Raising Arizona

this is an excerpt of my experience in Long Beach. 

well eating waffles was great, but  what was about to happen next was a little bit more frustrating then having our own minature racial inequality experience. Father and mother decided to leave me to my own devices and actually spend some time together. I was thankful for that. I decided that it would be in my best interest for me to continue the tradition of skateboarding around cities to find something cool and to explore the ghetto's of every major metropolitin area in America.

                Before I could get on my skateboard I thought it important to move my car from the Roscoe's parking lot before angry waitresses sought to further their prejudices by burning my mothers mercury sabel. And so I moved my car to a parking lot where I had to pay to park. However, I was on vacation and I was happy to do it. I paid the meter machine and then grabbed my skateboard. I was almost about take off when I heard a "hey where do you pay for  this thing?"

I turned around and there stood a porpus man wearing a button up T Shirt, shorts, sandals and socks. His hair was long and grey and ran to about the bottom of his neck. In a vain attempt to make it look a tad bit more presentable he had gelled his hair back.

                I quickly addressed the fellow with a cheerful explanation of how to purchase a ticket. While this man looked slightly unkempt and undesireable, I had no issues with him. I had no problems with who he was or who he is.  so of course I would direct him to the place that he needed to go. After giving a quick directions to him the man looked at me and then replied, "Man California sucks! This place is aweful! I wouldn't live here if you paid me!" Suddenely everything that I had previously felt about this man was erased and a feeling of contempt entered the very bottom of my soul.

                I responded quickly but casually, "where do you live sir?" the man looked at me said, "Phoenix Ari," and before the letters "Zona" could be pronounced I was peddling away from this ignorant chap. I did so to prevent a conflict that would undoubtedly turn out with murder. I bit my tongue. Now I unlike many people I know am not a hater. I do write sarcastic blog posts, but it is only because these posts are entertaining to a wide variety of people. I usually do not hate on things and for the most part I just allow things to exist as they are. However, when someone so ignorantly insults the land that i love I will hate. I will protect the name of california and will not have it dragged through sleeze and sute. I will preserve the name of california until the day that I die.

                were i to have addressed the man it would have gone something like this.  Sir you are the antithesis of everything that is california. Your Gecco hawaii T shirt scremes that you are indeed inept. You dress and your appearance leads one to believe that you have somehow managed to escape from an "Aha" music video. Did you just wake up from a twenty year coma because your sense of style would make it appear so and if you said that you just did I would not find it hard to believe. Your hair screams that you were a college dropout and are now attempting to make your living off of selling used cars and producing music for crappy bands. It is obvious that you have decided to use Elmers glue that you stole from your illigitamate grandson's day care for hair product, rather then spending an extra fifty five scents to pick up a bottle of LA looks from Walmart. Please give me the name of your hairdresser so I can do the world a favor and slip arsenic into her next wine cooler. Great Scott are those actually chino sandals that you are wearing. You do not appear to be a hiker. You do not appear to be an outdoorsey individual. Why on earth are you wearing chino sandals. Whats more why on earth are you wearing socks with those chino sandals. you do not appear to be black and those sandals certainly do not appear to be Nike Jordan sandals and it is obvious you do not have a pair

                Dear sir you apidomize your state. Your virulent reaction toward some of the small negative aspects of this state reflects the envy you have towards it. No man in his right mind would make such a fuss over the fact that you had to pay parking when you were in the middle of downtown unless that man was trying to find fault with a city or a state. Its not my fault that the light bulb salesman of america decided to have their annual convention here in Long Beach. No one is forcing you to come to this state. It not my fault that the large business you work for didn’t want to have their convention in the middle of the god forsaken desert. It is not my fault that they would prefer being in a place that has moderate tempterature an appealing climate and an innumerable amount of sights to see.  So why sir are you acting so bent out of shape about being in the best state in the union? I don’t have to gloat that I am from California. California just does the talking for me. Lets be honest, Arizona is the netherlands of the United States. Nothing really great or life changing has com out of the state. So Sir I say go back to your volunteer minute man station and shoot some illegal immigrant who is attempting to make a better life for himself. Maybe you can feel better about yourself that you stopped some man attempting to feed his family by working as a migrant farmer in your state (I hope you are sensing my hatred for minute man and any ignorant bafoon that would attempt to prevent a colonizer from having a better life). I thank you and your state for producing the most inept presidential candidate since Spirow Agnew. 

