Dear Readers,
As surely all of you know the holiday season is upon us.  And while this may mean Xmas trees and stockings and a fat Jesus giving out presents to children of at least a middle-class upbringing to Christians, or dradles and fancy candle holders to our Jewish friends, or Kwanzaa roots and branches to our Black brothers out there, it can only mean one thing to everyone no matter their color, creed, religion, gender, sexual orientation, or age.  It means coming home....and staying with your parents.

And it's funny that, in many ways, we dread this return under our parents' roof.  After all this is where all of us begin our lives; well after the hospital (assuming your parents either 1-have health insurance or 2-aren't crazy hippies who believe it's safer for children to be born underwater or something).  It's where we were raised.  Where we were cared for.  Where we were given clothes, food, money, lectures, a lack of emotional support, spankings, and a sense disappointment that will make us realize that being a homeless bum living under a bridge really does make you a failure.  It's where, unless you are an f'in weirdo, we masturbated.  It's home.

That being said, "home" can mean different things to different people.  And that's because our parents are different.  Some of them are rich.  Some are poor.  Some of them drunks.  Some are squares.  Some of them eat meat.  Some of them don't shave their legs or are functional members of society.  None of them are the same, except for the fact that they all manage to take away our freedom. 

Right now we live under their roofs, so we live by their rules.  What can you say? Parents, you can't live with them, but during the have to.  So, have fun masturbating.

The "Living With the Rents" Life Cycle
Welcome to the third installment in the Sack's "Life Cycle" series, which investigates how we grow, mature, get drunk, and lie to the people that we love.  In the first installment we looked at how we can grow from young men who binge drink and get alcohol poisoning to old men who binge drink and snort Viagra from a cocaine straw.  In the next installment I investigated how we can become well-adjusted collegiate alumni who never really move on from our "getting blacked out and having anymous sex with STD riddled co-eds" undergraduate ways.    Now I am going to look at how we can avoid financial responsiblity and personal freedom by living under our parent's roof for our whole lives, while of course having them foot the bill so we can live with modern food and heat.  Let's take a look at what I am talking about.

Stage 1: Being an Infant-Do you have any pets?  Of course you do.  Now do you ever look at your dog and wonder what the hell he did in his past life to get it so good?  I mean think about it. You feed him.  You make sure he gets exercise. You pick up his shit. You pay for all his medical bills, give him a place to live and are constantly showering him with attention so he knows that you give a shit about him.  He doesn't pay for rent, utilities, groceries or cable.  Really he just sleeps for 16 hours a day in front of the TV and sniffs his own balls.  And that's fine because no one expects him to be productive or smart or to do anything of value.  He doesn't have the intellectual capacity to realize that he is basically just a piece of shit drain on your economy.  Basically domesticated pets live the life I've always dreamed about.

And they also live the lives that we all lived as infants.  I mean think about it.  All we did back then was cry, sleep, eat, shit our pants and have other people clean it up, and watch Barney all day so we wouldn't have an emotional break down and scream for the next 3 days.  Zero responsibility.  Zero expectations.  Zero activity.  Just living a life where other people made all the tough decisions for us and we got everything that we wanted so everyone else's lives wouldn't be miserable.  Basically a cry, pooping, titty sucking free loader.  Now that's what I call heaven.  Why'd we ever have to grow up?

Stage 2: Going to School-This is where our lives start going downhill, because people start expecting things from us.  Go to school Sack.  Learn something Sack.  Don't be the gigantic, 6-year-old who shits his pants in the middle of the kindergarten nap rug Sack.  Don't put paste in that girls' hair to ward off her evil cooties Sack.  Don't spell your name with a "Q" at the end, cause you'll never be Shaq.  You're white Sack.

Expectations are raised.  Dreams are crushed.  You don't have the freedom to drink, gamble, or urinate on the side of buildings.  All work, no play, and naps between the hours of 8 AM-3 PM.  And all my parents gave me during this period was a roof over my head, food in my belly, and the shame of being the only 2nd grader who can't even spell his name right on the top of his weekly spelling tests.  Plus they ate all my halloween candy, videotaped it, and let the entire nation laugh at my because I thought 2+2=5. Don't believe me? Check out the 3:31 mark of the youtube video below...if you are somehow one of the 7 people in America who hasn't seen it already.

Stage 3: High School High-This is where the story really gets interesting.  No it doesn't...but whatever.  So what changes in high school?  Well, a few things.  First the government lets us drive (about 9 years too late in my opinion).  Second, we achieve the intellectual capacity to learn that our parent's only tell us not to do something because that thing is invariably awesome.  Third we mature physically. Now that's a pretty dangerous trifecta right there.

