An Average Road Trip to Fort Lauderdale.


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Funny Blog Friday (FBF) is a Blog Hop consisting of multiple funny bloggers, apparently including JC, connecting and attempting to make some jokes. JC does not make jokes, but makes clever little insights that may have some meaning that we all can learn from, but he waters it down with goddamn profanities. Whoops.

Last weekend, I had the opportunity to drive down to Fort Lauderdale, FL, for Bo Burnham’s comedy show. Yep, you heard it: Fort Lauderdale. 200 miles from my house in Kissimmee, FL. Quite honestly, both are similar towns: Both are on the outskirts of cities that actually matter, both have odd people, and both have fucking ridiculous names. The distance between the two areas, fun little fact, is far enough that Google will suggest that you take a 55-minute plane to get to either town instead of taking the three hour drive that I took.

Yeah. Three hours one-way – Six hour round trip. Six hours with my parents driving and me in the back seat with my female accomplice. Also, yeah. Female accomplice. Get that shit wrapped around your head. I’ve been blogging for the past three years about my failures with the ladies, and I’ve made some relatively offensive jokes about women (and men too, but no one gives a shit about that), so I’d like to believe that there’s at least one avid reader going “Damn, JC finally got some girl on his dick! How the fuck did that happen?” Was she a hot date? Nope. Was she a date in general? Not a chance. Apparently, she doesn’t want to get in anything serious, so she was just dead weight when we went. I could have dropped her, but I didn’t because her love for Bo Burnham is creepy and she would have killed me if I didn’t let her go.

So, three hour road trip with parents and creepy Bo Burnham lover. And, in reality, three hours was not as long as she was bitching on about. Like, we ride the bus together for at least an hour and a half every school day, and I don’t hear any complaints then, but we get to that hour and thirty-one minute mark on this trip, there’s some backlash I’m lucky enough to never see on a daily basis. I recall the words “My ass hurts” being said, and, I admit, I appreciate her honesty. No woman, if they’re sitting for more than an hour and a half or if you’re just fucking them, will ever say that their ass hurts. There’s yet to be an honest porno where a woman gets up halfway through and says “Yeah, let’s just do missionary, cause this doggystyle shit is too much.”

We did solve her ass problem at a toll road truck stop. She got a chance to get up and I got to take the wonderful views that truck stops now have. I don’t know what the joke was that finally brought attention of the shitty quality stops used to have, but they cleaned up their act. I walked into this magical place and their bathrooms were actually clean. There was a tourist info center inside, and the place was hundreds of miles away from where tourists are, because they know that there’s one asshole with their stupid family who wanted to go to Miami but wanted to save a buck on airfare, so they decided to land in Orlando and drive for hours to Miami. They had that place for that one asshole that doesn’t even exist. Granted, they had a Burger King which isn’t necessarily the best of its industry, but they had clean bathrooms. End of story.

An hour later, we get to Fort Lauderdale. It was my first time there, and it was cool just to see how different it was from where I usually hang around. To celebrate the occasion we ate at this place called Pizza Fusion. With a name like that, you would think that it was this cool and hip place where they combine pizza and burgers, or ice cream, some shit like that. Fucking no. Nothing like that. Organic and vegan pizza. That’s what it turned out to be. Yeah, they had pepperoni, but I wasn’t convinced that they would serve any type of meat, seeing they were on Peta’s list of “Top ten animal friendly pizza chains,” or something like that. I still firmly that they served Fakeroni(TM, willing to sell for high price) on an extra large pizza we got. (Also, some bullshit I need to address: EXTRA LARGE DOES NOT MEAN “Serves three to four people” AS THE MENU SUGGESTS. IT MEANS “Serve a fuckload of people.” PLEASE REMEMBER THAT WHEN OPERATING ANY PIZZA-BASED BUSINESS.)

My female companion and I saw the concert afterwards. It was good. Opening act was good (Guy’s name was Adam Newman. Never heard of him, has a good act going for him.), headliner, Bo Burnham, did a good performance, and that’s that. I should mention that the reason that I use such elementary vocabulary, like the basic word “good,” just to piss off a few of my friends. I need to be as much of an asshole who saw something that he spent money and a ride for, had an amazing time, and to tell his friends “Eh, it was okay.” Yeah, in reality it was the best thing I’ve seen in a while, but screw that idea. My friends need to think that I did not deserve to watch the rising comedian in action.