Now friends I do not hate arizona, but if you attempt to place your state above my own in an  unwaranted fashion I have a bone or two to pick with you. Arizona undoubtedly has some good qualities (like producing great drinks such as mucho mango and watermelon juice) and I do not want to hate on it too bad. However, I felt it a responsibility to protect the reputation of my state.

Until then

Raise Arizona

Sit Down

I do not intend this to be a blog about BYU football, but it just might become that. Today I was walking out of the Wilkinson center and spotted a table with a football helmet and a flag that said rise up. To the right of this flag was the most meat head looking coach standing there asking everyone to sign his rise up flag. I observed from a distance and I was not spotted by this coach who is still attempting to relive his glory days as a once relatively good starter for the BYU football Cougars. The flag was littered with signatures of people who still supported their BYU football Cougars. Occasionally the coach would yell, "hey man Rise Up." I then walked away.
 This is the absolute most asinine thing that I have ever before witnessed. Meat-head football coach, how dare you pollute the scenery of this already crappy looking campus. Its bad enough that I have to go to school in a campus which is an jumbled mess of the worst architecture that the fifties, sixties, and seventies had to offer. I thought BYU was improving when they knocked down Deseret towers and did renovations on Heritage halls, but you here with one table measuring a foot and a half in width and three week in length have managed to make up for all of the positive changes that this place has made in the past five years.
 As for you flag you can go ahead and impale it up Braden Brown's hind parts. You actually want me to sign a rise up flag? After the game you played on Saturday night you expect me to support your team. If I sign that flag will Jake Heaps magically stop fumbling the ball? If I sign your flag will that magically make Bronco Mendenhall stop wearing the same Band of Brothers Tshirt that he has been wearing for the past three seasons now? If so I will gladly sign it, but you football coach, wearing your oakley sunglasses and BYU gym shorts, know as well as I do that these things will not come to pass if I sign this flag. The only thing that I could hope for is that signing this flag will allow me to get a refund for my all sports pass.
Am I a Cougar fan? Yes I am. But when you play a little bit worse then the combined members of the general auxilary board of the church could have don't expect me to sign your flag. If I did so I would be signing a commitment to mediocrity. I'd be approving piss poor performance.
  And so readers of my blog I will tell you what I am going to do. I am going to go to the game tomorrow night with a paper bag over my head. I will support my team, but I am ashamed of what they are. 

Those who are ashamed of what the Cougars are should do the same.

Cows, Naked Hippies, and Sarah Holden

Greetings from Spanish Fork Canyon Utah, "home of the Spanish Fork hotpots." As I have stated in blogs previous since school has started my ability to find stories that are worthwhile have diminished greatly. It is no small wonder than that when "The Creator" Sarah James Holden (I gave her the name the creator because she inspired me to write a blog) invited me to go with her to the Spanish Fork hotpots I immediately accepted in a hope to find some small story that I could write about. Normally I would ask what the Spanish fork hotpots were, where they were, who we were going with, and how we would get there. However, I have been lacking a story like a prisoner of war in the Japanese province of the Battan is lacking food, shelter, and clean living. Which is to say a lot. I figured that hot pots would yield some sort of inspiring experience. I know that some of my readers like Christine (shout out given) are just dying for more stories.

Well truth be told nothing that amazing happened. While we were approaching the turnoff for the Spanish Fork Hotpots we just happened to run into a group of irate hefers. No I do not mean large women, I actually mean large cattle. These wild or semi wild bovine's were angry as angry gets. This was partially due to the fact that they had a few nursing calves and were not too excited to see their little ones threatened by man made vehicles. The car that Sarah, I, her best friend from high school, and a random missionary that she knew from Romania, were in would probably have lost in a head to head matchup. These cows were some angry animals. Luckily we managed to move past the cow and get to the road for the hot springs. However our voyage was disturbed thrice other time by the same cows.

Anyway we began to hike to the hot springs. The hike was about two and a half miles there and another two and a half back. It was a good little job and despite the fact that three members of our party only had one thing in common (that is being Sarah James Holden's friend) the company also was enjoyable. Eventually we made it to the hot springs.

