Lilly Allen Makes Nice Music

I really like what this girl has to offer. She's like a sexier version of Kate Nash because she talks about getting plowed and offing her bf in her songs all the time. That's what I'm looking for a in a 19 year old pop artist. Offing your boyfriend. Nice work.

And she's not so bad to look at. Or beat it to.

But I digress. I’m back in the Northeast finally. I had a pleasant stay down in Houston where I met a number of interesting people. When I say interesting I, of course, mean that they had poor dental hygiene, enjoyed using their bluetooths, and probably couldn’t see their toes because their stomachs were in the way.

Don’t get me wrong, Houston was an interesting place and I’m glad I went down there, but I just don’t want to live there. Perhaps things would be different if I was working a big boy job where I wear a shirt and tie to work every day and my co workers had names like “Bill, Dave, Cynthia, or Karen” instead of names like “Laquisha, Ray-Ray, Zawadi, or Bubb-Rubb.” All I know is that I have decided that of all the places that I could start out in after college, my sister’s couch in Houston, TX isn’t one of them.

The very last night, I got into an altercation with one of my co-employees. Here name was Tristyna. Yeah I know, what the fuck. I was trying to use my Aramark bucks (free money) to buy one of her pretzels at 2:44 pm. The reason I was doing this at that time is that at 2:45 pm, the gates open and thousands of patrons flood into Reliant Stadium. This day was ZZ top so you can imagine the kinds of characters that were gnawing at the gates about now. Tristyna said she wasn’t open yet, so I suggested that she take the Aramark buck and write it down in 2 minutes, when she was open. She didn’t see the sense in that, and things began to escalate. I basically ended up using big words at her while she insisted that she wasn’t open for a period of time until I was satisfied that I had confused her sufficiently. Best part about this was that she didn’t have a bottle opener and she had to come over to me about 10 minutes later and ask if I had an extra. I told her that I “wasn’t open right now. Come back in a few minutes.” That really pissed her off, and made me feel like a big man. Mission accomplished.

So I left Houston Tuesday morning and on my first flight I met a very interesting single serving friend. The term “single-serving friend” is a Fight Club reference. It denotes that everything on a plane is single serving. Single serving salt, single serving drink, single serving sandwich, and the person next to you is a single serving friend. It was a massive black lady who took up, legit, one and a half seats. I was disgruntled and fell asleep, only to be woken up by her giant tendrils of fat that were flowing over and about to suck on my neck. Just when I was about to snap, she leaned over and said with a killer southern accent, “You wan sum catfiss? My sistuh cooked it up nice and frish this mohnin’” I accepted her offer and had me some delicious southern fried catfish. I bet her sister had a pan, she had a plan, and she fried that catfish in her hand, because it was pretty amazing. Anyways, we got to talking and it turns out that she had a stroke a few years back (which is why she was wheelchaired onto the plane – I’m a quick learner) and she just kind of hangs out at her home in North Carolina. She recently built her home to be handicapped accessible and she is a Jehovah’s witness. Go figure. She just kind of sat back in her and half of my chair and spun me yarns about her three daughters, and one crack dealing son who was killed about twenty years ago in a drug deal gone bad. It was a fairly real conversation. Then, out of nowhere, she pulls up her purse and whips out, no lie, at least 20 pills. She calmly takes them all, while still telling her stories, and then puts away here pill holder, and keeps right on going. She was a beaut.

The next flight I met this lady who was also in a wheelchair but she was skinny and white. Turns out that she slipped on some ice in Boston and fractured to discs in her back. So there you go. And she actually grew up in New Orleans so we talked about that and then we talked about her hot daughter and how her hot daughter has an Autistic son, so she has an Autistic grandson. And I told her about the Autistic kids I substituted for, and she told me about getting shitfaced during hurricanes in Louisiana. She had better stories than me, but I can’t blame her.

So basically I just sat back and listened on both of my flights. There were some old ladies that had some things to get off of their chests, and I was happy to help them get things off their chest. Haha. Funny. I didn’t even realize that.

Now I’m back at home. I got my bike fixed up today, and I’m going to start packing a little bit now. I’m subbing tomorrow for a French class. I’m going to try to get all the kids to quit French because it’s a pussy language. Parlez vou, Froggy? Englehutt would be proud. Speaking of Englehutt, I’m moving into his lair on Friday. I’m going to have to take a black light to the entire place. Maybe I’ll find a splooge that came from him whacking it to the video of his girlfriend masturbating. That would be special.

Welp, it’s been real. Take care, see you all in a couple days.