Our parent's still place BS rules on us, but now we know to rebel.  We know that chugging warm Natty Lights so we can get hammered and puke all over some chick during a slow dance in a freshman mixer is a lot more fun that being awkward and sober and trying to keep your boner from poking that very same chick during that very same slow dance.  We know that sneaking out to the faculty parking and hitting rocks with sticks until we smash a teacher's windshield is a lot more useful than trying to learn physics out of a book.  We know that downloading illegally-pirated internet porn and watching it and doing stuff to it feels a lot better than playing solitaire.  Hell after watching Scarface, or Sam Hurd play football, we even know that snorting copious amounts of sugar (or any white powder) makes us literally bullet proof.  Basically we know it all. 

Our parents set rules.  We break them.  Sometimes, like when your mom cracks one of your jizzed encrusted blankets in half, we get caught.  More freedom, just slightly more responsibility, and we still don't have to pay for anything.  Now that's what I call a win-win-win situation right there.

Stage 4: College Breaks-You know how when you go to college and the first things that you do is get drunk 6 nights a week, have unprotected sex, refuse to put in any sort of intellectually effort of any sort and realize that staying up past 2 AM every night won't necessarily mean that you are going to hell or that you will die from sleep deprivation.  Then do you know how your parents are ready to check you into Betty Ford as soon as you come home for Thanksgiving, get blacked out drunk and pass out naked with a couple of hookers on the front lawn?  Like this stuff wasn't happening every other day for the past 3 months Mom and Dad.  Get with it.  After all you get what you paid for...and your parents paid for college now didn't they?

Stage 5: Loser College Graduate-What's my biggest problem with society?  Well after elementary school you go to middle school.  Then, after middle school you go to high school.  And after high school you go to college.  And after college you are just expected to get a job and provide for yourself the next day, and if you don't...then you are a failure.  Hey man, I haven't paid for a God damn thing for the past 22 years...and now I have to get a job, find a place to live, get health insurance and buy enough groceries that I won't die of starvation all of a sudden?  And, when I move back in with my parent's with no plans or prospects after graduation, all of a sudden I am some kind of free loader who should be forced to live on the street and smoke crack so I can go on welfare?  I mean...what's the rush?  How about giving me 4 or 5 more years to figure shit out?  It takes a lot of people just a shade under a decade to do what they want to do.  Yeah, really...they're called doctors.

Stage 6: The Family Man-Hopefully you'll eventually get your shit straight, get married 2 or 3 times, and raise a discontented family of your own.  And there's no question that having kids will just be a drain on your wallet and an emotional let down when they grow up to be bigger failures than you ever were.  But there is still some upside in all of this.

That's right for the first time ever, at least as an adult, coming back to your parents' house is a good thing.  Think about.  When your kids are running around naked and shitting all over couches and breaking valuable won't be your problem.  When the baby is crying in the middle of the night all you have to do is wait out your elderly parents until they are forced to get up, change the baby's diaper and get poop on their old, brittle hands.  And when 5 PM or so comes around and you can no longer control your crippling alcoholism you can now feel free to get hammered and head back to the office to give an ad presentation, knowing that you are shirking your responsibility for your kid's well-being and handing them off to their grandparents for the evening.  Plus your married, so you can even get busy under your parent's roof...while neither them or God can say a damn thing about it.  Jackpot.

Stage 7: Life Failure-Look, as inevitable as it is that you will eventually have a couple of failed marriages and several terribly adjusted children, it's equally inevitable that your alimony coupled with your debilitating drinking will lead to your economic ruin and attempted suicide.  Welcome to the Great Recession b****. 

Now enjoy moving in with your parents and being an admitted failure.  At least you businessmen will last till your middle-aged or so to lose your money, dignity and will to live when you're forced to move back into your parent's basement.  I mean I'm 24...and I've already blown way past this point.

Stage 8: Homeless Squatter-Your parents kicked you out for being hammered 17 hours a day and stealing money to pay for the low class prostitutes you are constantly banging in their house.  You've also been evicted from the shanty towns and foreclosed homes that you've been squatting in.  As mentioned in the opening you're living under a bridge with the other weird, homeless people and doing unspeakable sexual acts just to support the drug addiction that all vagrants ultimately acquire (Think Leonardo DiCaprio in The Basketball Diaries. Just don't get no better than that.)