After that, we slept the drive home, slept on air mattresses next to each other, and she left the next day. Nothing happened: No kiss, no makeout session, just some bullshit arm-around-her action. Nothing happened. Like, I don’t think she was obligated to do anything, but it would have been nice. Tell everyone three months before that you’re gonna blow a guy just to not do it is a huge let-down for everyone, not just the guy. Just saying.

So, yeah. Fast times on the Florida Turnpike and in Fort Lauderdale.

I didn’t get blown. I’m still sad because of it.

More to come.

Here’s a list of other bloggers involved in Funny Blog Friday.  Visit them. Or don’t. Approximately zero out of the 20-something people that read up to this point continue to scroll down and click on any of the names.

Victoria of Angst Anarchy

Alanna of White Girls Be Like…

Jamie of Fits of Wit

Jessie of Jessie Reyna

HE Ellis of HE Ellis

Ben of Ben’s Bitter Blog

Jenn of Properly Ridiculous

Alice of Alice At Wonderland

Lisa of Buddhaful Britt

JC of JCS Bloggery

Sarah of No Cry Babies

Elke of The Pretty Platform

Jack of The Things I see Up Here

Chicks A & E of Too Funny Chicks

Charly of Crazy Life

Kevin of Trailer Trash Deluxe

Karilin of That Nameless Color

Arthur of Pouring My Art Out

Gina of Endearingly Wacko

Eric of Opticynicism

Lisa of Where’s My Xanax…

Sophia from Stories from the Far Side of Normal

Drew of Gnomes and Pineapples

 

I Don’t Understand Kik.


I recently got Kik Messenger. I don’t know exactly why I did it, but I did.

I hate it. I honestly do. I already think talking to my friends is a dumb idea, adding a few green colors isn’t gonna change that. I don’t understand the appeal of it, as it’s the same shit as other messenger services. Apparently, I’m the only one who knows that fact. The fourth message I got from a friend was “Tbh I prefer kik.” I didn’t realize that any human being could pick, of the millions of applications that allow you to send your stupid thoughts to your stupid friends, a specific app as a favorite. I wanted to tell her that she was wrong in her opinion making skills, but I like to be subtle. I message her “It’s the same shit though.” She was not phased, replying “noooooo.” I don’t know why she needed so many ‘o’s,’ I think the statement didn’t require it. I would deserve those added letters if I said something that wasn’t germane, like “Hey, can I fuck you?” but I didn’t ask that. And that’s also the wrong answer to the question, just so we’re all clear.

So with the added benefit of my dumbass friends being able to message me shit, I love one other aspect. The first thing they list on the permissions, if you go on Google Play, is “In-app purchases.”

I never thought that a messenger app could have the balls to say “Fuck you, you got to pay for some shit.” I had no fucking clue that someone could find a way to profit off of people trying to talk to each other through an app. Shouldn’t the first damn thing that a messenger app tell you in the permissions is “Hey, we access your phone to send messages, cause that’s the thing you signed up for” and not “Give us money”? I already get fucked over by Verizon; you think I want another business having a go?

I don’t know. Maybe someone I know will explain why I’m the true idiot and why their messenger from the gods is what is truly needed for this generation to communicate. Some bullshit Kik Master Race gonna happen. Probably. I don’t know anymore.

More to come.

That’s A Lie. A Short Story.


I wrote a fictional, slightly comedic, dialogue-driven short story called That’s a Lie. People said it was good when I gave it to them, but I did not believe them because most of them think The Big Bang Theory and Grey’s Anatomy is good, so they don’t have any idea what is truly “Good.” Never mind their opinion, here it is. Enjoy.

* * *

Tim was fully prepared when she said “I think I’m in love with him.”

Sabrina wasn’t prepared at all when he said “Elaborate.”

Tim was used to this type of conversation; one wherein the amount of bullshit that comes out of someone’s mouth beats the amount a typical McDonald’s cattle ranch produces in a year. This conversation, specifically where Sabrina mentioned the words “I think I’m in love with him,” has been said a few good times. He couldn’t remember the exact date that it last occurred, but he guessed it was around two months ago, back when Ryan was her boy-toy at the time. Tim was finally done with this type of conversation, and wanted to mess around with Sabrina and see what would happen.

“What?” Sabrina asked, confused as to the context of the question.

“Elaborate,” Tim said once more.

