Did you know, April 14????

Did you know???:

During the first weekend of the firearms whitetail season, the amount of armed hunters in the woods of michigan would be the equivilent to the thrid largest standing army in the world only following those of China and the United States? I guess that makes me a private?

Forget Texas; don't mess with Michigan. Word.

march 18, 2008

That's my birthday! In case you missed it, don't feel bad, I didn't cry too much or anything. In fact, this was probably one of the sweetest b-days yet. Parties, women, Trek 4900 Mountain Bikes, it was all there. The festivities started on the 18th after school in the parking lot, where I hosted an amature bash in spot 250. The only problem was the weather was shitty. Like 50 degrees and that kind of shitty mist that just falls but isn't really raining, you know what I mean. We partied for as solid half an hour and then called it quits. Unfortunately for Harry, the partying/weather was simply too much for his body to handle as he got a fever of like 105 that night or something. Reward is not without risk!

Anyways, the big present was of course the sexy, gorgeously contoured bike. I fell in love with it at first sight, but sadly she didn't feel the same feel. However, the bike and I have worked out our problems and now have a strong friendship, especially when I got flat. That's right, I got a flat tire after riding a grand total of 1.48 miles around grandma's backyard. Apparently thorns/sticks are not good to ride over. In my sudden infactuation with biking I started building a mountain bike path through the woods in the backyard which is halfway done. Knowing me it will stay halfway done the rest of the summer, but let me tell you, its a great first half. I even built a bridge of rotting 2x4s across the creek. The wood rot makes each time across much more dramatic not knowing if you'll make it across in victory or fall into the four inches of icy spring water in painful embarassment.

Another highlight was the party I had on saturday. We had a nearly out of control bonfire, delicious hot dogs, and some great rounds of sardines. If you don't know, sardines is the much more social version of hide and go seek. One person hides and then the rest of the group races to find and hide with them. Mike, Jon, and I hid on the driveway in trash bags and almost suffocated in the 20 minutes it took the girls to find us. Before the party I spent 30 minutes cleaning up all the dog poop in the back yard. I still missed some though, as evidenced by jon's shoe.

I ate my birthday cake in 2 and a half days: delicious. Word.

belated st. patricks day joke

I heard this one in european history as told by mr. dent while he was trying to explain social darwainism. Enjoy:

Well, in his small town everybody knew Patrick as the local drunk. On weekends and even on some weeknights he could probably be found at the local pub complaining to the bartender, sympathizing with the patrons. One night Patrick stayed at the pub particularly late after a particularly hard day of work in his dreary cubicle. He stays until around two o'clock in the morning until he decides to leave the bar and go home before his wife, Kelly, gets too upset with him. But Patrick has had so many drinks that he falls out of his stool and has to crawl to the door. At the exit he tries to prop himself up using the doorway for support but he falls in the mud outside the doorstep. In the rain he drags himself to the bus stop where the driver, noticing Patrick lying near the road stops and opens the door, "Patrick, ya drunk, get in the bus, and hurry!" Patrick tries to use the handles on the three stairs leading into the bus, but again is unable to lift himself. He crawls and finds a seat while the driver takes him to his house. "Patrick, we're here, this is your stop. May God protect you because I 'ave no doubt in me mind that you're wife will be waiting for you. Now get off the bus you drunk!". Again Patrick crawls up the front walk and into the house, quitely opens the front door and stops on the landing inside. Listening intently he hears Kelly's snoring and continues slowly up the stairs until he gets in the bedroom and slides himself into bed.

The next morning as Patrick comes down the stairs to Kelly's freshly made breakfast she yells at him, "Patrick McClaughlin! You were out drinking last night again while I waited for you with dinner for three hours! Three hours Patrick!". He tries to defend himself as he hoists himself into his chair, "How do you know that, woman? I was in bed early last night!". With a suprised look on her face Kelly yells, "Because Patrick, you left your wheelchair at the pub!"

state meet

On friday and saturday this last week Oakland University held the division one swimming and diving state meet, and like I told my cousin, the meet was the super bowl of swimming. Were we this years Giants, or maybe the Patriots? No, we were more like the Packers, except we don't have a 70 year old heroic grizzled old man leading our team. Ya, a sixth place finish wasn't quite what we were looking for, but I don't care. We bit the living shit out of Stevenson.