So what do you do?  Easy.  Sneak back in your parents house.  They'll never see it coming.  And, even if they do, they can't kick you out again.  After all...they're suppose to love you.  And, not to be too gay or anything (not that there's anything wrong with that), but more than likely...they actually do. Ahhhhhhh.

Text Updates and Big Ups
My current text messaging score since December 9th is +259 (223-inbox, 189-sent, 2 from females).  And since both of those female texts are from my Mom...I've clearly had a really social week here.  Yeah...I'm not very sexually active.  Plus my twitter score has dropped to 207 followers so...dang it.

I also don't have any extra big ups to extend in this edition of the blog.  Check last week's blog for some extra special big ups, and do something that is important enough that I will thank you for it on the interweb.  Thanks...and good luck.
Dear Readers,
As almost all of you surely know, Albert Pujols has decided to piss in the Mississippi River, dump on the Arch and basically teabag the St. Louis community on his way out the door and onto to the land of the worse Disney world.  That's right ladies and gentleman Albert Pujols, arguably the 4th most famous resident of the StL (behind myself, Cedric the Entertainer, and Nelly Nell) has skipped town and headed west to Anaheim to play hockey with the kids from The Mighty Ducks...who are apparently grown ups playing in the NHL together now.  Not bad considering where they came from.

But the fact that winter sports are somehow played in the same county where Seth Cohen sailed on "The Summer Breeze" aside, this doesn't make sense to me.  As I wrote earlier in my more dramatic, compelling, and pulitzer-worthy piece on Pujols I think Albert will regret this decision.  But forget about baseball (and the fact that Albert will now always play second fiddle to Adam Banks and Charlie Conway in his own market) for a minute.  There's an entire other set of reasons why Albert's decision to go all "Hollywood suburbs" on us is the wrong one. 

And that's because St. Louis is just better than Anaheim.  Yes Cali may have the sun and the beach and surfing and Disney Land and hot chicks and Julie Cooper hooking up with her daughter's ex-boyfriend and all that, but that doesn't tell the whole story.  St. Louis may not have Albert Pujols anymore, but it still has Imo's Pizza and Ted Drew's and poor people and drug abuse.  And isn't that, overweight people and poverty, what gives a city character? 

Of course it is.  And that's something St. Louis has in spades.  Something that those pot smoking hippies can never, ever replicate.  So good luck Albert, and remember it's not where you came's where you are.  And where you now are is a place that pales in comparison to the bastion of Western Civilization...St. Louis, Missouri.

St. Louis > Anaheim
So now that I've made this declaration about Albert, his terrible decision, and his future crippling exctacy addiction, let me back it up...and look at how and why St. Louis is just a much, much better place than Anaheim could ever dream of being.

Reason #1: Beer-Look I know that Albert doesn't drink alcohol (the first sign that his character is indeed flawed), but last time I checked one of these cities has the world's largest brewery brewing the world's best beer which is now the official beverage of Jesus Chris.  And the last time I checked Albert was a Christian so...looks like his lack of drinking/leaving the home of Jesus' favorite beer finally caught up to him.  Good luck in the afterlife there Pu Daddy.  After all...we all have to atone for our sins at some point.

Reason #2: Charity-It's no secret that Albert and his charitable efforts have had an incredible impact on the St. Louis community.  And even a lowlife like myself can commend him for that.  However, the question now becomes how can those efforts continue in Anaheim?  I mean who is he going to help?  Sea lions?  Cartoon characters?  People who don't like sunny weather?

A quick google search discovered that 10.4% of families in Anaheim live under the poverty line.  Meanwhile, 26.7% percent of people in St. Louis are poor as f.  So, looks like Albert has turned his back on the people who need him most for amusment park executives and Pluto.  Welcome to the 1% Alberto.  Me and my family will just stay in the 73.3% of St. Louis residents who have taken a shower in the past month and aren't protesting anything.

Reason #3: Rap Music-It's also no secret that St. Louis is the home to the most banging gangster rap beats on the planet.  What is a secret to everyone though is that this is Anaheim's most badass gangster shiznit.  When Malibu's more g'ed up from the feet up than your town, well...then you know what Anaheim feels like.  And the world Albert is voluntarily walking into.  Don't see any J-Kwon's gettin tipsy out there anytime soon.

Reason #4: Cost of Living-As I already wrote, no one in St. Louis really has any money so...everything is really cheap.  Also there are pawn shops on like every corner, and they basically give stuff away so...yeah.  My parents furnished their entire living room for like $13.41.  In Anaheim, after inflation, that woulda cost roughly 6 million dollars.