Tim began to remember the last two times he had this conversation with Sabrina. They both ended the same way: Sabrina would say the sentence that has lost all meaning, Tim would say “Good for you,” and then she’d leave to go see whoever it was she was with at the time. The only variable that was in the equation was where it took place. The first time it happened in a small little coffee shop, which Sabrina invited Tim and a friend of theirs to give the news, and the second time was in Intermediate Algebra, where almost everyone was around to hear the news. This time, Tim and Sabrina were alone in a dive bar, sitting across from each other at a table.

“Well,” Sabrina began to explain, “We both have alike tastes in style and humor, we both support each other, and he wants to have sex with me, so it’s a win-win.”

Tim took a millisecond to gather his thoughts over such an odd sequence of words.. “What’s this win-win scenario?”

“He wants to have sex with me, I’ll give it to him because we’re in love, and that’s that. We both have sex, we both win.” Sabrina began to sip her drink

Tim did not even try to hide the smirk that spanned his face for a moment. Sabrina took notice of this expression, and slowly lowered her drink.

“Why’d you smirk?” Sabrina asked in a rude tone.

“Why do I smirk at anything?” Tim retorted. “I thought something that someone said was funny.”

Sabrina leaned back in her seat. “You think what I said was funny?”

“No, I thought what you implied was funny,” Tim replied.

“What did I imply then?”

“You think that because he wants to fuck you, you’re both in love.”

“And that’s funny?”

“It’s hilarious, even. For all the stand-up that I have seen and heard, that sentence-slash-joke rises to Pryor and Carlin ranks.”

“Why?”

Tim scanned the room for the guy that Sabrina would consider mildly attractive. The perfect one was the guy that was tall, had a flat-top hairstyle, and an average face. Face and body didn’t matter to Sabrina, as long as there was a pair of lips that she could match with hers while her eyes were closed and as long as there was a penis between the legs.

“See flat-top over there?” Tim pointed out to Sabrina, who was automatically showing interest, as he grabbed a pen and a napkin.

“Yes,” Sabrina said.

“Do you know him?”

“No.”

Tim began to write her words on the napkin. “Is he attractive?”

“Definitely, but I don’t see where thi-”

“Would you have sex with him given the chance?” Tim asked, cutting Sabrina off as he wrote.

Sabrina was taken aback. “What?”

Tim looked up at Sabrina, her face as if she did not understand the language Tim was speaking. “Simple question: would you fuck him?”

Sabrina took a few moments. “Maybe.”

“You would consider it?”

“I guess.”

Tim began to sip his drink as he wrote it down. He read from his napkin. “So you don’t know the guy, you don’t love him, let’s make sure that becomes specified, but you would consider having sex with him. This is all true?”

Tim slid the napkin to Sabrina. The words ‘Don’t know him – is attractive – would fuck’ were written. “Apparently,” Sabrina said.

Tim took the napkin back. “Using your own words, you countered your own argument,” Tim said, tapping on the napkin as he spoke.

Sabrina paused before sighing. “What’s your point?”

“My point is, just because you want to fuck, doesn’t mean you love the person you’re fucking. Shit, if that was true, porn wouldn’t exist because those women – the ones with the fake tits bigger than yours and the ones with natural tits still bigger than yours – would be fucking the same guy every single fucking video. Instead of the large pool of female actresses and the small pool of male actors who could be mixed and matched, porn production companies would need to hire couples that are, in your world, in love. There’s only, what, like two porn couples today? You think they have that magical connection everyone wants that allows them to fuck every single day for a paycheck?”

Sabrina was offended.  “But he wants to-” Sabrina began to say in a defensive tone, emphasizing the word ‘Want.’

“News flash: a lot of guys would fuck you given the opportunity. Blind guys who can’t see you, deaf guys who don’t have to hear a damn word you say, I did at one point, and maybe a few people here who could get you drunk enough to take you back to their place.”

“At one point?” Sabrina asked, curious to a very small portion of Tim’s statement.

“And on top of that, just because you have alike tastes in things doesn’t make you two star-crossed lovers, just friends. What, we have alike tastes in music but you show no interest in me,” Tim argued, avoiding the original question Sabrina brought up in an attempt to explain to her the ideals of life Tim believed in.

“What do you mean, ‘At one point?’” Sabrina asked in a more dominant tone, staying focused on the original topic.

“Did I want to fuck you? Oh, hell yeah I did, but that was a different time.”

