I’m talking about:

WO0O0O0O0O0O! *devil horn sign*

…Oh shit wait I can’t do that! this is Jesus music. *Raises hands in praise, closes eyes and mutters uninteligibly*

For just $100 you too can rock out with your cock er… crucifix out to the solid sounds of wholesome christian rock, without the influence of those Satan worshipping secular bands like Fall Out Boy and Nickelback.

Some choice quotes from the official website:

• Shred those riffs or blast the bass…you add a unique sound to the solid Christian rock.
  
• But watch out: if you can’t keep up, the artists will take a break and stop the music.
  
• Crank it up and try again - you’ll soon be rockin’ with the best while praising the Lord!
• Onscreen lyrics reflect Christian values.  Vocalists can sing their hearts out as their friends play the guitar.

“The artists will take a break and stop the music”. HA! I love how they downplay the booing, flying bottles and onscreen humiliation that results from failing a song in the original games. How are continues implemented, I wonder. Through prayer?

And what exactly do they mean by “reflect christian values” and how come whatever the fuck those are end up being conveyed in a musical genre that hardcore Christians have condemned and reviled since it’s invention?

Does. Not. Compute.

Wait a minute, yes it does.

$$$$$$KA-CHING$$$$$

Harmonix and RedOctane should just jump ahead of the Jesus train and just make a huge download package for Guitar Hero and Rock Band that includes a shitload of Christian bands. That’ll show ‘em a lesson in opportunism.

Oh well, I guess if any of you need any more proof that God is fuckin’ metal, go read the Apocalypse.

I, on the other hand, shall enjoy my mosh pits…

IN HELL! GWAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA!

Meet Aliana Lohan.

For those of you that are at least aware of the lifestyles of the rich and heinous and numerous websites devoted to them, she’s the younger sister of ambiguously lesbian whorebag trainwreck actress/”singer” Lindsay Lohan.

I usually don’t pay attention to Z-list little shits like her, but when she opens her mouth and spouts stuff like THIS, it’s hard not to want to just grab her, dope her up, saw open up her skull and take a huge shit inside, at least that way it can be filled with something resembling a brain. Apparently, little bitch is jealous of big ol’ sister. Here are some precious quotes from her interview in Us Magazine, along with some visual reference to put her words in perspective:

“I grew up watching Lindsay”

“and it made me want to do what she does”

“Just the whole vibe”

“Being there, being on camera, or onstage, with everybody listening to you”

“it’s so cool when people look up to you.”

“I want it so bad. So bad you don’t even know.”

“And now, it’s actually happening,”

Actually it IS happening. Sooner than you might expect. It turns out that our teenage starlet in the making “accidentally” auditioned for porn director Peter Davy, who has produced such gems as Voodoo Lust and Dreams in the Forbidden Zone. The article says her mom/manager/pimp got pissed, but I’m pretty sure this was her original plan, an emergency procedure in case her career fails -which seems to be the obvious outcome-  she’ll always have sleazy porn to fall back on. Somebody should introduce her mom to the makers of 2girls1cup. Stuff like that would make her famous in a matter of hours.

“Honey, did you eat enough Taco Bell? We need that shit to be extra creamy and corn studded for the next take, mkay? And remember to smile when you’re getting shit on. Just like I showed you.”

But let’s not direct our hate directly on to her. Ali’s lack of common sense and loose grip on reality is obviously the work of something more… demonic.

There’s nothing worse than a fame-hungry stage mom living vicariously through the lives of her children, forcing them into becoming everything she wanted to be when she was younger but was unable to because of a lack of talent or any redeeming qualities.

So in conclusion, Dina Lohan, because of your influence your younger daughter wants to become a drunken, coked out, promiscuous, talentless, sexually ambiguous music industry and box office poison. You must be a proud mom.

At least I breathe easy knowing that Anderson Cooper is onto you, bitch. Gotta love that silver fox.

How long until we get to see Ali Lohan’s first snatch shot/rehab/DUI/sex tape?

I give her 3½ years.

Eh, why not. He makes a damn good potato salad. Great, today’s lunch menu is decided. Soon enough I see him in the kitchen doing something that looked… questionable.

No, he wasn’t doing lewd things to the potatoes or drizzling them with any sort of “special dressing”, he was just pushing tons and tons of potato peels through the trash disposal. But really pushing them like an unwanted baby through a toilet. I found it weird that he decided to use that instead of the more accesible trash can just three fucking steps away from him, but hey, whathever.

That’s what garbage disposals are for, right Kevin Spacey?

You see, garbage disposals are designed to take a moderate amount of soft garbage and chop it up in chunks that are small enough to fit through normal plumbing. When said trash becomes an unmanageable goop of, say, potato bits, the pipes usually clog. And what happens when pipes clog?

They burst.

Pretty soon after using the garbage disposal, I inadvertedly tried to wash some dishes, only to hear a “PHUMP! SPLOOOOOORHHSHSHSHHSHSHSHSHSPRT”.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that is the sound of soggy potato peel ground to bits and bursting from the u-pipe under the sink. It was DISGUSTING. Fucking thing looked like vomit. At least it didn’t smell bad. Thankfully we hadn’t previously thrown anything gross or stinky down the disposal. At least not to my knowledge. Can you imagine if we had thrown fish in there? Yeegh.