Reason #5: Better With Machines-Everyone knows that Albert Pujols is, in fact, a machine.  So I understand why the emotional appeal wouldn't work on someone who is, for all intensive purposes, a RoboCop.  However, I also understand that St. Louis is home to one of the nation's largest Boeing Plants so when Albert begins breaking down, as all robots eventually do, who would be able to fix him?  The city with a gigantic airplane plant, or the state who elected the obsolete version of Terminator as governor?  Yeah...this one might actually be a toss up.

Reason #6: The Rams-Hey, remember when the St. Louis Rams played in LA and never won a super bowl?  Now, do you remember when Isaac Bruce caught this.  Cause I do.  Now, I know it takes a real moron to use a team that's been outscored 530-12 this year as an argument for why one thing is better than another.  But hey, if the shoe fits...then I'm going to wear it.

Reason #7: StL N*****-Check out the youtube video below to see exactly what I am talking about.  Also note that the video contains some offensive language.  But hey I didn't say it...I just condone it.  And dance at the end of the video.  Hey...white boys got moves too.

It should also be pointed out that the St. Louis Blues beat the grown up Mighty Ducks of Anaheim 4-2 last year so...looks like everything I've written so far is just a stone, cold fact.  Thanks hockey for backing me up.

Text Updates and Big Ups
My current text messaging score since December 2nd is +236 (186-inbox, 139-sent, 3 from females), which shows exactly why I have so much time to write all these blog posts that offend people who don't realize what jokes are.  Also my twitter score has dipped down to 209 followers because, well, a lot of those robots that followed me apparenty malfunctioned or something.  Oh well.

I also have a couple of big ups to extend in this post.  First to my main men D-boy, Willie and JJ...thanks for the continued love, support and feedback.  It always fills my days.  Also I have some very special gratitude to share with my friend and fellow blogger Clare Brady who shared my other Pujols related work on her facebook wall and her blog, proving once and for all, that she is much, much more popular than I am.  Also, feel free to check out Clare's blog about living healthy and doing other stuff that is the opposite of what I am all about here.  And noticed her acknowledgment of how talented I am.  Sweet.

Back next week with more useless information that 3.4 people cannot wait to read.

In Hoc,
Sachary L. Poelker
"The Sack Artist: Jack of All Trades"
Dear Readers,
As surely all of you know, there is a new standard for hotness.  A new peak for male attractiveness.  A new figure head, the dude that all the girls want to be, and all the dudes want to be with (wait a second...).  That's right ladies and gentleman, the time has come for People Magazine has named it's Sexiest Man Alive in 2011.  And the winner shouldn't really shock anybody, unless you were expecting Stanley from the Office to earn the crown (see youtube video below if you are skeptical about this).

That's because the man who took home the title is my hero, my inspiration, my ultimate "my get drunk and make out with but it's not gay because we're hamered" fantasy.  Yeah, it's true...the sexiest man alive in 2011 is the original Sack (aka Bradley Cooper, you know the guy from Limitless. that the one where the guy is limitless?), the man who forever changed American cinema by nursing baby sea otters to health, cheating on Rachel McAdams by smanging environmental sluts in cabs, and inspiring Dick Cheney to shoot dude's in the ass during quail hunts

And Vice President Cheney, arguably the most frat person in the history of American government, is hardly the only person that Sack inspired.  In fact he inspired men everywhere.  Men who want to have no feelings or emotions.  Men who understand that the Eastern Seaboard was founded on seafood patties and real football.  Men who are sexy, and they know it because they're on the cover of a People Magazine issue which is declaring it to the world. 

Men like myself.  So true Sacks of the world reunite behind our leader, our founding father, our hero.  The Sack is back...and he's never been sexier.  Almost 100% homo (not that there's anything wrong with that).

The Sack Blacks Out...on Black Wednesday
Thanksgiving is about turkey, the opression of Native American's good nature for white people's gain, and rage block abouts by Ndamukong Suh (Is he a Native America? Cause if so, his Thanksgiving anticis were understandable in my opinion).  However while food, football and racial opression provide the perfect main course for the Sack's favorite holiday, it's nothing without the alcoholic appetizer provided on the Sack's favorite holiday eve.  Black Wednesday may have a racist name (why can't it be Asian Wednesday?), but in the end it affects people of all colors, creeds and religions the same.  It f's them up.  With that being said, here's what went down on the latest edition of the racist day before the racist holiday.