Big Hearts,

Lyon

10 Reasons Norway Can Suck It

1. Archaeological finds indicate that there were people in Norway about 12,000 years ago. In the same sense that your grandparents could never beat you in a game of street hockey or streetball, Norway cannot compete with the U.S.. We have been around for 250 years and it already has a steady grip on the entire planet, where as Norway has been around for 12,000 only has a grip on Sweden's balls.

2. The founder of the country is Harald Finehair. Wow. Ok, I’m not sure I need to go further with this, but for the select few out there who do not understand the extreme feminism associated with this playboy’s name, I will continue. George Washington. Ronald McDonald. Both founders whose names instill fear in all those who hear them. Harold Finehair, not so much.

3. The Black Death. This country is so dirty that 50% of its population was wiped out in the 14th century because of a common cold. Pussies.

4. Hands of Stone. In the 17th century, Norway bobbled and lost a huge part of it’s provinces to Sweden. Yes, Sweden. The country whose main export is modular furniture. And gummy fish.

5. World War I sausage fest. As many of you may know, Sweden really slam dunked international relations in World War I by taking a step back, plugging their ass with their thumbs, and remaining neutral. The only country I know who likes to remain neutral anymore sucks. Yes, that was a stab at France.

6. After attempting to claim neutrality in World War II, Germany opened up a whole case of whoop ass and invaded Norway on April 9th, 1940. This isn’t really Norway’s fault. Wait, what am I saying? Of course it’s Norway’s fault. Armed resistance to the Germs went on for two months. Two whole months. I’d say it’s a good thing they tried to remain neutral instead of joining our side. We didn’t want them anyway.

7. Glen Randall.

8. Whales. They are large blubber filled sacks of crap. Nobody really likes then, and I highly suggest that Vineyard Vines apparel tries something more masculine like the field mouse. No more of this smiling whale bullshit.

9. Currency. It pains me quite a bit that Norway does not use the U.S. dollar as every European country should, but it irks me even further that their money is called a ‘krone’. I mean come on. You live in Norway, it’s Friday night, and you just got your paycheck. There’s only one thing to do: grab a couple butter beers with the mates down at the three broomsticks and perform summoning charms. Give me a break.

10. Censorship. Now if you ask a Norwegian what they think about censorship, they are sure to ask you ‘what censorship, we aren’t censored. Lolz!’ Wrong. Authorities claim that public radio and TV broadcast mostly without interference from the government. Mostly. Hmm. Nice try, Commies.

Keith Urban Makes My Giney Tingle

The first three days of this week have been jawsome. First of all, I’ve run 40 miles in three days, so that’s going pretty well for me. Besides the constant quad soreness, running is cruising along nicely. I bet I’m a little bit behind where other people are, but I hope I can at least mesh well when I get back to school. I’m also hoping that the trails get clear by mid April so that we can run on them for more than two weeks at the end of the season like usual.

Monday night’s concert was Darius Rucker. I know, right? Who is that, you’re probably asking. Let me tell you a more familiar stage name of his. Hootie. Apparently people are pretty nuts about this guy, and I guess I can see why. He’s a well mannered, attractive black man who behaves and performs like a white country star. Seriously though, it was a pretty good concert and he held his own. Low beer sales.

Then, I had the next two days off, which just happened to be Keith Urban on Tuesday night and Gary Allen last night.

The Keith Urban concert was unbelievably good. I knew all the songs and was just belting them out and getting hammered with these Aramark bucks my sister gave me. They are like vouchers for food or drink and each voucher gets you one thing. I got several things. And I just hung out and watched the concert and it was siiiiiiiiiiick. He's such a good performer. I think I shot white foam everywhere.

Last night was the Gary Allen concert and I admit I didn’t listen to him much, but this guy can wail. He was like a Mark Wahlberg looking Keith Urban in the sense that he looked like Marky Marky, and he just wrote and performed country anthems where he was afraid to rock out. This performance was great. And I’m sure being in the Aramark suite on the second level didn’t hurt anything. This suite is like a little room, with about 15 balcony seats. They put you in this little tiny room with about anything you could think of to eat or drink. I must have had be about fifteen Shiner Bock’s. Brewed in Texas, bitch. The food was so delicious and the people working there were so nice and helpful and they were breaking their backs to get my dirty dishes out from in front of me. I bet if I had taken a dump on the floor they would have said “Thank you, sir” and immediately cleaned it up.