“What was different?” Sabrina asked.

“A lot of things: I was new to the game of romance, I had less experience than the average guy, and I had one last thing.” Tim stood up, and grabbed his drink. He left the napkin near Sabrina

“Lower standards.” Tim finished his thought as he began to walk to the bar.

Tim did not notice Sabrina give a slight gasp, as he was too focused on the way the bartender poured cheap beer from the tap that Tim ordered. Tim did not notice Sabrina walk away in anger, throwing the napkin away in a trashcan near the door, but began to notice the music playing in the background. Hooked on a Feeling was midway through the second chorus. Tim, for the first time that evening, liked the sound that he was hearing.

* * *

That’s it. That’s my fiction piece. Loved it or hated it, it happened. You read it, can’t do much about that now.

More to come. Probably about real things and not just some fictional story.

JC Has Odd Conversations and Knows Odd People.


My sister recently told me that communication is the key to any good relationship, romantic or platonic. She does not understand how dumb that sounds when you put into the context the people I know, and it really is becoming more apparent that I think slightly more about what I say than my colleagues. Or think in general, for that matter.

Like the other day, I was in Spanish class, just being the whitest person in the room. We had a recent seat change, so I now sit close to the door. An acquaintance comes in and forgets where her seat is, before saying “Wow, I keep on forgetting that I sit so close to the door.” Simple statement, doesn’t really need any more than that, could become a pretty good tweet. She then adds something along the lines of “If a gunman comes in, looks like I’m screwed.” Probably not the best of things to say in any school setting. I still have yet to say a single word to this gal, and she adds, “Luckily, I got the soda that can distract him and I’ll be a hero.” Like she actually believes that soda is going to stop a gunman of any kind. Like a kid that has had enough somehow gets a gun, makes a plan of action that he works on for weeks, goes to Spanish class at the right time, probably around when class has begun, and right before they start to shoot, Miss SodaSaver opens up the soda, maybe she’s already sipping it, splashes it in the person’s face, and the plan just goes to shit within a few seconds. Because soda is gonna make him forget the gun he’s holding and ready to shoot, and then say “Aw shit, what the fuck? I got soda on my shirt, the gun might jam a little, everything is just gonna be sticky now. Oh well, arrest me. It’s over. Didn’t plan on this shit happening. Should have put plastic on everything.” So I now decide to talk, you know, to let everyone know that I have half a brain, and say “Well, will soda really make you a hero? Will that really help?” She responds with “Well, it might distract him so that I can leave.” There’s only one thing that you can say, right? I say “Well that doesn’t make you a hero, that makes you selfish!”Now she gets defensive, and says “Well after I splash him with soda, I’ll take him down! Will that make me a hero?”

No. No it will not.

Another good story: Another female colleague I know very well. I wont say friend, due to the fact that she’s got another boytoy and thinks that I and my bro is “bad news,” even though when they break up in the next two months she’ll be crawling back to us for guidance, and she won’t listen and go off with another douche. She was dumped on New Years Eve. Sad story… for her. Hilarious for me, because I fucking called it! Three weeks later, she gets with another guy, one that I know from the 8th grade. The guy’s an asshole, and she’ll find out soon. She’s into assholes. The guy literally broke up with his girlfriend to be with her, so he’s also a fucking moron. Here’s their plan: Keep their relationship under wraps for a few days, and get back at their ex’s after she blows him. That’s the plan. And she blows after three weeks. Hell, she might get the idea that it didn’t work out because she didn’t blow him soon enough! Maybe it’ll be two weeks, then the next guy after this douche gets one week wait! I had a thing for her before all this bullshit, and it might be gone now, but I’m willing to let her date a few guys so I get blown a day into the two-day relationship.

What else: I joined Instagram recently, and I got three letters from colleges. I thought it was cool, getting them all in one swoop. I got a few separately, cumulative I have gotten about 7 letters, a few from the same college that I do feel like going to. I take a photo of the three letters, give it a simple “College stuff.” caption, and post it. Twenty minutes later, I get a comment from the female from the last anecdote that says, and I directly quote, “Nigga I got 10 of those in a day.” Now she wants to talk to me after ignoring me, only to one up me. So I have to respond with a slightly condescending comment, so I simply say “Good for you. You want a trophy or something?”