If there’s one thing that annoys me about this complex, it’s that now that it’s apparently a high season for renting, the office never picks up the damn phone. So I had to walk my soggy, potato juice-drenched ass to it, where a very eager and bubbly assistant managed to get the maintenance guy to go right away. Whew!

DS, on the other hand, had a major bitch fit trying to fix that mess. His mess, as I dutifully reminded him afterwards (lord I’m so annoying how can he stand me). When he tried to connect the tubes back and it just kept leaking water and potato bits he got so pissed at the whole thing. And I mean really pissed. He tends to get angry with inanimate objects regularly as if they were people, but this time it was like the trash compactor had called his mother a dirty slut. I just steered clear and let him blow off steam until the expected outcome. I counted: 5, 4, 3, 2, 1… “Fuck this! I ain’t dealing with this shit”, and then the dramatic storm-off. After the curtains from that riveting performance fell, I jumped in and started cleaning the mess (his mess!)

Fortunately Federico (I don’t know his real name I only know that he’s mexican and has been a maintenance guy since the 80’s so I’ll just call him that) came within 10 minutes and got busy. He explained to me that if we ever want to dispose of so much trash, we should do it slowly, and leave the disposal and the faucet running as we do so. When shit starts clogging up, the pipe sort of dislodges automatically, so we have to do some bizarre resetting ritual, which he did, and everything worked beautifully afterwards. Ah, Federico, bless your knowledgeable soul.

During this whole thing DS was still pissed and playing Bioshock and didn’t even look back once. Figures, since it was all his mess. Oh gawd he’s gonna kill me

Afterward I tried to convey to him that important nugget of information from Federico, but he brushed it off and instead kept supporting his theory that “the disposal machine was busted and wasn’t cutting stuff up”. Hmmm, that’s weird, since all the potato peels I scooped up were chopped into perfect little squares. To top it all off, he finished with “Well he doesn’t know shit ’cause I know everything and I’m always right”.

I love this guy.

No seriously I do.

Anyway, crisis averted. Our kitchen is dry, but unfortunately some of the carpet got hit by the potato tsunami. I pray it won’t start smelling like moldy pringles.

SUDDEN CHANGE OF TOPIC ALERT!

I made a Twitter account. Yeah, I know. What’s the point of a Twitter when you have a fully functional blog you can spam at your leisure? Well, there are times when I just wanna share a stupidly random thought that doesn’t deserve a full post, so what the hell. It’s not like I’ll become a Twitter Twat and start spamming the service by posting every hour. I mean I am vain and self centered, yes, but goddamn not to that extent.

That’s why I’ll try to post every two hours.

Yeah, sure Kaiser. If you’ve been following this blog for a while you know that’s bullshit. You probably already figured out I’d lose interest in it after a month or so (like the vast majority of Twitter users), especially after classes start and I’m introduced to the wonderful magical fairy-laden world of game design. I would have safely ignored or even shunned Twitter, even if my own boyfriend and basically everyone I know online makes use of it, but the truth of the matter is that I wanted to get into Twitter because of a tiny little reason which I have failed to report so far.

I preordered an iPhone.

Suck on that, bitches.

It’s been quite a long while since I went over to Puertoblogs to see what’s new. I haven’t had time to sit down and read through all the self centered drivel that clogs the internet today, and now that I finally got to do it, I wish i had not. Holy Fucking Shit.

Yes, it is self centered because that’s exactly what blogs are designed for. It’s mostly used as a public, often anonymous tool that helps you stroke your ego and express in writing all of the shit that you’re sometimes too much of a coward to say in real life. But most importantly, it is a highly overused, excessively easy way to try to bring attention to yourself or your fake “online self”. And that is exactly what is turning the puertorrican blogging community into a gigantic vacuum of ego masturbation and feces. You see, the average puertorrican is a huge, HUGE attention whore. Don’t you fucking deny this because it’s true.

Also, the typical puertorrican has a habit of blindly following whatever trend they consider “hot shit” at the moment. So naturally, you have thousands of attention starved, trend-following sheep creating blogs left and right. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing if you got something interesting to say or a point to prove. But that’s where it all goes downhill. Out of all the blogs that make it to Puertoblogs’ first page, only like 4 or 5 are worth reading. What do the rest have to offer? Are they really that bad? Let me give you a sample. Get comfy.