The suite box drank was so sick and I wish someone could have treated out with me because it was the coolest thing I’d ever been a part of. I blitzed out to the entire track team and all of Heorot. I got some replies from the following: Chris Alexander, Danielle O’bannon, and Ben Mandel. All of them a bit to far away for the 6 o’clock start time. Well, they could have made it if they really wanted. And Mandel could use his dad’s jet. Hell, his dad’s probably got luxury boxes in every stadium around the country anyways. Whatevs.

I’m really hung over right now but these cats won’t stop sleeping on my face so I can never sleep past ten, which sucks. They always bug the hell out of me around four am so badly that I have to just throw them away. Sometimes I have to get aggressive, and I’m not sorry.

Two days until Taylor.

Jason Goes to College Station

I got to see Uncle Mike this weekend and it was super awesome.

First off, I had to beg my boss to let me have Friday night off. After a lot of begging, a little bit of pleading, and a modicum of sexual favors, she finally let me get off. Haha, get it? Anyways, so I had all of Friday off, and after I ran, I headed out of Houston and hit the road. The drive was fairly nice because after I got out of Houston, it was just me and a million cows. Seriously, there was just cow pastures to my right and left for as far as I could see. And John Deere stores. I stopped and got a new hat, and it’s awesome.

I finally got to College Station, and I immediately met Uncle Mike at his sick hotel at Hyatt Place. This thing was unbelievable. The flat screen in the room was bigger than the one at Heorot, they are allowed to buy any movie that they want (including naughty ones!!), and Uncle Mike put on a fashion show for me with all the free gear that they got.

In the middle of the fashion show, I got a call from HR asking if I was on my way to work. I assured them that I wasn’t. Oops.

I had to high-tail it out of there pretty quickly because it was about 4:05 and I needed to get to the indoor track so that I could peep the men’s mile going off at 4:15. I made it over there and the meet was siiiiiiiiick. I watched the fastest people (black people) in the nation run the 60 meters and 200m and 400m and I even made it onto national television, so I’m told. There was some sick races going on and uncle mike came around 6 oclock and had me sit with his friends. One of his friends happened to be Leo Manzano. It was awesome. He even talked to me. He’s super little and super Hispanic. He’s like Alex Hall little. Trevor asked if he was Alex Halls’ girlfriend little. I imagine if they mated and had a little Hispanic baby, that’s how little Leo would be.

All the girls on the UT team talk about running like we talk about running. They just live it, and that’s probably one of the large reasons that they are all just fucking fast. Uncle Mike was only an alternate so he didn’t get to run the DMR and Tevan Everett ran the 800 leg which is kind of crummy for him because he was on the qualifying team and all, but I think he’s ok with it.

After the meet, we went out to dinner with Tevas Everett, a guy named Kyle, and a guy named Patrick, all 800 alternates. We went to a sick Mexican place and had Margarita’s and they were delish.

After dinner, I met Jake Morse. This guy is some real shit. I would say he’s about as angry as Marcus, and about as fast as…Jake Morse. He was just being angry all the time. It was hilarious. He refused to go into a bar with a cover because he thought that the town sucked so hard that they should be paying him to go there. It was funny. Plus, he was chill and he liked packing lips the size of golf balls. We ended up chilling at this three story bar with a bunch of sub 150 guys, a few sub 4 minute guys, and a couple shots of tequila. Plus, Uncle Mike’s chocolate chip muffin was there. She was pretty chill. Her friend was there too and this girl I thought was pretty during the day actually got less attractive as I kept drinking. I didn’t know that ever happened but it did. Negative attractiveness.

Also at the bar, Tevas and I got to know eachother. I bought him a shot, and he bought me a shot, and we started talking about girls. He told me about his girlfriend back at grad school in UT and he says that she’s the real deal. He was talking about her and he is probably the most genuine guy I’ve ever met. He was pretty chill. I told Trevor that he’s kind of like a taller blacker version of Curtis.

We kept drinking and watching Jake Morse be angry until out of fucking nowhere Brian Hanley showed up. Literally I was just taking some shots with Tevas and the next thing I knew, Hanley was right behind me with a big grin on his face. So that happened.

Around then, it was about two in the morning and the public drinking had to stop. So after Jake Morse did the old “hook up with your ex-girlfriend” trick (very old), we all piled in the car and headed back to the hotel. A few run red lights later, I was trying to climb into bed with Tevas. He wasn’t too keen on that so I had to sleep on the couch.

Now up until now, the night had been pretty good. But around this time I was thinking about how terrible the following day was going to be. I had a 14 hour shift, starting at 10 am lined up back in Houston. Let’s digress for a minute. Jason, college station. Job, Houston. Jason, hammered at 3 am. Houston, 38 degrees and raining. Jason, two hour drive. Houston, 14 hour shift. Ok, let’s continue.

