Unfortunately, there isn't any Pro Wrestling on Wednesdays

I haven't been all to productive lately. Since I've been back at School I've barely written or even thought about writing. I feel like my mind is mush. For some reason I've been kind of "social", which is a concept that is largely foreign to me. I wouldn't say that I'm inept, but rather that I choose to be a social extradite. I'm not sure if that's the correct usage of extradite but I also don't care enough to look the legit definition up.

I guess I want my last semester to be memorable, whereas most of the last year and a half of school has been a blur and mush of self-deprecation and loathing. Finally I've accepted that I'm fucking awesome, and that I don't need to take shit from anyone; let alone myself.

This is a new blog, and as you can see this is my first post, and while the title may not be so pretty, it fits my writing style. I also didn't name it, my flatmate Nick Paradis did, and I couldn't help but keep the name and the layout he presented. For all those of you who don't appreciate an awesome picture of Mel Gibson, you clearly haven't seen Braveheart, and I disagree with your life choices.

On another note-

I lost the life of something very dear to me two days ago. My old trusty macbook pro laptop, circa, 2007. It got my through some tough times and went through a lot. Like my cousin Dan spin kicking it off my desk, or when I rolled my car, and the countless punches I would use on it to jumpstart the hard drive if it was being a bitch. Slipping on ice and landing on my backpack was the straw that broke the camels back. Hopefully I can retrieve the information off of it but it may be no dice.

I've come to decide that the Mac store is a hell that no one should ever have to see. Every second you're in there is as painstaking as staring into the sun, or standing on hot coals. It's just a dreadful place filled with moderately intelligent, not well groomed, ugly tattooed, hipster fuck-sticks. The moment you walk in you're greeted with a fake smile and instead of looking into your eyes and greeting you every employee stares down at the ipad or iphone that populates their hands as they check you in. Of course they don't actually care about your computer problem they just want you to buy as many more apple products as possible.

"Oh your hard drive is acting up? Well maybe if you bought this new useless touchpad mouse, then you can pay 100 dollars to use mobileme to give yourself virtual head, everyone will be happy."

No fuckheads, I want my computer fixed. After tinkering with my computer for a measly two minutes the tight-jean wearing scumbag tells me that there is nothing they can do for me in store, but if I spend nine hundred dollars for a warranty I can send it out for more competent and qualified people to look at and replace the parts that need fixing. The problem can be as simple as they just need to attach a part of the computer a little more snugly, but the only way I can find that out is by sending it out for two weeks after spending half of what it would cost to buy a new computer.

Fuck. That. Noise.

I'm a student, I don't have the time to send out my computer for two weeks for you guys to sit around with your thumbs firmly planted up your ass. Really it has to be a ploy for them to just get more people to buy computers and you know what... it fucking works because I left the store that day with a brand new mother fucking macbook pro minus two grand and with a sore asshole. While I hate those mother fuckers in the store I do have to say they do make some great computers that work unbelievably well assuming you don't fall on them due to the two inches of sheen ice that covers my driveway from the perilous winter that has befallen us.

The process of buying anything in the mac store itself is as painless as getting your teeth pulled without nova-cane, or watching a nail go right through the center of your foot. After I weigh my options and decide it's best to buy a new computer the bloodsucking begins. They feed on the customers as if it is the only thing keeping them alive. I could make a Twilight reference here but in five years if someone reads this nobody will remember what that is.

So I leave the genius bar only to be swarmed by their salespersons. Of course the one I get is British so he has a cool accent. I appreciate the accent, but then I look at his gauged ears and almost start to feel the grease from his hair sticking to me. Then I look at his attempt at a five o'clock shadow which just makes him look like an even bigger prick. Instantly, I want to get out of this situation as fast as I possibly can.

I feel like that's their plan. Hire the ugliest, most impersonal people to make you feel uncomfortable so that you either leave or are forced into buying things. Now since I needed a computer he knew I was going to be leaving with one. So after I decide what computer I want the guy just starts throwing products at me and I feel like I'm being covered in locusts. I resist a few but eventually give in to a few just so he won't have to keep talking to me. Finally our transaction is finished and I no longer have to look at him. They then set me up with one of the most awkward and dweebiest people alive. I can't remember anything about him other than a stench that reminded me of old people and a whitehead the size of everest that could've been anywhere on his face, because thats all I saw when he talked to me.

(Really this is all making me look a lot worse than I actually am. I'm not all that superficial but when in a Mac store my senses are heightened and my spidey senses start tingling. [That spidey joke is lame but sometimes you just have to be lame.])

So whitehead face talks me through setting up the computer and for whatever fucking reason I have to watch these stupid asshole videos that tell me I just bought a mac.

Really? This is a mac store? I thought I was buying chapstick.

He asks me what I want to name my hard drive, in obvious fashion I name it "Party". This confuses him and he even asks me if that's really what I want to name it. I shoot the whitehead a look and say condescendingly, "yes." He then helps me through a few more things and I can't wait to be on my way but before I go he extends his hand as for me to shake it. Not to be a total dick I always accept a handshake but I am met with the sweatiest, flaccid handshake I have ever received. Whitehead walks away and I am bewildered and disgusted with everything that I have encountered in this experience. I put my new computer back in it's box and throw all my packaging on the floor as I think I'm entitled too, I mean I did just spend two grand. So I leave the place and immediately seek to the bottle of Crown Royal I have tucked in my coat.

Assholes, all of them.