• If you thought those heinous mommy blogs were goddamn awful, well, you haven’t lived until you read a depressed mommy blog. Oh the drama! Bitch, go get some fat cock in that pussy, see if it brings the whining down a notch.
• Pregnant women are notorious for being a royal pain in the ass. Pregnant woman with a blog? Not a good idea. Keep that shit to yourself, sweetie, we don’t really care and we already know how it goes: Whine whine whine. I feel fat. I feel like shit. I’m hungry. My baby kicked. I can’t stop farting. I can’t stop vomiting. Etc. etc. etc.
• Pssst. Yo, Latin Blog, care to explain what’s so “latin” about you if you keep posting a shitload of North American celebrity news in your front page? If that’s the case I’d rather read Perez. Which, judging by your news seems to be your go-to place for (recycled) material.
• Seriously, do you really think you should own a blog when you waste precious internet space posting shit like THIS? Shoot yourself.
• Ok, so you wanna promote your lovely island by making a blog about it, for the love of whatever deity you worship, don’t let your blog about Puerto Rico look like a mortuary web page. Black web pages are not only fucking depressing, but also: 1997 called, he wants his web page layout back. Although now that I mention it, the whole black scheme pretty much sums up the overall state the island is in. Puerto Rico, Island of the Gothic Emo Fags. Don’t believe me? drop by Borders in Plaza on a Friday night.
• Oh my fucking god.
• Verónica decide aburrirme. Y también joderme la vista con un layout puñetero.
• You’re not funny. At all.
• This is what happens when Cupid shits and vomits all over your blog.
• If I had a blog meant to pimp out and display all the useless shit I have lying around my house I’d post every couple of hours. Tazos? Are you fucking kidding me?
• Unsurprisingly, Puertoblogs also seems to be a big magnet for sluts. Good god they’re everywhere! You even risk getting an STD just by reading their shit. Take this sad specimen for example. OMG look at me I’m so edgy and vulgar! I talk about sex and orgasms and kinky shit! I also do drugs and like to watch porn and am horny all the time! I just wished someone was here to actually get me off . Girlfriend, there’s obviously something wrong with your sex-related blog when it’s most interesting post is about a fucking sugar glider. I’ve heard more exciting sex stories from my dead grandma.
  Also, bitch, your blog is as hardcore as Hannah Montana. Why the fuck do you bother putting a content advisory on it? It’s not like that’s gonna bring more readers thinking there’s kinky shit inside (there’s not). There isn’t even a single mention of you getting gangbanged and bukkake’d by a football team. Nothing to see here but another pampered princess whining her ass off.
  Oh and there’s also this fucking whore. She has a special place on my hate list. You see, she started her blog as a chronicle of her adventures being the mistress of a married man. Describing, and for god’s sakes, justifying why she fell in love with a family man and getting all pissy when he shoves her to the side and decides to spend his time with his family. Well what the fuck did you expect, you worthless, home wrecking cunt? A medal? I hope your lack of posts is due to the fact that the guy’s wife found out and fucking kicked your face so hard you’re still in a coma. PUTA.
• Okay. Many people use their blogs as their diaries, but when you go about your day, describing each uneventful, boring, trite situation with the excitement of a librarian overdosing on Paxil, that’s another link I’m never gonna click on again. I swear I thought I was reading Droopy’s blog.
• Women with a poetry blog = Ya’all need to get laid / Men with a poetry blog = raging homosexuals. Who need to get laid.

I am also not counting the fact that some of these wastes of data actually have 2 or 3 blogs registered. It’s fucking harrowing when you look at the profile of a particularly horrible blogger and you see two additional blogs dedicated to different aspects of his or her life. Kinda makes you wish that blog services actually cost money to set up. That would make a difference filtering out most of the blog-happy unwashed masses.

Whatever happened to the awesome, close-knit community we had a couple of years ago? Everybody knew everybody. It honestly felt like a big, dysfuncional yet happy family. And most importantly, it was a FUN family. What ever happened to Shery? What happened to El Bizcochito? Ashar? Blog Machine? Mecagoenlaostia? Manny el cabrón confundido? And oh lord, what happened to GATOQUEEN! Sweet mother of fucking shit I would KILL half of the blog owners in Puertoblogs if it meant Gatoqueen would post again. *sigh*

Alas, it’s all been buried under a gigantic mountain of SHIT. Useless, drab, uninteresting, self centered, unfunny, recycled shit. And it’s only getting bigger.

I know that my blog is not the fucking star of the internet, but goddamn, at least I TRY to make it interesting. I actually make an effort to get a laugh. Or at least a chuckle. Or the occasional “awwww”, and in some cases, “ewwwww!”. And that’s my point. Unlike many of the blogs mentioned before and the hundreds I haven’t seen, I try to put some sort of emotion in this motherfucker and get you to react.

And oh yeah, if you see your blog among that list of shame I put up there, don’t get pissed and start composing a strongly worded comment. Just stop for a moment. Take a good look at your blog. And think of the reason why you created it. Was it worth it? has it brought you any sort of satisfaction? Also, do you often feel like you are forced to post?

If you still feel like doing a hostile comment after thinking about all that and not finding anything wrong, well, go ahead. That’s still not gonna change the fact that your blog is a piece of shit.