After about 4 hours of sleep, I woke up to my hillary duff ringtone, threw a lip in, and hit the road. Ten minutes later, I pulled the car over to the side of the road and opened the door. I immediately stepped outside, pulled my trigger, wiped my hand on the wet grass, and then got back in the car to keep driving. The drive went surprisingly quick because I was still drunk, and before I knew it, I was back in Houston. Without showering, I headed straight to work in my long sleeve shirt, pants, sneakers, and cowboy hat.

When I got to my stand, it was outside, 38 degrees, pouring rain, and I was freezing my fucking ass off. I didn’t even care, I put a sweatshirt, jackets, extra pair of socks, and a beanie on my head and just sat there for about 9 hours. I did 100 dollars of sales in those 9 hours, which comes out to roughly one beer an hour. The best part of this was that in my stand there was this girl who goes to U of H who looked about as miserable as I did. I asked her what was wrong and it turns out that her 21st birthday was the night before. She said she was just as hung over as I was, but I seriously doubt it. She gave me advil.

Anyways, after my stellar 9 hours of zero sales, things picked up. I did 300 dollars of sales for the next 5 hours, while freezing my fucking ass off. Seriously, this shit may fly for the uneducated toothless usual work population, but I was pissed. I played a fun game called “things you’d rather be doing” and “shooting my foot with a nail gun was on my list”. It was miserable. Not to mention I was selling beers and every time I opened a bottle all I could think about doing was immediately vomiting on the customer. Very, very bad.

I got off work and went to bed immediately…for 12 hours…then woke up…and ate some food…and took a nap. I’m finally back to normal and after my 14 mile long run today, I’m ready for another long night of sleep.

Speaking of ready, I’m ready to get back to school. Almost everyone’s done with finals now, and spring break’s about to start. Everyone’s going to Arizona and is getting ready for the pong tournament and trying to forget Ken Dick’s shitty predictions. I’ve got a yearning. Not long now.

Who’s going to be on campus Saturday March 28th? I plan on driving to school with my dad on Friday the 27th, shooting guns at the range in Manchester, drinking that night, then moving in and playing rock band all day Saturday. Someone play with me.

Uncle Mike

--- Forwarded message from Uncle Mike ---

>Date: Wed, 11 Mar 2009 23:41:36 -0500
>Subject: Re: also
>From: Uncle Mike
>To: lyon3000

by the way... im pumped that you are coming

On Wed, Mar 11, 2009 at 11:41 PM, Uncle Mike <
Uncle.Mike@gmail.com> wrote:

i might be able to snag your ass a ticket... in fact im 85 percent sure


> On Wed, Mar 11, 2009 at 11:33 PM, lyon3000<
> lyon3000@dartmouth.edu> wrote:

ok so i just got confirmation. my sister is going to let me use her car, and my boss is giving me friday night off. clutch. i figure i'll run in the am, drop my sister off at work at 9 am, take a nap and then head out.

THIS IS GOING TO BE SO SICK

how hard is it going to be for me to get tickets? do you have any that i
could use? i bet this meet is going to be very well attended.

Tonight Was Even Better

So other than last night, I’ve been selling beer on the upper level of the stadium. It’s floor 5 of 7 and the population up there seems to thin out, not to mention the tips, or lack thereof.

So tonight, I got a shot at the big show. It just so happened that after 5 days of asking nicely and politely understanding, that it was time for me to get my shot at the big leagues. I got a stand on the lower level of the stadium which is approximately 20 feet higher than the stage, and about 150 feet from Tobey Keith.

It

Was

So

Awesome.

I was just chilling there and selling beer to anyone and everyone that asked for it. Also, I had Dos Equis on draft tonight, and everyone was loving that shit. I actually probably had a better view than when I went to the Trace Adkins concert on Saturday. That night I sat on the club level which is actually a floor up from the floor I was on tonight.

So let’s review. I had an awesome position, right up against the pole, facing away from the stage. I didn’t bring my glasses and I could see the expression of pain on every cowboy’s face as he got his shit wrecked by a 1600 pound bull. And I had beer on tap. So what did I do? I sold beer, tasted some Dos Equis from time to time, and watched a freaking rodeo. I didn’t even have to look on the monitor, it was THAT close. And it was SO CUTE!

But seriously, when Tobey Keith came on I jizzed in my pants. I was singing along to all the songs, making bank in tips, and just having an amazing time.

