Tuesday, November 13, 2007

I Think My Apartment Is Haunted

Some weird shit has been happening in my apartment lately. Doors open and close by themselves, strange noises are heard at random moments throught the day.

Perhaps the most disturbing thing has been the sound of footsteps coming down my hallway. My apartment has hardwood floors, and every other day or so, when I'm alone, I've been hearing someone walk across the floor, in what sounds like hard soled shoes. "Clump, Clump, Clump". It's a little unnerving.

My roommate has also heard these things as well. He told me that he had been noticing that the door to the hallway has been opening and closing by itself. One night he made sure to close the door firmly, to see if anything would happen. Later, he woke up in the middle of the night, and saw that the door to the hallway was wide open. I was out of town that night so it wasn't me that opened the door. I don't think he'd been sleepwalking either.

I live in an old building, that was built in the 1920's, so it is entirely possible that "ghosts" may be lurking. Are ghosts real? I personally don't have any strong feelings either way, but these odd events taking place in my apartment are hard to ignore.

If this ghost is real, then it is a third roommate, and would need to pay rent. It's only fair.

How much? I don't know yet, but its already going to get a pretty good deal since it won't be charged for utilities.

If you are a ghost, you don't need water and electricity, but you are living in my apartment, trying to scare me, so you are paying some of the rent. Fucker.

Right now the "haunting" has been pretty benign. I do have a plan however, should the ghost try to escalate things, and attempt to scare me in my own room a la The Grudge.

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If some creepy long haired ghost woman comes crawling into my room, I will immediately throw off my blankets and start masturbating furiously. I mean, full on, death grip try to start a fire with my penis, furious.

I believe this plan will be an effective counter strike towards the ghost's attempt at trying to scare me. In fact, if done right, masturbating furiously will freak out the ghost instead of me. It will be such a different reaction than what the ghost will be expecting, it will have no choice but to retreat and rethink things.

If the ghost stops, backs up a little and thinks to itself: "What the fuck? Did that guy just start masturbating?". The plan is working.

Any further attempts to scare me while I am masturbating will only make the situation even more awkward for the ghost.

"Gruuhhh (Grudge-like moaning).....shit man..that's just..Come on! You're gonna pull that thing off!"

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The image of me will be burned into the ghost's mind, haunting it forever. I win.

Friday, November 09, 2007

How Many Snakes Can You Fit In Your Ass?


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DUBLIN, Texas - Another day, another bizarre world record for Jackie Bibby, the "Texas Snake Man." Bibby spent about 45 minutes in a see-through bathtub with 87 rattlesnakes Monday, fully clothed, shattering his own record by 12 snakes just in time for Guinness World Records Day, which is Thursday. A Guinness official certified the record.

The record was Bibby's latest grab at glory. Last year he set a Guinness-certified record by holding 10 rattlesnakes by their tails in his mouth at once. He said he hopes to break that record Tuesday by squeezing in an 11th.

And in other news, there is still no cure for cancer.

Monday, November 05, 2007


I hate Vegas. No, I take it back. I mean to say I hate the last few hours of Vegas.

For me the perfect amount of Vegas time is two nights. Anything longer than that usually results in great pain, and aggravation. The last time I went to Vegas, after three nights I decided I had enough. The fun of Vegas wears off quickly, and soon after all you see and hear are striped shirted douchebags high fiving and yelling. During the third night, after having been on a bender since the minute I arived, I decided that I needed to leave Vegas immediately. Nevermind the fact that I had a flight leaving Vegas at 3pm, I decided that the best time to leave Vegas was right at that moment.

So, I left the club, packed up all my things, and took off for the aiport. I didn't tell anyone I was with that I was leaving. Much of my memory of that night is fuzzy, I pretty much only remember leaving the club. The next thing I remember was being jolted awake as my plane landed in Los Angeles. I had a temporary freak out, not knowing exactly where I was for a few seconds. In my lap rested a half eaten croissant sandwich, and I had about 15 voicemails on my phone from my friends wondering where the hell I went.

I got off the plane at 9am, stumbled to my car and drove home. At 9:35am, after I had just entered my apartment, I realized that I had left all my baggage at the airport, so I had to go back. Luckily my bag was still there, lonely in the baggage carousel. Vegas: 1, Eric: 0

I went to Vegas again, over the weekend for my Cousin's wedding, and this time, I was only staying for two nights. Perfect. This Vegas trip was going to be a success!

Unfortunately, a clean escape from Vegas ended up being a pipe dream when US Airways canceled my 2:30pm flight out on Sunday. Bastards! A customer service representative told me that there were no more flights leaving Vegas, and that I would have to fly a different airline, or stay in Vegas for one more night. I chose to fly another airline. I bought a ticket on Southwest, for an 8pm departure. Ughhhh....Vegas:2, Eric:0

Anyway, here are shitty pics from the weekend, taken from my phone. There are no exciting photos.

I stayed at the Riviera Hotel, which is pretty trashy, but that's what you get when you don't make hotel reservations until the very last minute. How trashy is it? Here is the Riviera's take on wireless internet:

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When I landed, I had to go to the store to buy socks, and shoes. That's what you have to do when you pack at the very last minute. Here are two guys that are totally shopped out.

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My parents came over to check out my hotel situation, and immediately started talking shit. Mom goes "Eric, your hotel room doesn't even offer shower caps". Ah shit Mom! You totally nailed the thing I hated most about this hotel! No fucking shower caps! Yeaarrghhh! I mean, right? Wet hair, the horror.

She started talking some more shit here:
"What are these, your sister's pants?"

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Gotta love the jokes. Go back to your fancy room in New York, New York or whatever the hell that hotel is called.

Here my Dad, wearing Costco's finest goes:
"Hey, I gotta live with this woman"

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The jokes don't stop. I was stuck in the middle of an Asian flavored comedy sandwich.

Here my mom demonstrates the one sip of beer she had in order to get drunk enough to go on her first date with my dad centuries ago.
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I have no other pics other than this one of my Uncle reading an old poem at the wedding dinner

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I told you the pictures weren't exciting. I don't have a fancy digital camera anymore. All these were taken on my phone. All the pictures taken at the bars and clubs are on other people's cameras. Lame. Actually, perhaps its a good thing. I don't need to see myself falling over stuff.

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