If instead you accept that your little corner in the internet could use a bit of an improvement, then, my friend, come on over. I have some pointers for ya:

• This isn’t fucking Myspace. Get rid of the black layouts, especially if they have a bright font against it. It’s old, it’s tacky, and it’s a pain to read. And also, NO FUCKING GLITTERY SHIT OR EMBEDDED MUSIC/VIDEOS. Unless you’re a 13 year old girl. If so, you have no place writing a blog you little shit. Go play with your Bratz.
• Avoid neon/bright colors. Lasik is very expensive and people do not appreciate having their eyes raped by a clashing diarrhea of colorful garbage. Also, think of the epilepsy hazards.
• Content, content, CONTENT! Ask yourself before you press “publish”: Do people really wanna read this? There is a very high chance that’s gonna be a “NO”, since whatever the hell you’re writing about has already been covered. So try your goddamn best to be original. Do some research. Whatever it takes. Aim to stand out from the crowd.
• This might clash with the bullet above but it’s equally valid. In your attempt to be original, don’t be desperate. People notice when you try too hard. And then they cringe and leave.
• Avoid walls of text (I plead guilty on this). People don’t read on the internet. they skim. If you can’t help writing a long ass diatribe (like me), at least bold, bullet or highlight the important parts. This is the age of Twitter. People lose interest after 150 characters! Hell, I’m lucky if someone makes it this far down this post.
• This is not a sidebar competition! One sidebar is more than enough. Two is pushing it. Three or more is a fucking unreadable mess. Also, don’t stuff your sidebar with uninteresting shit no one but you cares about. The shorter and more to the point the sidebar is, the less cluttered and more pleasant your blog becomes. Look at your sidebar right now. Probably more than half the shit in there is completely unnecessary. A sidebar like this can intimidate the hell out of a reader. And honestly, NO ONE takes the time to go through it. Don’t believe me? If you have the means to view which links and how often they are clicked in your site, do so. You’ll thank me later.
• Don’t open a new blog every other week. It’s annoying and you’ll never find the time to update them all on time and produce worthy content for them on a timely basis. One is enough. Need to change topics? Make a new category. I don’t need a separate blog for your fucking movie reviews.
• Don’t fill up every inch with ads. It makes you look greedy and opportunist, reducing your ad income because people see that shit, get scared and leave. I’ve seen blogs like that, and the first thing that comes to my mind is “phishing site”. If you use the internet and don’t know what phishing is, unplug your computer and throw it in a ditch. It’s for your own good.
• Don’t beg for comments. That’s more pathetic than asking for Paypal donations.
• If you opened a blog to draw attention to your vain self, Why not get a Myspace or a Facebook instead? They offer blogging tools and you’ll be able to whore yourself in more imaginative ways. Attention whore blogs are a dime a dozen. Opening a blog just to write meaningless shit about yourself won’t make you a unique little snowflake and it will be lost in the shuffle. Also, there’s already one Perez Hilton. Almost NO ONE makes it big in here. If it was like that, I’d be living off of this shit, so get off your rose colored high cloud.

OK I think that’s enough dream shattering for one night. I’ll be going to sleep with the hopes that this diatribe will deter at least ONE attention starved shit-for-brains from creating another useless blog, or at least convince an existing one to actually make a change and improve.

Don’t know what to change about your blog? Need a suggestion? There’s the comment box right below. I’ll be happy to tear your blog a new asshole. Or praise it to high heaven. Your call. Make my day.

Since we had no plans for Independence Day, we decided to test how long does it take to walk from our apartment complex to my grad school, which is only a couple of miles away. We had heard how you have to cross a busy road and walk through a few patches that still have no sidewalk in the sweltering heat, but since I don’t own a car anymore and won’t for quite a while, I might as well get used to the fact that I’m gonna have to walk my ass off to school, depending on how early DS has to go to work. There is always the possibility of carpooling, but you never know when shit happens and you can’t rely on people. So enough bitching. Let’s enjoy us some Plano, shall we?

The main entrance to our complex. By the look of things, it seems that every building here, no matter how shitty or unimportant, must have elaborate and appealing landscaping. We haven’t seen a single establishment that doesn’t have a perfectly cut lawn and colorful, decorative foliage. Do they get fined if they let things turn into our previous front yard?

I think so.

Anyhoo, let’s resume our magical journey full of magic and wonder and colorful foliage.

Preston Road, treacherous street with no pedestrian crossings. Fortunately it’s the only “big” street we have to cross, and to our advantage it was a holiday so the roads were barren.

Phew! made it! Now lets keep walk– why the fuck does the sidewalk zig-zag like that?

Gigantic orange dildos protruding from the ground, warning you about the existence of fiber optic cables, internet connections and phone lines. Unlike some other place I know, where water, electricity or any sort of underground utility is never labeled or identified properly, and when some fucktard wants to build something and starts digging, suddenly you’re left without electricity, internet or even water.

Oh so here’s where the sidewalk ends. Guess the developersprefer the elegant, stylish look of stepped-on, dried up grass. Or their sidewalk budget ran out. I just hope it doesn’t turn into a fucking muddy mess if I ever have to walk there on a rainy day.

One of the most amazing things of our trek through Tennyson Parkway was how annoyingly clean everything was. To the point that this cup was the only piece of trash we found lying around, it looked so out of place it stood out like an eyesore. Bet it was a Mexican worker*.