So I must have some deep animosity towards that team down six mile, right? No, actually. They're a bunch of guys just like us; hard working, down to earth, and not too bad at swimming either. But you see, after league meet their coach told whatever local equivilent to the Northville Shittyrecord they have in Livonia that they should have beaten us by 100 points at league meet, and that their diver's disqualification was totally ridiculous and even said that diver would have won league meet. Keep in mind we lost by 9 points, 640 something to 650 something. So first things first, that heavenly diver didn't even make the first cut at the regional meet, where our own Kevin Bain moved on to states. But that's not the real problem. That coach said he should have beaten us by 100 points. Our team doesn't take to well to being disrespected like that. You want a hundred points, you asshole? Look at the state meet results.

But during the meet we hung out with the Stevenson kids quite a bit, and even those pranksters from Plymouth. It was a WLAA reunion. I may end up in guantanamo for saying this, but I, along with others, were actually cheering for Stevenson's relays.

The meet was such a big deal that I had my mom pick me up my first fastskin that I didn't borrow from someone else/steal. If you don't know what a fastskin is, it's a ridiculously tight suit that comes in different models that actually repels water off you. Can you walk on water with one? Not quite, but you can come pretty damn close. But my size 30 was tight as hell, and keeping my ass from hanging out was a serious concern.

But I definitley enjoyed the meet, especially a certain part of finals. You see, if you're seeded first in any event after prelims, you get to pick the music that you walk out of the marshaling room to the blocks to. Of the twelve choices, there was some Linkin Park and some other pump up music, but I thoroughly enjoyed "call on me" by eric prydz that Brother Rice's medley chose. It makes sense that Brother Rice would choose a fruity techno song, but everybody loved it anyways.

I celebrated with a mountain dew. word.

and Saint Peter said, "welcome to dundee"

As I listen to Sean Kingston while writing this fatefull post, I think of perfect beaches along the turquoise sea with the light breeze of midday providing just enough escape from the tropical sun; there is also a scantly clad beautiful woman lying next to me and, at the perfect times without my needing to ask, getting up to give me a massage.

Since this will likely never happen, although I like to stay optimistic, reality beckons me to the 'heaven in Michigan' that I feel I have yet to truly experience. I have spoken of the pearly gates before, and even visited them; only to be stopped by my existential views of the doorkeeper. But armed with the knowledge of fruitless English classes and the direction of a Garmin GPS system, Micheal Paul Hagan, Gregory "middle name here" Sheppard, and myself, Alexander Clayton Malloure, ventured to the line on that tropical beach, and after a long gaze and rushed thought, took the rash step across.

"Well, we're in McCain country now, boss" I said to Greg as he tried to find a parking spot in the suprisingly crowded Cabela's parking lot early Sunday morning.

"Ya, tell me about it" Greg replies. "Ohh, wait, there's one". Our collective eyes light up at the spot amazing close to the door, but as we pull closer we see the obstruction.

"Is that even a car?" Mike asks.

"Barely," I reply, "It's a Geo".

"What's a Geo doing at cabelas?" Greg asks.

"They're probably from Ohio." I reply. As we all think of how boring Ohio is, I recall our focus to

our first main priority. Pictures with the bears. The Statue of Liberty-esqe artwork adorning the front of the 4 trillion square foot showroom embodies the Republican "right to bear arms" philosophy common in southern Michigan. Good thing I didn't drive; my Obama '08 bumper sticker could have gotten me chastised.

As I flung open the double doors and walked through the gates, I was greeted with a "are you 18 and if so would you like to sign up for a Cabela's Visa?" "No, sir, I'm afraid not, but thank you for your kindness. I love this place. I love you."