Wednesday, November 23
7:58 P.M.-I've invited 20+ people over to my house.  No one is here.  So I decide I start doing my favorite thing to do when I am all by know what I'm talking about.  Oh yeah.

8:02 P.M.-My buddy Luke comes over and catches me doing what I'm doing, so...he obviously decides to join in.  We're both drinking pretty heavily now.  Is drinking all I'm talking about?  You be the judge.  But Luke may or may not be circumcised...if that tells you anything.

8:14 P.M.-Watching Modern Family and drinking copious amounts of whiskey.  God, I've heard Cam's pumpkin story like 100 times...and it's surprisingly only slightly funnier when I am drunk.  Oh wait, I've never heard it sober so...whatever.

8:33 P.M.-My boy Danny and his friend Clay show up for the "four dude" party I'm apparently throwing, and I quickly discover that Clay's dad works in his underwear.  What's his job you ask?  Well he's a lawyer.  Looks like I know who's representing Penn State in their upcoming civil trial.  (Too soon?  Alright yeah, that was in poor taste, but South Park made Penn State jokes first blame them.  Or you can blame society for allowing these tragedies.  Or you can blame people without a since of humor for being offended by everything that is even remotely funny.  All I know is it's just not my fault that I made that joke.)

9:43 P.M.-By now Chuck and Katie and Jimmy and Joseph and Joey and some other kid with chubby cheeks and fruity blonde hair are all drinking at my house.  However I'm still sitting on my couch drunk and wearing my underwear.  Actually this makes it look like I am more than qualified to work at Clay dad's law firm.  Which is in his basement.  And frankly sounds made up.  But he lives in West County so...someone got money somehow at some point.  No minorities live anywhere near that place.  And people wonder why a brotha like me hates the suburbs?  Oh wait...I've written about this alreadyTwice.

10:33 P.M.-We're all waiting for the cabs to be here, so we decide to pass around and bottle of Jim Beam and take pulls.  Just like the Cowboys and the Aliens did at the first thanksgiving.  You know that movie with James Bond and that guy from Hollywood Homicide.  I'm pretty sure that movie is about Thanksgiving.  And getting serious Oscar consideration so...nice.

11:02 P.M.-Me, Chuck, Katie, Jimbo and Joseph are all in a cab heading out to meet the others when we realize that that blonde kid with chubby cheeks (Will) will be at the bar's clearly a gay bar (not that there's anything wrong with that).  This makes me and Jimmy want to go there more...and everyone else want to go there less.  Looks like we're out voted 3-2.  Stupid idiots.  Everyone's gay once in a's St. Louis.

11:19 P.M.-We get to Molly's, and it's packed.  I decide to stand by the door, and am hit by it as it opens approximately 14.5 times.  Welcome to concussion #1 of the night.

11:20 P.M.-I do the only logical thing after suffering a concussion.  I continue drinking...just like they do in the NFL.

11:50 P.M.-We leave Molly's Llywelyn's pub...which is now known as the bar with the hardest to spell name in the world.  This meanwhile is now known as the least funny attempt to keep you guys apprised on where I was and when I was there in my entire life.  I guys bad things really do happen to good people.

Thursday, November 24
1:12 A.M.-Llywelyn's is closed and we are all waiting in the street for a cab when Joseph and I get into a wrestling match.  I trip and fall on my shoelaces and slam my head onto the concrete.  Welcome to concussion #2.  Plus I know have a weird lump on the side of my head.  That's alright though, cause chicks dig scares...and weird lumps on dude's with neck beards heads.  Yep.

1:45 A.M.-After a long wait we finally arrive at the Casino Queen.  I quickly sit down at a blackjack table where Danny and a girl he knows join me.

1:46 A.M.-Rasheed Wallace's look a like walks up to Danny and asks if he "Can dance with yo' dates."  The girl next to Danny gets up and hits the dance floor.  I cut off my left hand and send it out there with them too.  (Spoiler alert...Rasheed Wallace's look a like can dance like nobody's business.)

2:03 A.M.-An undisclosed member of our party says the world "black people" out loud.  At the Casino Queen.  The Casino Queen in East St. Louis.  You can't say the words "black people" in East St. Louis. What's next, this guy is gonna ask random people on the East St. Louis streets for directions on his ride home?  Come on man.

2:36 A.M.-This say undisclosed member of our party says "fuck you" out loud after a hand of bj (see what I did there...calling "blackjack" "bj"?  Do you get it?).  Do be fair I don't think he was saying this to the dealer, who kicks him off the table, but he should have.  I mean she didn't bust on a 16, and she controls the cards she gets so...she deserved it in my book.  Just like the government taking all those taxes from people who inherit money that they never earned through work of their own.  F them too.  This is America...last time I checked.