*Disclaimer: Before you go on a tirade saying that I’m a racist bastard  by saying mexicans are messy and inconsiderate, I have been a witness EVERY TIME of how burly, uneducated mexican workers have their lunch breaks and just throw their garbage on the street or lawn, as if it was their personal trash can, not caring if anyone even saw them. And it’s not something that I see sporadically, it happens ALL THE FUCKING TIME here in our complex, to the point that I’ve come to expect a blanket of empty soda/water bottles, wrappers and cans whenever a crew of mexican workers comes by to fix stuff. It sucks, especially if you’re Mexican and are offended by this remark, but it’s the harsh reality. They seem to have no sense of order or cleanliness whatsoever. Blame them for adding yet another bullet to the list of negative stereotypes. As for “how can you even tell they’re mexican”: Well, having your truck blaring the complete discography of “Los Chichicuilotes del Norte” at full volume while you work is a pretty accurate telltale sign.

Now enough “PC” shit, let’s carry on.

At least the bridge has a sidewalk.

Don’t know the name of this river but damn it looks nice… Bet those apartments in the back are worth a shit-ton with that view.

Finally after about fifteen minutes of braving a very pissed off sun, we see the light at the end of the tunnel:

*angelic chorus*

Obviously the place was completely empty, which was great, I wouldn’t have dared taking pics with people going in and out, looking at us funny. That would have made my fellow nerdlings a bit nervous too.

*sigh* <3<3<3<3<3

(We’ll see if I still feel the same when the second term of class starts. According to student’s, that’s when shit gets real and you kiss free time and personal life goodbye)

Well, enough daydreaming about being chained to a laptop in a room with the same people for 17 months, it’s time to go back to our lovely pool– I mean, apartment.

One thing that baffles me are those insects that make a loud buzzing/chirping sound, like dozens of loud, tiny little maracas going off in unison. They always seem to be perched high up in the trees, but I have yet to see one. I imagine they’re horrifying locust-like five inch monstrosities. Hopefully they’re not fond of human flesh. But damn I thought coquí frogs were noisy. Those things got them beat by a mile in terms of annoying sounds.  They started buzzing when I passed by and I looked up for a while hoping to see one. No such luck.

But enough about me. DS has been behind the camera all this time. Let’s give him some lens lovin’:

*SNAP*

Enough douchebaggery, let’s go home already! We’re fucking melting.

In case you missed the first, it’s here.

Last time, I ended it with an image of us finally stepping on Texan soil. Well, 3 hours later, we were finishing the lease paperwork on our apartment and walking into it the very same day we arrived in Plano. So here’s what we saw once we got through the door:

Oh wow it does look nice and spacious– WHAT THE FUCK why does it have a carpet?!

This is not gonna bode well for my allergies. Oh well, at least it looks clean…

This is the entrance. You can see how strong the geekery is when the first thing we unpack is our laptop.

Another view of our awesome luggage and the awesome stickers we used to tell them apart.

Another view of the living room. It still looks quite barren, except for the table that supports both our PC’s (otherwise known as our life source), located to the right of the sliding door.

While I was snapping away, DS was hell bent on getting internet ASAP, so here he is talking to a Time Warner representative. Oh yeah there’s also our kitchen behind him.

Our sink, with a handy trash compactor and a dishwasher we never use because we have no idea how to work that fucking thing.

Great success! DS finally lands an installation date for some cable internet lovin’. Also, notice a copy of “Cooking with 4 ingredients” standing lonely and desolate beside the stove. We have yet to try any recipes from that damn book.

Meanwhile, look, a bathroom!

That mirror is huge. Perfect for performing your favorite drag song fully naked holding a brush as your microphone.

A view from the sliding door. Unfortunately we got a whole clusterfuck of AC’s right outside our bedroom window, so they can get quite noisy if we sleep with the windows open.

OMG so cute!

There’s also wild hares running around. The first time I saw one I thought someone’s bunny had escaped. Oh well, at least there’s plenty of wildlife to grill if we ever run tight on finances.

Ok time to GTFO the apartment and snoop around the complex. Oh hey what’s that?

*GASP*

WHEEEEEEE A POOL! all for myself! Fuck the air conditioning, this is where I’m going to cool off every day.

AaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAhhhhh…

Tee-heeee!

The “spa”, which is always abandoned during summer. Who on their right mind would enter a hot tub in 100 degree heat?

“Under the seeeeeeeeeeeeeea! “Under the seeeeeeeeeeeeeea!”

Eat your fucking heart out Ariel, you red headed half fish whore.

That’s it for now. Next up, our 4th of July walk to my grad school, so you can finally see where I’m gonna be slaving over for the next two years.

Cheers, mates.

The day of our departure was a rainy, sad, miserable piece of shit. Good thing the flights weren’t delayed or canceled because that cloud was fucking with us the whole day. At this point I’m still not excited for some weird reason, since the fear of leaving something important behind kept my thoughts pretty busy.