Now, if you know me, I usually go harsh when I get aggravated over stupid shit. I wasn’t as harsh because I couldn’t pick the perfect way to end it. The statement “Good for you. You want a trophy or something?” is only half of what I wanted to say, but the second half had multiple ways that I could have brought her of her high horse.

Here’s a list of possible second halves to the statement “Good for you. You want a trophy or something?”:

  • A trophy that reads “Colleges are interested in me but cute boy’s aren’t.”?
  • A trophy that reads “Colleges are interested in me but I can’t have a stable relationship”?
  • A trophy that reads “Colleges are interested in me so I get to be a condescending asshole”?
  • A trophy that reads “I can round the number 1 up to 10″?
  • A trophy that reads “I got JC interested in me, who really is kind of a nice person unlike my ex’s, but I lost him all in one sentence”?
  • A trophy that reads “I have a good GPA but that says nothing about my true intelligence”?
  • A trophy that reads “I got 10 letters in one day but when I respond to them I’ll get no reply because they made a mistake”?

Yeah, I get dark.

More to come.

A Complete Guide on What Will Probably Happen in the New Year.


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Funny Blog Friday (FBF) is a Blog Hop consisting of multiple funny bloggers, for some reason including JC, connecting and eventually stealing each other’s material and reposting it at a later time. Be prepared for someone to become super famous after they take something I said and take all the credit for themselves. I can’t wait for the lawsuit that’ll follow after.

Folks, I recently discovered that I am a god. Not whatever god that you believe in, that dude is almost guaranteed to be fake, but a real god, like Joseph Smith or Matthew Mcconaughey. I recently came into my powers after my last post. I wrote about a relationship that I predicted would fail within the month after the post was published. Well, I was technically right. It happened within the few hours after. I have the god-like power to vaguely predict when things will happen, and I hope to abuse this power to do what some might have thought was impossible:

I shall predict vague events that will happen within the next year, a relatively long and vague period of time. If any one of these events happen, or an event that feels close to whatever I say, then we all have to admit that I have powers that none of you fuckers have.

Here we go.

  • Adam Sandler will, for a very short period of time, revitalize his acting and comedy career, but will lose all credibility after he announces a sequel to any of his films. Bonus points if it’s Grown Ups 3.
  • We shifted from white neighborhood watch shooting an unarmed black teen to a white police officer shooting and unarmed black teen, so lets up the ante and say a soldier will shoot an unarmed black teen.
  • Somebody at either NBC, CBS, or FOX will finally have a stroke of genius and cancel or annonce the last season for either The Biggest Loser/Bad Judge, The Big Bang Theory/Mom, or The Mindy Project/New Girl, all of which are given to their respective networks. Preferably, The Big Bang Theory are taken out, at the very least.
  • A major video game studio will close down, or Call of Duty will actually have an original story or title, at the very least.
  • Apple will release the iPhone 8, because fuck you, that’s why. (It will also fucking bend.)
  • Florida will have not one, but two, major news stories of crazy people that will make national headlines.
  • The NFL will have another scandal that is not in relation to drugs or domestic abuse, which, I’ll admit, sounds impossible, but it’ll happen.
  • There will be a leak of male celeb nudes, because hackers don’t want to be perceived as sexist invaders of privacy.
  • Leonardo DiCaprio will not win an Oscar. I don’t necessarily agree with my prediction, but it’s just not gonna happen. Sorry.
  • FOX News will surpass MSNBC in viewers, but not in actual reputable news reporting.
  • I will get into a relationship, but it won’t last because of something that I’ll say, probably “I’m breaking up with you.”
  • I will solve all of my friends problems, but at their cost of me writing about it, then them irrationally getting angry at me because they all know damn well that I have this, and there’s a hidden agreement like those that you skip over when you update iTunes. If you don’t bother to check, it’s your fucking fault.

Those are my predictions. They probably will not happen.

More to come.

Here’s other people who do this blog hop, or, at least, signed up for it when it originally started. I honestly have no clue who cares anymore. Check them out anyway if you feel like it.