Now this has been a pretty crappy story so far. In fact I would venture to state that it hasn't been a story at all. Rather I believe this has been more of a boring recounting. The remainder of the story is no story at all. Instead it is a ephinay that I had. We eventually arrived at the hot springs. We walked past the lower hot springs where a hippie couple was bathing and made our way to the upper springs. Before the hot springs there is a large boulder blocking the view of oncoming people. At least that is what the boulder appears to be. However, to me that boulder is evidence that there is a creator (not of the blog, but of the world) and he loves me. Now readers you may be wondering why this boulder covering the hot springs is a sign that there is in fact a deity. I will soon tell you. As I climbed up to the second hot springs there in front of my eyes stood not one hippie but two hippies. Not only were these hippies hippies but they were old hippies. But not only were they old hippies, but the man was a naked old hippie. He was not startled. He had heard our bantering for the past little while and decided to grab some clothing, but he had not put the clothes fully on. By the time Sarah and the others arrived he had his shorts on.

Now the reason why I knew that this was evidence that there was a creator was the fact that I saw probably the oldest, ugliest, hairiest women I ever have seen right next to him. She had luckily managed to place her top and bottom on before we arrived. Seeing a naked old man really is not that infrequent of a gig for me. I go to the gym a lot and the old men there always seem to be naked whenever I enter into the locker room. However, were I to have seen that woman I would have been blind. Luckily I have been preserved. This indeed is a tender mercy.

However, I have decided that its time that I shed my clothes for a little while. Next week for a story I will tell you my journeys while being a naked hiker.

Searching For a Story

School has cock blocked any stories that are good. The adventures that have once made my blog rich with excitement are no more. What is left is the Ro Jo attempting to make it through his final year with reasonably high marks. I am also attempting to get into the Teach For America program and so that takes a grip of time. There is only so much to talk about after nine hours or so of studying. is a difficult experience. I love blogging. I love writing about random things that happen in my life, but how much random stuff can you talk about when most of your day is spent underground in the second floor of the Harrold B Lee Library. I mean I could write about how rediculous the "you gotta be a scholar" music video is. Or how I dont understand why the library has decided to spend at least three thousand dollars on tv's that only air commercials about the library but that would get dull. I could rant about the woman in my Utah history class who tries to out talk the teacher but I would get too mad. So I just go on not writing. I am hoping that my weekends will yield some sort of literary fodder, but I dont know.

Disappointment

Don't ever become a BYU football fan.
I am one.
I can say that.

In the words of preacher from the Restoration DVD, "you can expect coldness and darkness for the rest of your lives" if you are a BYU fan. I love my cougars, but lets be honest they are always on the brink of achievement. They flirt with, but never are the great team that we always want them to be. These are the worst types of teams to root for. They are good enough to get you to believe that they might make a run for a BCS bowl and then they will lose some crappy game or something of the likes.
But really what are we to expect. We are for all intensive purposes a group of privileged untalented anglo-saxons attempting to compete with athletes. For who we are we are pretty dang good.
I think that it is our religious nature that makes us believe that we are actually as good as other teams. I think we believe if we have faith we shall overcome. However, when it really comes down to it the game of football has nothing to do with faith. It has everything to do with talent. So I believe that we who are BYU football fans should be like Paul and "glory in our tribulation." (I have paul on my mind right now. I'm teaching in church tomorrow and hes the main lesson).

and who knows maybe in a couple of years we'll run the table and do something great. I remain faithful even though my faith has not a single thing to do with the cougs success. 