Let’s step back for a minute and discuss his entrance. Picture a football field. Right on the 50 yard line is a stage, and it’s about 50 feet by 50 feet and it rotates around. Everything else surrounding it is just the dirt from the rodeo, and the stands start when the visiting and home team benches would be.

Tobey Keith came out of the end zone and as he did, a movie started playing on the big screens that are all around the stadium.

This guy fucking loves this country. The movie consisted of him wearing an American flag, and kicking the hell out of a bunch of ninja’s who looked an awful lot like Al Qaeda. I’m just saying. The whole time he was yelling things like “I shoulda been a cowboy” and “how do you like me know!?”. It was awesome. And he was just going chuck Norris on all these guys and then out of no where he does a shameless plug for Ford trucks. I’m sure he got a nice paycheck and a brand new F150 for it.

After the Ford plug, he wasted no time in plugging his new movie “Beer for My Horses”. I had no idea that Tobey Keith could act (he can’t, but he sure can sing), but apparent(ly) he’s in a new movie. I’m not entirely sure I’m going to check it out, but never say never.

Update: I asked my sister tonight if I could take her car to Texas A&M on Friday and she was not very receptive to the idea. I may have to pull out all the stops to get this to happen. Uncle Mike is an alternate, so even if he does race, he’s done by Friday night around 8 pm, and things are going to get pretty sweet pretty quickly. I also asked my boss, the one who totally hizzooked me up with the sweet Beer Stand on that lower level tonight, if I could get Friday off and she said very genuinely and assertively “we’ll see”. I feel nearly certain that I have her in the bag, now I just have to corner my sister. That’s going to be a lot harder than it sounds. Dave “Drop ‘er In” Krolow says, and I quote, “That girl is a pistol”.

Alright, that’s all for now, I’ve got to hit the hay because I somehow signed on for a 3 mile tempo run at 5 minute mile pace starting at 5:30 tomorrow am. We’ll see how this goes. I probably shouldn’t be chewing right now, but whateva. I do what I want.

Trevor deleted his facebook. Deride him, please.

Tonight was pretty awesome

So I’ve been working the upper level of reliant stadium for the last few nights. I sell beers to the few people who have stopped their nosebleeds long enough to garner a thirst. I sold almost zero beers during the Jonas Brothers concert, and I was about ready to be done making 25 dollars in tips a night. Albeit, the 8 dollars an hour base pay I make is certainly helpful but I feel like I could make more on a street corner. The Jonas Brothers concert was jam packed. 65,000 14 year old girls. It was like an all you can rape buffet.

I was just about ready to hand in my resignation and bounce to the corner of Kirby drive and Main when my boss asked if I wanted to work outside for the Lady Antebellum concert tonight. I said sure, why not. Seman is empty calories anyways.

So I get to work and they give me my uniform. An XXL longsleeve tshirt (all they had left) and a cowboy hat. Awesome. The shirt, not so much, but the cowboy hat was a treat. And believe me, I looked good.

So I headed outside where I had my own stand complete with an alcoholic slushy machine where you can’t keep track of how much you’re using (free tastes). Let me be the first to tell you, people love that fucking shit. I have no idea why, but guys were coming up and buying slushies not for their girlfriends, but actually for themselves. For the most part they were straight guys, but I did have one party of 5 guys who definitely enjoyed the company of men. Two of them had on very nice shirts that I would only wear if someone gave me a crisp Benjamin. They read “Cassive Mock” and “You can put it anywhere you want”. They were beauts and they tipped me 8 dollars so they are fine by me.

There was also this lady along with about 8 hot girls that came up to me and showed me a Massachusetts drivers license. I was so surprised that the first thing I did was reach in my back pocket and pull out my own Massachusetts drivers license. That’s the first time I’ve seen one and I let her know. We had this great talk about how she and her posse of 8 hot chicks were from Fitchburg State (~Cape Cod Community College) and doing habitat for humanity. It was a very nice conversation and they tipped me handsomely. We pretty much had a connection and one of them just friended me on facebook. Awesome.

Anyways, the night went really well. There were twice as many people, twice as many pretty girls, twice as many tips, and I had twice the fun. It was great, and warm, and breezy at the same time. I got to play with all the people and have an awesome time. I think I like it out there and they asked if I wanted to work there again and I said yes as long as I got to see the Taylor Swift concerts.

Speaking of which, I’m trying to get out of my Clint Black concert shift on Friday so that I can drive to College Station to see Uncle Mike be an alternate, and to watch the fastest clowns in the nation run. He said he’s going to burn down Texas A&M afterwards, and I want to be a part of that. Badly.

That’s all for now.