We needed a way to be able to tell apart our luggage from the millions of clones we’d encounter on the baggage claim, so we ironed on a little bit of AWESOME on each piece. It worked perfectly. We spotted them from a mile away and spend only about 5 minutes on the baggage claim. Just like in Puerto Rico, right? Ahaha…

Yay we’re in Orlando! Little did we know that we would overstay our welcome pretty soon. Thanks to someone you may have heard about.

Our rooms. We had a one bed at first, but when we renewed we had to pick a 2-bed, which made us feel a bit like Fred and Wilma Flintstone. It felt weird to sleep alone after sharing your bed with someone for 3 1/2 years. DS seemed to like the change and insisted we stay the rest of our days in a 2 bed. That ungrateful punk.

Well, since we’re gonna be stuck in Whorelando we might as well take a stroll through the ol’ i-Drive (in no way related, owned, or associated with Apple, Inc.)

We were pretty fortunate to book our stay in a tourist-heavy area, or those 2 weeks of waiting hell would have been especially torturous with nothing near.

Speaking of near, look what we had right in front of us. Taunting us with it’s people screaming and having the time of their lives while we can’t take advantage of it since we have to watch our finances because we’re both unemployed and don’t have a fixed income. Fuck.

Well, since we can’t do nothing FUN *grumble grumble* why don’t we walk around, see what we can find that doesn’t require spending a shitload of cash?

Hey look! It’s a Star Trek gift shop! You can tell it’s Star Trek related because of the giant Vulcan kid painted in the front. Although, that white thing has got to be a really old model of the Enterprise…

Hey look, it’s the McDonald’s with the biggest play place in the world! They should just cut the crap and fill that shit up with treadmills for all those fat little fucks they keep creating with their greasy-ass excuse for food. Or maybe some giant hamster wheels. Or TV’s hooked up to Wii Fit.

Is that it? is that all there is to see? Isn’t there something that could ease our never ending misery caused by a negligent shipping company? *Gasp* Wha–what is that I see in the horizon! Could it be?!

It’s IHOP!! Yes! YES I want that shit in my face and all over my tits YES!!–

Umm… Anyway let’s go in and eat something.

Waiting for our order to come. And yes, I did beat it several times. The trick is to clear them from the outside to the inside. *please ignore my dirty illegal immigrant ’stache*

OH CHRIST YES ALL OVER MY TITS AND ASS. Delicious carrot pancakes, so fluffy and moist. They sure made ME moist.

After that orgasmic breakfast which quickly became routine every morning, we decided to go further down i-Drive to see if it was really only made of restaurants, annoying Disney ticket pushers and gift shops.

Oh hey! It’s Ripley’s Believe it or Not Museum! That looks like a fun and affordable fun time.

Affordable MY ASS. They raped our wallets for $40. And judging by the contents of this rank old building, it was absolutely NOT WORTH IT. The most interesting thing was right there at the beginning, a talking hologram of Ripley’s lookalike. Everything else was just a bunch of tribal masks, cheap optical illusions you see on every goddamn email forward, wax figures and fake representations or just pictures of actual things he saw during his travels around the world. Fuck this shit. I didn’t pay to see no plastic two-headed cow, for forty bucks I want that two-headed bitch alive and eating out of my hand. Fuckin’ tourist trap.

Near the end of that painful scam, I got an allergy outbreak. Not even a bathroom nearby to blow out the five gallons of snot building up in my nasal cavity. Fuck this shit let’s hit fast forward and go. If you wanna see the rest of the useless hogwash we photographed in there, check out our respective Fakebooks. It’s not like you’re missing much.

A few days later we received the wonderful news that the shipping fucktards finally had our car ready for release, so that same morning we packed up our shit and got the hell out of Orlando as if we had a firecracker lit in our asses.

Here you can see DS’s expression of utter bliss when he finally got his hands on his beloved car.

And here is the real start of our journey. Two weeks after we arrived. We could have been in Texas days ago but no. Boricuas Bestiales had to be involved. But that doesn’t matter anymore! we got our car! We’re finally driving to our destination! Let’s just enjoy all the scenery and the different…

…Trees. And more trees. And farms. And green valleys. Full of cows. Eating grass. Under trees. And then there’s… more trees up ahead. By now DS’s expression of glee has been replaced with “serious face”.

Basically 17 out of the 19 hours we spent on the trip were like this: green green green green green green green green green green green green green green *stop to pee* green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green *stop to eat* green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green…

Oh look a bridge! green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green motherfucking green…

Green green green green gree– Wait! What is that? Do my laser enhanced eyes deceive me? Sweet mother of my ass welded to the passenger seat! It’s a city! Finally some civilization! Beautiful smog and concrete! Praise the gods!

This underwater tunnel took us completely by surprise. We were driving around and then suddenly “holy fucking shit we’re in an underwater tunnel OMG”. It felt really constricted. A claustrophobic would have lost his shit in there.

And then it was back to the fucking green. Oh well, at least this time there were miles and miles of stinky, sweaty, alligator ridden swamp to change the scenery.

Another thing that was a bit freaky is that those shots were taken at 7:30-8 p.m., and the sun was shining as if it was fucking 4 p.m. We’re still not used to the sun setting so late (at about 9 in the evening), but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. The extra hours of sunlight are a welcome change.