3:14 A.M.-Me, Joseph, Joey and Jimmy are sick of losing money so we decide to re-invest it into the economy the strip club.

3:19 A.M.-Joseph and Joey turn all their money into $1 bills.  They each now have roughly 5,000 one's and decide to show everyone outside the casino just how much money that they have, ignoring the fact that $5,000 in small bills is worth easily $5,000,0000,0000 in East St. Louis and that you have a 98.7% chance of being robbed once anyone in the East StL figures out you have any cash on you at all.  Didn't one of these kids go to an Ivy League school?

3:41 A.M.-We finally get a cab at the Queen and tell it to take us to the strip club...which is approximately 4 blocks away.  Why didn't we walk?  Cause walking in East St. Louis = a 94.33% chance of sexual I've heard...and technically experienced for a few months after college.

3:44 A.M.-Jimmy makes the cab stop at a gas station, where I see Tyrone Biggums smoking crack and drinking a red bull.  Oh wait, that's actually Dave Chapelle.  I've been wondering what he was up to.

3:57 A.M.-We arrive at PT's strip club and Joseph decides to start puking on the bouncer's shoes as soon as we get out of the cab.  Do they still let him in?  Does he still have a stack of $1 bills and little to no self-respect?  Yes.  So, in that case, strip clubs actually encourage their customers to puke before they go inside.  After all, no one wants a puke version of 2 girls 1 cup on a strip club stage.  That might be going too far.

4:02 A.M.-I run into my boys JJ and Squirrels, who is wearing a gorgeous couduroy jacket by the way, inside the club.  I always knew my five year high school reunion would be in a strip club.  That's what $90,000+ of private school tuition gets ya.

4:19 A.M.-A stripper asks me if I want a lap dance.  Last time I got a lap dance I was told that $500 would get me a room in a nearby hotel and "whatever I wanted" from the dancer.  Of course the stripper didn't realize that all I have to my name is $34 worth of baptism bonds and season 1-4 of One Tree Hill on DVD.  Of course I didn't realize that prostitution in East St. Louis was the most successful element of Barrack Obama's economic stimulus.  Looks like I let the economy down on that one.

4:53 A.M.-My buddy Jimmy is kicked out of the club when he removes his shirt and walks onto the stage.  Surprisingly in his 3.5 seconds on stage he got $4, a used condom, and a pair of Mickey Mouse boxer briefs in tips.  That's more money than some of these strippers see in a lifetime.

5:08 A.M.-We are standing outside in 38 degree weather.  Jimmy doesn't have a shirt on.  We buy hot dogs from some homeless guy with a grill outside.  Is there a risky place to buy an edible weiner than outside of a strip club?  Oh God...what did I just put into my body.

5:27 A.M.-Joseph and Joey finally join us outside, but the cabbie sitting out there won't give us a ride home because Jimmy is drunk and lost his shirt.  Look buddy, what kind of guys are you expecting to pick up outside of the strip club at 5 AM?  Fully clothed moderate drinkers without STD's?  Is that honestly a reasonable expectation?

5:39 A.M.-We finally find a cabbie to drive us home.  Joseph may or may not have puked on his shoes.  I may or may not have laughed about it.  Everything is a blur.  Is this the cash cab?  Cause that'd be the best 10 minutes of TV ever made.  And the big break we've all been looking for.

6:02 A.M.-The sun still isn't up when we arrive at my house.  I don't think Jimmy has any clothes on.  My neighbors aren't that impressed.

6:07 A.M.-Joseph and I go to sleep in my bed.  He begins spooning me without my consent.  I fart...repeatedly.  That doesn't stop anything.

Text Updates and Big Ups
My current text messaging score since November 18 is +552 (453-inbox, 397-sent, 43 from females) which is good enough for a two week period.  Also my twitter score has jumped all the way up to 213 followers so...I guess there or more computers that auto follow idiots out there than I thought.

Also I'd like to extend a special set of big ups to Luke, Danny, Clay, Will, Charlie, Katie, Jimmy, Scherer, Joseph and the unmentioned Chris for hanging out with me and making Black Wednesday as awesome as a racist day before the holiday can be.  You guys make dreams come true.

Now back next week with more about less I'm sure.

In Hoc,
Sachary L. Poelker
"The Sack Artist: Jack of All Trades"