue, I paid the $35 for a 15-minute reading and walked into an 8x10 foot closet in the back of this perfumed domicile. It was at this point when one of the greatest lies I have ever told began to unravel from my lips.

For the record, let me just make the clarification that I am one heck of a liar. If you have read past blogposts, you know all about my dishonest achievements. I’m not proud of being an elaborate storyteller. This however was the best narrative that I’ve ever conceived.

Aarithika (Paid Psychic): “So, tell me about yourself sir.”

Swamp Thing: slightly blushing. “Well, I need to be honest with you. I kinda lied out there when I said my name was Justin. It’s actually Colby. I don’t know why I thought I should make up a name like that. Probably because I’ve never seen a psychic before. I’m a little nervous.” Cut to awkward giggling

Aarithika: smiling “Well, don’t be nervous. I’m here to help you.” Shuffling her cards, she asked me to select seven random cards from her deck and give them back to her. Meanwhile she began the interrogation process, while I began my fabrication.

Aarithika: “So, tell me about yourself Colby.”

Swamp Thing/Colby: Looking at the ground “Well, I’m feeling really down right now. I just moved out here from Virginia Beach, got a job with ADOT working with their I-89 construction. The reason I moved here was because I had to get away from Virginia Beach. There was just too many bad memories out there.”

Aarithika: Perplexed look across her face. “What kind of bad memories?”

Swamp Thing/Colby: “Well, the thing is, I used to be high up in a multi-level marketing corporation that helped people refinance their home loans. Things were going really well, until last year the entire thing just unraveled and went down the drain. Heck, I invested over $300,000 in the company, all gone.” Pause for dramatic effect.

Aarithika: “Oh my goodness Colby.”

Swamp Thing/Colby: Staring down at the shaggy mauve carpet “Add to the fact that the girl that I’ve been with for over seven years, decided that the guy she met in Texas on a business trip was a better lover than me, so she packed up her bags, and took our four-year old son back there to be with him.” Cue multiple sniffs as if holding back emotions.

Aarithika: Placing her shock hand over her open mouth. “Really?”

Swamp Thing/Colby: I yawned as she looked down at her cards to create dampening in my own eyes. Looking up at the ceiling, she could see a bursting of tears about to unload. “Yeah, and now I’m here in Flagstaff, working for some transportation company, wandering the streets at night, and I have no idea what I’m doing with my life.” Cue blink to trigger the isolated tear rolling down my cheek.

Aarithika: Shaking head in dismay. “And now…”

Swamp Thing/Colby: “And now I want you to tell me what to do in my life, cause I’m plum out of ideas.” (And yes, I did use the word plum)

For the next ten minutes, Aarithika decided that her best alternative was to give me advice on how to live my life. “Fight for your child.” “Don’t give up on your relationship” she said. Intermingled with a few F-words scattered amongst her advice, but hey, I can take it. This lady didn’t even look at her cards while she gave me her advice on how to live my life. I thought she was a psychic, not a backseat driving mother-in-law

“But what about the Queen of Pentacles” I asked pointing down at the table. “What is she trying to say to me?”

Aarithika: “She says to get back with your girl.” Oh. Ok. Yeah, I can see that. Queen of Pentacles always want me to get back with fictional dishonest mates.

Swamp Thing/Colby: “Now I see the seven, the eight and the Ace, what are all of these saying?”

Aarithika: “They are saying that you need to let go of your past business venture, and that great things are coming your way. Are you looking to open something else up?” Oh, right! That makes sense. Seven and Eight equal 15, add the ace which makes it 16, and that’s how old I was when I first started…Cut the crap! Since when do those cards mean new business opportunities?!

Swamp Thing/Colby: Confused/perplexed/WTF look across my face. “Why yes? Yes, I am. How did those cards know about that?”

I would like to thank the Academy for giving me this award.

Aarithika: “They are all saying that you should continue moving forward with that. Big things are about to happen in your life in the business world.”

A few more minutes went by, her 15-minute timer went off, a quick handshake happened and I was back on the streets of Sedona laughing my guts out at the greatest performance that I have ever done, even besting the schizophrenic date extravaganza. This entire thing was a joke if you ask me! And yes I just hit the exclamation point a bit harder than usual! She’s not a psychic. She doesn’t know my life. I just fed her a colossal sham and she ate the entire thing up. Heck, if she was a real psychic, wouldn’t she have said, “Your name isn’t Colby or Justin, it’s Brock Bybee, you fool, I know who you are!”

But she didn’t. And she wouldn’t have. And I just sat across a table conning this old hag out of what she has based her entire meager career off of. But then again, she just conned me out of $35, but that’s neither here nor there.

Are psychics real? Are they fake? Are they one of the most ridiculously stupid things to have ever been created since “Jersey Shore” You’re dang right they are. And I just witnessed it. And if anyone out there is dumb enough to believe that they’re real, then take a pit stop at my house in sunny St. George and I’ll give you my own psychic reading. Minus the load of crock that sits in a stack of tarot cards.

World Is Capitalizing On SEX!

SEX seems like it is taking over the world. Everywhere that you look there is something related to the topic of SEX. Whether it be on TV, in movies, or all of the pornographic Web sites on the Internet, you can't escape it; SEX is taking over the world. 



For full effect, download "Garbage Truck" by Sex Bob-Omb from iTunes and play and maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.

Why is SEX the most focal topic that makes the media industry rotate at such an immoral speed? Almost certainly at our age, SEX is a subject that dominates our thinking, and is extremely appealing to us. Heck, that's how I grabbed your attention to read this post: enlarging the word SEX roughly 30 times. Don't feel dirty for reading this; everyone else's hormones made them do the same thing. Heck, you did it when you read the infamous Week of Sex too. 



SEX excites us, doesn't it? SEX is what perks us up or draws us to anything. SEX is also one of the biggest no-no's in our culture as well. And if something is regarded in a negative light it makes us want to be a part of it even more. Hence, SEX is wanted by everyone.

 You can't watch a TV show, or movie, or even a Disney Channel cartoon without SEX being an instrumental part of the plot. At some point or time in the show there has to be a scantily-clad lady, a dirty joke, or at least one subtle reference to SEX somewhere in it. If not then there will be a “Girls Gone Wild” video advertisement at the commercial break. 



When you look at the magazine covers in the grocery store, what is the biggest boldface type word on the cover? SEX, of course. And it doesn't matter what kind of magazine it is. It can be a magazine completely devoted to ceiling fans, but the latest issue's main article will be something about which is the most fashionable ceiling fan to have great SEX under. You can't tell a joke without it having some sort of SEXual connotation, either. It's like jokes aren't even funny unless the punch line directs our thoughts to any subject dealing with SEX. Your mom, blonde or even corny Laffy Taffy jokes won't make us laugh if it's not about SEX. It's such a hard thing to deal with, and yes, that is what she said.



The Internet is a huge road with former sites such as MySpace, avenues for SEX to be paraded down as well. I can't tell you how many friend requests I would get from digital superhighway prostitutes on an almost hourly basis offering me some sort of SEX-themed Web site. The pornography they are modeling has to be an appeal to a young man coming of age. Why does the world make it so easily accessible? 



There's nothing that we can do about it I guess. SEX will continue to increase its monopoly on the world with morality and standards being cast out the window. In the meantime why don't we stand up for what is right and not give in to the filth-laden industry that is polluting our world? Just because everyone else is doing it doesn't mean we should. 



Am I making that big of a deal about this, though? Is SEX something that shouldn't be given much attention? I mean, in the words of a good friend, it's just SEX, right? It's not hard to avoid.

That's what she said.