A few hours later we arrived in a Motel 6 in Slidell, Louisiana. We didn’t take any pictures there since once you see a Motel 6, you’ve seen them all, but this one was not only smaller, but we were greeted by a very friendly little cockroach that creeped out from behind the night table. We got to see first hand the glaring difference between a motel in a tourist area and it’s counterpart in a backwater town. The clerk guy was a douche and the pool was filthy and filled with these nasty ghetto bitches screaming at their kids. And no, we didn’t go to New Orleans or the fucking French Quarter. We just wanted to get to our destination so bad and wanted to spend the least money on fuel, so stuff like that just had to wait.  Besides, what’s the appeal of the French Quarter and why is everyone feverishly suggesting we go as if it was some sort of holy land? I know it has an interesting night life and great places to eat, but gimme a break, it’s not like it’s the only place in America that has that. It’s not even Mardi Gras season, for fuck’s sake. Get a grip. We didn’t go. Deal with it.

And besides, it’s not like I’m dying to see the remnants of Katrina and the results of government negligence.

The next day (and after a very uneasy night’s sleep fearful of being molested by a vindictive cockroach looking to avenge the grisly death of it’s colleague), we left as early as we could. The rest of the trip was equally uneventful as the first half, so barely any photos were taken. Until we finally saw this and we screamed like two bitches hopped up on cocaine and redbull:

Awwwwwwww yeahhhhh. WELCOME TO TEXAS MOTHERFUCKS. Only a few more hours to go!

Unfortunately that’s enough for today kiddies, I’ve crippled your browser with enough photos. Tune in next time for more pictures of our triumphant arrival upon what is now “Le Chateau du Kaiser et le Darky”, and some pictures of Plano, a.k.a. “The Stepford City”.

So, what has gone on since we arrived in this charming, relatively young city? Well…

We started off on the wrong side of the law by “borrowing” internet. But only for a few days, don’t judge! It took a week to get Internet service and then soon after we spent another week without it thanks to Time Warner’s negligent technicians, so these last couple of weeks we’ve survived thanks to a stray unsecured connection that was so weak it took a few minutes to charge up even Google. Rampant thievery aside, Time Warner’s connection is good, but their customer service is utter shit. I trust DS will put you up to speed with their incompetence soon. I’ve never seen him this pissed at anyone over the phone. Programmers really flip their shit and go through withdrawal syndrome when they’re offline for too long. Scary stuff.

The highlight of this ordeal was when they actually sent us a Hallmark card that said “we’re sorry we let you down “. You hypocritical cockmongrels. If you were equally dedicated with your customer service as you are with sending inane greeting cards we wouldn’t have laughed as hard at your lame attempt to prevent us from switching services. But alas, they came through today and we were spared from getting into a 1 year assrape contract with Verizon and dumping their careless asses for vandalizing our connection for no reason at all.

I’m such a fucking nerd. Talking so much shit about Internet and not a single thing about Plano. Well, what can I say. This town is the physical manifestation of Suburbia. The lawns are so perfectly kept, the flowers fresh and always blooming in every front yard, the houses are perfectly aligned hunks of red brick and wood. Classy shit. And the malls. Oh my fucking god this town is CRAWLING with them. I shit you not, there’s a fucking shopping mall in every corner. And I don’t mean a ratty strip mall, I mean fucking huge complexes dedicated to take your wallet and fuck it long and hard. Seriously they make Plaza las Américas look like el colmadito de la esquina. To give you an idea, in less than five minutes by car I’m surrounded by: Walmart Supercenter, Sam’s Club (they’re side by side like little brothers), Target Supercenter, Circuit City, Best Buy, Marshalls, JC Penney, Macy’s, Olive Garden, Aplebees, Red Lobster, Fudruckers, The Cheesecake Factory, Petsmart (gigantic, Walmart-like store for pets) and last but not least, Ikea, where we bought our relatively cheap fuck pit king sized bed.

We REALLY have to exercize our self control to not go in a shopping spree and blow out all our savings or go eat out every night. We have to constantly remind ourselves that we still have no income, and yet we’ve managed to visit and buy stuff at about half of all those stores I’ve mentioned. At least it was all basic necessities, like food, cleaning supplies, a table, and most importantly, the fuck pit– I mean the bed.

I’m really sorry I have no pictures to share, that is probably the only thing we have neglected to do in our whole stay here. Inexcusable, I know. But I promise that my next post will be all pics and little words.

Oh right! The apartment. Well, what can I say. It’s pretty big considering we’ll be paying less than 700 bucks a month. Plus we got a stove, microwave, fridge and dishwasher into the whole deal.  Want more? The complex has 2 pools, laundromat and a gym with a steam room. For a place like this back in the PR we could be getting fucked out of $2000 or more per month. And we have hares and squirrels running wild in our backyard! So cute! Until they bite and infect your ass with rabies. Also, Texas crows are the size of fucking chickens. Jesus.