Thoughts Regarding BYU Professors

Oh Come my children and you shall here the fateful semester that causes fear.
A's  if in dreams, F's if in life
The greatest thing I can hope for during this semester is a half decent wife
Why the sorrow do you ask?
A simple answer really professor's with ego's who make you task.
Sweat, slave, and lose sleep
Placing taxing burdens upon your back
like you've loaned money from a shark and your in too deep.
Summer is over and there is no time to slack
just time to whine, cry, and unpack

Now it is time to address the future twenty citizens of the moon colony Romneyia. Friends there is no greater evil in this world than a professor who assigns too much homework. If Dante's Inferno were to have been correctly translated I believe that there actually would be an either ring of hell. Brutus and Judas Iscariot are actually only on the second lowest level of hell. I sincerely believe that a professor who is so consumed with his ego and so consumed with his class as to assign eight page papers due each week of the semester along with one hundred and eighty pages of reading a week, deserves a special punishment in hell. I believe that he should be cast out to the lake of fire and brimstone. Lest he repents, he should be thrust to where there is weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth. How dare any professor make the lives of his students a living hell. How heartless can you be? How can you expect your students to enjoy life when they sit at home on Friday night not because they don't have a date on Friday night or they do not have a friend to be with on Friday night. Rather they spend their entire life working on projects for a professor. What a pathetic and vain existence that the students of BYU are confined to.
   We attempt to come forth to learn and go forth to serve, but all that really happens is we come forth to waste our lives away in front of a computer monitor and we go forth with a menial job that has nothing to do with our degree. What good are straight A's if at the end of the day you want to cut yourself with a straight razor? 
 Regular professors pale in comparison to religion professors as well. The mere fact that I am being graded upon my personal spirituality and my relationship with God is not only appalling, but it is unethical and unchristian. It is totalitarian like in practice. How can someone with no religious authoirty over myself dictate my scripture study? It is wrong, It is sick, and it is detrimental to the spiritual growth of everyone in a classroom.
    I walked into my Book of Mormon class a week ago and was informed that I was to read half of the Book of Mormon in two weeks. The man then replied, "you can grade yourself on how you did and if you read the material in its entirety.... But remember this liars burn in hell!" Immediately I wanted to shout out that so to do religion professors, but I did not. What a sick and unethical practice. I believe that the average student going to BYU is attempting to live his life in a correct manner. I believe that he wants to do what is right. He wants to obey the council of the church and get good grades, so he can get a good job, so he can provide for his family. However, when a student is placed in a situation where he must choose over his potential future career (which entails providing for his family) and telling a lie can you blame him for choosing to lie? Is it his fault that he must write over a hundred pages of essays this semester and read more than two thousand pages of literature? Is it his fault that he works?  Would you be upset with him if he choose to lie? I think not. I hope not. How dare a religion professor (whose job is about as easy as you can get) assign him half of a book of holy writ to read in the first two weeks of class. \
The sins of your students my dear religion professor are placed to your charge and so you shall go to the tenth level of hell where all other teachers as equally as egotistical and prideful as you will go.

What does the tenth level of hell entail you ask? a punishment far worse then having half of your body in ice and the other half being repeatedly devoured by Satan.










I will attempt to describe it.

In the tenth level of hell you are trapped in the DMV. You are eagerly awaiting the chance to get to the window because you have something more important (which is anything in the entire world) to attend to. While waiting rerun's of Maury and Jerry Springer are playing on the television screen. You are sandwiched in between an exceptionally large Latino woman and a ninety year old man who has lost all control of his bowel movements. He has a colastomy bag but it ruptures every hour on the hour. occassionally your number is called and you go up to the woman in the DMV. She is middle aged and mad becuase her husband has just left her for someone else. You can't blame her for being upset, but she just takes out her failed marriage on you. You simply sit there and take it. Eventually you get frustrated and she uses what little power she has over her life to tell you that you have waited in the wrong line and need to go to another one. You repeat this experience for eternity.


Professors this is the hell that awaits you if you choose to be too hard.
With warning
Romney  

Twenty

My blog has reached twenty people. I would just like to thank you twenty people for loving me enough to follow my blog. No greater kindness has ever been bestowed upon my shoulders than you twenty choosing to read my blog publicly. When I am famous, rich, and successful I will not forget you. Because you twenty individuals have chosen to follow my blog you will receive the following gifts

A spot on my spacecraft when the comet comes to demolish earth in 2012











Free tickets to my first NBA game

a handshake

A visit to the white house when I become president

You will become twenty of the 144,000 chosen and hand selected to make it to paradise after life. (to your left you can see a depiction of Jehovah's Witnesses art and imagine that these are some of the people you will be spending the rest of eternity with).












and an autographed picture of myself posing as Tom Sellick.

Enjoy