Regarding the previous post:

1. Organic chemistry, my boy. That will clear your titular confusion right up.

2. Context: NYU, at a party being held by my ex-girlfriend’s best friends, thereby explaining the need for heavy drinking.

3. Perhaps a more appropriate quote than Lincoln’s would have been:

“The devil made me do it the first time, and after that I did it on my own.”
–Robert Fulghum

4. Also on the topic of liquor and college women, Bobby and I head down to the Bahamas next weekend. Debaucheries will include: severe temulency and sorority girls gone wild.

5. In preparation for the trip, I’ve fallen back on the miracles of modern science: Twinlab’s E/C/A stack (Ripped Fuel). My body fat is at the lowest it’s been, largely due to preparation for an upcoming No Holds Barred tournament. Hopefully, this will help me drop to a Bruce Lee-esque 6% or so.

6. Anyone heading to GNC for some Ripped Fuel of their own would do well to cut the dosing in half. The lowered level has been demonstrated safe and effective (See Fuentes, Rosenberg & Davis, 1996; Allen & Hanburys, 1996) whereas Twinlab’s recommended dosage contains enough ephedrine to kill a small elephant.

Don’t worry, boys and girls. My momentarily earnest previous posting wasn’t a sign of my heart, Grinch-like, growing two sizes bigger. Rather, the cantankerous vitriol remains, momentarily overwhelmed by lack of sleep and bright, cheerful lighting. Anyone looking for more such hackneyed ‘Chicken Soup’ had best back-button before they get in too deep.

Yes, the title of the previous entry was a reference to He-Man, and the Masters of the Universe. Anyone who missed that had better spend a few hours studying up at He-Man.org. We’re talking basic cultural literacy here.

It is with profound jealousy that I read Ftrain.com. Paul Ford is an infinitely better writer than me, for which I hate him. He is a better writer than you, too.

The words of one of my fellow Palo Alto High School alumni, Jonah King, from Palyalumni.org:

“I have defended the labored bleating of Josh Newman over the last few months as many of my fellow alumni lambasted him as pompous and self-important. I now realize how bitterly remiss I have been. Though this latter-day William F. Buckley sprung from the same wellspring of knowledge, privilege and leisure as you and I, in the interim he has become an unrepentant East Coast apologist who has done George Jefferson one better- moving on up from the haughty snootiness and pseudo-Liberal culture of Palo Alto to the Ubersnootiness of that bastion of classic WASP values and *wink* *wink* superiority, the venerable Ivy League. But moving on up once was not good enough- Josh became a New Yorker- right, just like I’m a Los Angelino. Oh, and Josh, in reference to your assertion that women in and around San Francisco are aesthetically deficient- you are a platitudinous pissant. Back to my rant. Now that Josh deems himself too good for the slings and arrows of outrageous alumni, he has removed the incriminating evidence of his hubris from our collective consciousness. Check out his new website, prophetically named as it is. I write this only as an apology to those whom I doubted these many months. Josh Newman, I hardly knew ye.”

The thing that really hurts, though, is that his lambastment is better written than my postings.

Sure, I’ve been kickboxing competitively for some time, but I never realized my true martial arts calling until checking out the Official Ninja Homepage. To quote: “Ninjas can kill anyone they want! Ninjas cut off heads ALL the time and don’t even think twice about it. These guys are so crazy and awesome that they flip out ALL the time. I heard that there was this ninja who was eating at a diner. And when some dude dropped a spoon the ninja killed the whole town. My friend Mark said that he saw a ninja totally uppercut some kid just because the kid opened a window.”

Having lived in Japan, I’m particularly fired up about Engrish.com. At the time, I was a big fan of Pretz brand pretzel sticks, which featured this catchy slogan printed prominently on the box: Pretz. It’s a salty nuts taste.