I also had a chance to do a quick visit to my future dungeon/campus, and let me tell ya, I want classes to start yesterday. I am so fucking stoked. Even the fact that I’ll be thousands of dollars in debt at the end of this journey can’t take away the feeling of “holy shit I’m starting a brand new chapter in my life”. It’s like the first time you play an RPG you really really like. No skills, no spells, no items, barely any money, and an eagerness to just go out and save the world, and by the time you are done fighting and advancing and grinding with your group of fellow adventurers, you have so many new skills, the best armor, the most powerful spells and the best items to take on the final boss (or in our case, the job search) and smite the shit out of it.

So yeah, this whole thing is gonna be like my own private Final Fantasy, but unlike the Final Fantasy series, my storyline is actually going to have a point and make sense.

What the fuck am I even talking about. I am writing this from yet another Motel 6 so we’re still playing dirty motel whores. Unfortunately not only is this one smaller but also dirtier, I saw one of those little tiny cockroaches and DS squashed the shit out of it and now I’m freaked out because I don’t want those little bastard fuckers crawling all over me while I sleep.

Fuck. I hope our new apartments are properly fumigated. Goddamned vermin now I can’t sleep. I’ll even call up my dad, have him send me some of that Malathion. That stuff kills bugs and small mammals.

Oh and I forgot to mention that we’re in Louisiana. The land that saw Britney lip-synch her way out of her mother’s vagina. Oh and there’s also Mardi Gras.

I am so, SO sick of seeing fucking trees. Rows upon rows of trees one after the other in an endless parade of greenery. We only saw like, a small chunk of Alabama for about fifteen minutes, among hours upon hours of green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green green motherfucking green… Deforestation my ass.

You’d think by all those movies about road trips we’d be having their time of our lives, getting involved in crazy hijinks and zany adventures. Fuck no. I was so bored I wanted to tie my cock into a knot. But I much rather have a plain, uneventful journey than have something fucked up happen to us. Hell, we even check if funnels form whenever we see a black cloud. We now have a new foe. And his name is tornado.

I’m gonna go. We gotta wake up extra early tomorrow for the remaining 10 hours of our journey. And I wanna get out of this buggy shithole ASAP.

Ugh. Now I feel creepy crawlies everywhere under this blanket.

See ya’all in Texas.

Allow me a moment to take the biggest, messiest, corn-studded SHIT on La Rosa del Monte.

We have been stuck in Orlando for nearly a week now, when the original plan was to hang out here probably for a weekend while the freighter company mentioned above did it’s thing and released our car for pickup at their warehouse.

Wat has gone on for the past few days is an excruciating waiting period, much more painful than the acceptance letter from the Guildhall, since at least that last one I had a lot of faith in. But not with La Rosa. Since last Friday they have provided us with a shit ton of excuses and tentative dates for when they’ll have our car ready, and when that date finally arrives, all we get is a new excuse and a new date to call them back. How utterly Puertorrican of them.

First, they said the freighter hadn’t unloaded. Then it was stuck in the pier. Then it was unstuck and was on it’s way to the warehouse. Then they backtrack and tell us it’s still on the pier again. Then they tell us that our wagon number is 49, and they have only processed up to number 47.

Yesterday, yet another day they assured us they’d have it ready, they really took the cake. First the fucking punk-ass whore receptionist plays with our feelings and tells us that it’s ready and we can pick it up right away. Then she stutters and says “wait.. hold on a second don’t go”, and after leaving me on hold for five minutes, she picks up and says “I’m sorry, my mistake, the car’s not here yet. You’ll have to give me a call by next monday.

MONDAY?! FUCK YOUR PUTA-BITCH ASS YOU CONNIVING LYING WHORE! That’s FIVE MORE DAYS OF PAYING FOR A HOTEL ROOM AND EATING OUT! Do you have any idea of the ridiculous amount of money your fucking delay will make us spend?!

I tried to convey that issue, of course with a bit more tact, but all she said was that at best we could hope to get our car by Saturday, but she wouldn’t guarantee anything. She insisted we called her on Monday, but fuck her. We are gonna call her every day, twice a day. Just to make sure. As a matter of fact, as soon as I make this post, I’m gonna fucking call again.

It’s funny how every aspect of our trip that has to do with puertorricans giving us service has turned out to be a gigantic fucking shameful failure, yet everything else turns out peaches and cream. It may sound derisive and hypocrytical, but it’s the absolute goddamn truth. There’s nothing we can do about that fact.

We were supposed to be in Plano on Friday to sign the lease contract on our future living quarters, but thanks to these assholes those plans are ruined. I’ll have to call the admin office and reschedule the moving date, again. Hopefully they’ll be lenient and allow us at least an extra week to show up and move in.

As for the Guildhall, I’m supposed to wait for their call to schedule a counseling meeting, but thanks to these fucking good for nothing unpredictable freighter bitches, the longer the school takes to call me the better.

Well, as I said, I’m gonna call again. Let’s see what brilliant excuse they have in store for me today. If our car is there, I swear I’m gonna scream so hard the cops are gonna show up.

Fuckin’ punks.