Victoria of Angst Anarchy

Alanna of White Girls Be Like…

Jamie of Fits of Wit

Jessie of Jessie Reyna

HE Ellis of HE Ellis

Ben of Ben’s Bitter Blog

Jenn of Properly Ridiculous

Alice of Alice At Wonderland

Lisa of Buddhaful Britt

JC of JCS Bloggery

Sarah of No Cry Babies

Elke of The Pretty Platform

Jack of The Things I see Up Here

Chicks A & E of Too Funny Chicks

Charly of Crazy Life

Kevin of Trailer Trash Deluxe

Karilin of That Nameless Color

Arthur of Pouring My Art Out

Gina of Endearingly Wacko

Eric of Opticynicism

End With a Bang: A Look Back at 2014


Folks, it’s the day of the year we have all been waiting for: The day where I, JC, look back on the past year and makes some stupid jokes about it. I’ve done this series for three years now, technically making this the longest series I’ve done, so I think it would be fun to see how this series has changed.

The first year of this series (2012) was when I was still on Blogger, Google’s wannabe WordPress, which is a time that we don’t talk about because I was just starting up and wrote depressing and serious shit that no one cares about. Year two (2013) was when I just felt out of it, not really caring and not addicted to caffeine yet, causing it to have a lot of mistakes grammatically and logically. It was quite rushed. Now, I have another year of experience, and another year of crazy things happening.

Ebola scared Americans with good healthcare for a good five seconds, that was fun. We shifted from racist white neighborhood watchmen shooting unarmed teens to racist white cops shooting unarmed teens, so we now have full-proof evidence that evolution exists. North Korea is such a fucking tease, so that hasn’t evolved. Seth Rogen and James Franco made a film that angered North Korea because, and I’m just guessing this, they only used weed, like, one time in The Interview, and Seth Rogen needs marijuana to be taken seriously. We somehow lost two planes, the first one being from Malaysian Airlines and the second (the sequel, as it should be called) from AirAsia, and the sequel was slightly better because we actually found the plane, and conversely horrible because we found the disaster, but we must remember the Amelia Earhart prequel that no one talks about. Celeb nudes were released and male productivity plummeted for one day, still believed to not be correlated. ISIS (Joke taken out due to author’s fear of death). We landed a spacecraft on a fucking comet, but screw that, the guy who made it happen had a bad shirt on.

Now, that’s the world events, but I made some of my own impacts. To save you some time of actually having to go back and figure out what impacts I have made, I composed a very short synopsis of my best impacts (not rated by users, just the ones that I thought were fun to write). I created a new social movement that has affected zero people, and I don’t even partake in it because my imagination fucking sucks. I wrote a newspaper article that offended someone, so life hasn’t changed at all. I caused two women I know to write their own blogs, one of which would have been great, but after she lost interest in me, she never updated after her first post, and one that’s pretty fake, but has some nice comments about me. The world came to know about my failures with women, which did jack shit for my romantic life in an odd twist. The most critical film analysis was created, one that was so critical that most of my dumb friends couldn’t even possibly understand, but the smart and educated public of fellow bloggers (much like yourself, loyal reader!) could completely understand. And, what I think is the most important of all, I went alone to homecoming because of two women not knowing what they were missing, one of which is now dating a guy whose name rhymes with dick and who, within the next month, will be called a dick by her when they break up. Don’t worry, I am aware that she will get mad if she reads this, but she either won’t because she already is tired of my shit, or she will read it, either think about it or won’t, probably won’t, get mad, and then forget about it after break ends. How do I know this? Another year of learning from everyone’s mistakes excluding mine. My mistake, of course, is continuing to write even though I know all of the consequences.

It’s been a great year, I’ll say that. I’m up there with Stephen Colbert on levels of influence, and I have a feeling that next year, I’ll surpass him in levels of “world-changing.”

Before I go, I shall share a fact with you: Along with this post, I wrote the same amount of blog posts as I did last year, and I got double the views and visitors. So next year, I’m just gonna do half the work and get the same amount of views. That’s called efficiency.

More to come in the next year, even though half is technically less, so… Less to come in the next year.

JC Goes to the Gym.


I was told to do a holiday-themed post because it’s Christmas and all bloggers do it, but I don’t conform to the blogging community’s bullshit standards. So, instead, let’s talk about the fact that I went to the gym a few weeks ago.

Yes, let those words sink in for a minute so you can have the full effect of how odd that sentence just sounds and feels in general. JC went to a gym. Of all the places I could be, which includes in my house, sitting on my ass watching Louie and Scrubs because that’s just what I do on an average day, I was in a gym. Let’s get any awkwardness out of the way: I, a teen with the nickname of JC, went to a gym.