Immidiately we walked to the Boone and Crockett whitetail records. I don't know why, but I felt as if the deer were having a conversation, and our walking up to them was taken as incredibly rude. We trudgingly walked off.The excitement around me was palpable, and we quickly made our way to the aquarium where we saw the largest catfish I have ever had the pleasure not to have to eat (the objects that appear to be small rocks are actually human skulls that the fish has collected over its many years).As we moved onward through the fishing department I fanasized about using the most expensive and latest gear to haul in that monster catfish that labored for breath under that dead log. Until, that is, I crossed the bridge. No, I'm being quite literal here. The bridge inside the store is up to Malloure specifications and crosses the trout stream that cuts through the heart of Cabelas. Immidiately my Montana fly fishing insticts were tripped, and, like Jodi Foster in "Contact", drifted deep into a memory of pristine, rewarding Cutthroat fishing at dusk in the beautiful Yellowstone wilderness. Then some bitch hit me with a cart and walked off.

I too, not playing the fool, walked off and meandered around the Chocolate Factory as if I had been hand picked by Dick and Jim Cabela to recieve one of their Goden Tickets. Immediately my eye caught the Bargain Cave banner, and we entered. Trying on every piece of Camo and Carhartt that looked in any way fitting and looking for obvious defects, I grinned knowing that I would never have to wear the artistic sin that I currently was taking off and hanging back onto the rack. I left the Bargain Cave feeling much more confident in my jeans and sweatshirt.

Finally, we circled the mountain and looked for the famous grizzly bear. Passing first the black, then brown, then polar bear killing the muskox scene, we finally found the bear, and something

curious right next to his outstretched arm and razor claws. Camoflauge hats, with a strange logo on the them. It seemed to be a navy blue, large, block 'M'; an important symbol in my family. How could the University of Michigan disgrace itself with the travesty of lost tradition? The confusion I felt can be summed up in this photo:

Damn you Rich Rodriguez.

Anyways, in the words of Unwritten Law,

"Went to heaven,

couldn't get in, for what I have done.

I said please take me,

They said you're crazy, you were too much fun."

We decided on Arby's and ate our first dinner. Word. Below I have included some other pictures that are worth taking a look at.

spring training

Its that magical time of year again, thank God. The birds are starting their migration back from mexico and the tropics, the snow is turning into that lovely slush, and of course the Tigers are back in action. But not the tigers of years past. If last years team was your standard bengal tiger, and the year before that was your siberian tiger, this years team is you're goddamn liger or some crazy beastial shit like that. Ya, a liger. The biggest and baddest cat out there. I take pity on Kansas City.

Needless to say, I am hoping for great things. No, let me rephrase; I am expecting great things. Here they are in order of most immidiately necessary.

1. Fix Iraq and mess'opotamia in general.
2. Beat the living shit out of the Yankees each and every time possible
3. Stop global warming and save the rainforest
4. Win the olympics
5. Get Leyland to quit smoking (or at least cut back to 1 carton a day)
6. Beat the yankees again
7. Cure cancer
8. Make Ford profitable again
9. Help me with my chemistry homework
10. Get Granderson elected mayor of Detroit

wrestling

Although league meet was quite dissapointing, we weren't about to let that feeling of "damnit" get in the way of our fun. Fun that generally involves wrestling at the post league meet party. I am proud to say that nobody was killed in the fighting that occured in my basement, although much respect was gained and lost that night. I barely even knew it had started, but somehow Jurr had gone into the back room and found the mats, Inchaus had moved furniture, and muscles was setting up pillows against the glassware. Even the parents got into it, and in some odd displays of care dads were calling for their sons to, 'kick his ass!'.

I chose to fight Nate Lunn in a rematch from last year which ended in a tie. The highlight (other than my baiting him with a dollar bill) was the cirque de sole shit towards the end. On opposite corners of the mat and with time running down, I sommersaulted across the floor into what would have been Nate's ankles. But he instinctively jumped, and I not knowing this popped up to grab him.

this is the photo taken right before I threw nate into the attic.

he weighs 40 lbs.

Although the fight looks quite one sided, it ended in a draw. That's okay though because Nate and I were proffesionals, and were simply trying to put on show for a well tipping audience. Word.

Ohh, and I'm not sure why, but for some reason dad decided to wrestle me that night also. I'm not sure if he had one too many or what, but he obviously wasn't thinking clearly. When I found out he was actually trying I decided to stop the fooling around and pinned him. I would have been nicer, but in front of the team I take no mercy; I gained much street cred. that night. Word.