By the way, there’s no parade for me going to the gym. There’s no celebration going on for wearing a white t-shirt that was designed and made exclusively for working out and basketball shorts showcasing my white and hairy legs.The reason for the no celebration is because I used to 5k’s, and I did no training for that. I’m doing a 10k next year, and I know I don’t need to train for it, because on race day I’ll wake up at 4 in the morning, cranky, and say “Fuck, really? That’s today? Jesus. Fuck it, let’s get it over and done with.” Do we all understand that?

So, yeah, I went to the gym a few weeks ago, and it wasn’t the first time I went to this gym provided by paying homeowner bills. The last time I went before this reentering to the physically fit community a few weeks ago was a great time, because when I went, there were these cool and fit Spanish people, two guys and one girl, doing sit ups and push ups on the floor, shit that they could have done in the privacy of their own home, and none of them were using any of the fucking machines provided. It just makes me wonder how much of an asshole do you have to be where you say “You know, I want to work out my abs, but I don’t want to ruin my carpet and tiling with my sweat. Let’s go to the gym!” And one of your buddies goes “Should we use the machines they provide?” And the only logical thing that can be responded, if you’re that asshole, is”Why would we fucking do that?” Best part of the experience was that they only spoke Spanish, in what I believe to be an attempt to make fun of my lack of skill in secrecy. I may not know your full language, Spanish people, but I know faces and laughter and shit.

So I went a few weeks ago, now with my whiter sister and her slightly Spanish boyfriend to also work out because they’re not like me where they can just get up and say “Doing a marathon, motherfuckers!” So we go, and the gym is part of a larger clubhouse complex with a pool, a small movie theater where you bring DVD’s to watch on a bigger screen, a billiards hall with an arcade, and a little office that sells vacation homes. I live in Florida, Central Florida, to be more precise, and there’s a large Spanish population. We enter the complex, and a cartoonishly huge, 20+ Spanish family is celebrating a birthday party. Thankfully, I didn’t ruin it by wearing basketball shorts, instead I was wearing jeans because I had, and still have, no clue where the fuck the shorts are because I haven’t used them in forever.

Now, no one else was working out for real purposes in the gym, but a few little 5-7 year old girls, not supervised, by the way, were on the treadmills. Because they were under ten, it was both morally wrong but totally justified to hope that one of the girls would just fall of and get injured. Don’t worry, I also hope secretly for a 25-year-old to fall off any treadmill too, but that would be hilarious in the case of him not dying, but the kids falling off teaches a lesson. I know, fuck the parents and not the kids, that’s the figurative and legal thing in the end, but that’s how I think the parents should get some payback for not looking after their kids. This also forced me to use the elliptical, the machine I never use, and – You know what? Fuck you, the elliptical is the only machine I use, I won’t lie. Hardcore shit happens on the elliptical. Also, I’ll admit it, I only work out in the most effective way if I listen to rock songs about past mistakes with women while I think of all the times I’ve been rejected (technically once, because there was the one time one girl said no, the second time that was my fault when I friend-zoned myself by saying ‘let’s just stay friends’ when I could have asked her out) and also think about women I know now and thinking “It’ll all work out (no pun intended) in the end. These elliptical strides are a symbol for the strides of trouble or some shit, who cares?”

After hardcore elliptical-ing to Def Leppard’s Photograph for thirty minutes, we finally left, and it was brought up that pizza was for dinner from this chain that my sister’s boyfriend isn’t that big one. Apparently, we were loud enough for the two teenage girls, above-average looking, by the way, texting and lying on the couch in the main room to get the idea of having their two cents heard, saying that “<insert pizzeria chain that isn’t getting any free rides and must pay if they want to be mentioned> sucks!” Personally, I didn’t agree with it, so I decided to state the obvious: “You’re not a part of this conversation!” Then I walked out, put my aviators on, and closed the door to their laughing/giggling.

They laughed/giggled, and didn’t seem offended by it. You know how fucking hard it is to get even a chuckle out of the women that I hang out with every day? That day, I learned two things: I only attract women that saw me once by chance, and if I’m slightly and playfully rude to women I don’t know, then I get all the bitches. All. The. Bitches. Only applicable after leaving a gym and if they have no idea that I was on the elliptical.

More to come. I don’t know when though. I’m working on non-blog things right now because I have a life outside of this.

Anonymous, Miscellaneous, Rapturous

hopefully here will be actual, creative, possibly intellectual pieces of writing

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