Dreary Days of Dentistry (Just can't fight the alliteration!)

Awoke today to be semi-immediately confronted with some rather grim prophecy: dun dun dun(imagine the dramatic horror tone if you will)..."You and Helena (youngest sister) have a dentist appointment at 2:50" my dad casually informed me. I think its luke 22:50--and thou shalt be emersed in utter misery, condemned to the depths of dental hygenic laboratories, to suffer in peril. Instantly dismayed, I felt as though everything began to move slowly around me, the day took on a dreary tone, and life began to slip from my clutches. I used the little time I had before the torture session as best I could, writing, musing, chilling--something I would later be ordered to do, as not to raise my blood pressure and dislodge the blood clot that once was wisdom.
So we departed, my little sister and I soon engaging in the typical back to front seat banter of radio-station standoff; oh how die-hardly she devotes herself to Kiss FM. "SOS Please, someone help me" happened to ironically be the lyrical content of Kiss: my feelings towards the situation exactly. So, before I ended up making my little sister cry, as I am a mean older brother, my dad had to intervene and ease the situation, instilling peace and balance to the cosmic megahertz.
Shortly after, we arrived at the dentist, Helena and I were elevated to the fifth floor, and before I could say dental floss, I was ass-backwards in a leather chair beneath bright lights and dental-workers: ooh they had such nice teeth.
They equipped me with sunglasses, headphones, and, for my first time ever, gassed me up. Given my choice of music from a reasonable but still relatively scrawny list, I chose Zeppelin IV: shit was about to get trippy. I didn't really know what to expect: would I feel ridiculously high? Would I just sort of chill back into my seat, feeling like a bowl of jell-o. The latter, Oh god, the latter. I was ultimately chill. I was Zen-Buddhist-Monk smoking a cigarette after getting laid. Stairway to Heaven has never been such a short song.
But discomfort worked its way through the cracks of my chill like water burrowing into rock forms and slowly eroding their hard grainy surface. But the rocks of my chill were strong.
They drilled out some cavities (oops--more flossing I guess) and, for their last spectacular spectacle, removed a single wisdom tooth. As Zeppelin IV came to an end, they asked what I'd like to listen to next and I recalled only Doobie Brothers Greatest Hits. Hah: Doobie. You haven't had your teeth pulled until you've had them pulled while listening to "Jesus is just alright with me."
The psychedelic experience drew to a close, as I enjoyed a personal screening of post-op instructions displayed upon their plasma screen. They didn't inform me how to reclaim my Wisdom however, and I imagine doing so may be arduous.
I was disgruntled that they did not initially prescribe any above-average pain-meds and will have to go about obtaining them tomorrow, by which point I imagine I will have managed to fuck up my now-absence-of-a-tooth somehow.
The dentist manifested itself as less horrid then predicted, however its connotation remains notoriously awful in the collective human spirit.

Contraceptive Conversations: The Rap on Wrapping It Up

I think buying condoms is hilarious. It's as if your sparking a joint in aisle 5 of Walgreen's, and then have to keep on puffing it until you arrive at the register, at which point you can put it out in a plastic bag. My thoughts are like a dog tied to a tree of "I hope I don't see anyone I know," straying little from that. Why should I feel so dirty, we're all DTF right? Freud thought trees represent the penis in dreamland, maybe they represent it in landland also.
While at Walgreen's the other day, I looked over the condoms in the company of a gentlemanly stanger, and conversation ensued. Having seen the marvelously orchestrated commercial in which a mime straps up an invisible Trojan Ecstasy condom to an invisible shaft, we both were intrigued by the notion of "feel(ing) like nothings there." However, to both of our Caucasian dismays, they ostensibly stocked only Magnum Ecstasy condoms. Magnum, like Magnum revolver. Able to share in conversation about the fact that we both wanted Ecstasy, however weren't going to get the Magnum, the situation was nicely eased. It was kind of like "oh you've never thought you needed an even bigger condom either? Word." DeMAGNUMtized, he fell back on the default Her Pleasure, a wise choice, as his girlfriend had turned him on to the Ecstasy in the first place. Already possessing a considerable array of freebies, I felt no need to shell out cash on condoms if I wasn't going to get my Ecstasy. I've paid 15 dollars for something that turned out not to be ecstasy before, and I certainly wasn't going to make that mistake again.

Comedy, Cool Carls, Frusterated Freud, and Dopeness, with a capitol DOPE.

Taking the most hillarious bits and pieces that stem from daily life, committing them to paper, and reproducing them (via camcorder/actors) and showing the world a piece of the hilarity that is shorewood Wisconsin post highschool. Emphasis on the post highschool.
Do you guys think this is the formula most acted comedies employ--deriving content from real life experience? Oh we'll never know! Curious to see whether my life is as funny as I think it is, and how difficult that would be to transpose to film. Trying to poke fun at a sexually repressive society, via Freudian nip-slip theory. Although maybe the Jungian Collective Unconscious is a more universal road to travel--more accessible. I see why Jung was like "Whoah dude, I'm gonna do my own thing" to Freud; Freud's scientific approach to the mind, although brilliant, is limited in that it tries to create a science of the mind, the only unsciencable thing there is, really! Jung just wanted to chill a little bit. Must have been hard to desert his brofessor/MENtor like that--not to get too HR or anything. Carl Sagan describes science as an asymptope, consisting of intangible truths we can only hope to move infinitely closer to. Can't touch that Fr Fr Fr Freud.
Trying to cut back on potmarijuana-takes away my motivation, when I feel so ambitious right now! But alas, I know its not going away entirely--always coming back home to you baby.

Nik and Nolan are trying to show the world how awesome life is, making a blog called mylifeisfuckingdope.com and accepting entries from everyone. I've already got their first 3000 entries finished of course. I agree that itd be a good counterweight for Fuckmylife.com although harder to qualify as relatable and maintain humility.

I move closer to the asymptope,
haters know they'll only ever be half as dope.-Wilro

Have a lovely day.

Blogging and the ice of time

Ah, blogging:  a practice I'd long since demonized to be synonymous with the emo ranting of early teens, chopped full of contrived bits.

 How far have I come since the days when this was that? Only time will tell. And perhaps it is not that far, and perhaps that is not the worst thing in the world, as youthful spirit seems to have escaped many a person to their profound grief. 

Okay, I suppose maturation doesn't imply the numbing of the human spirit...but sometimes it seems that way.  If this is so, then I wish to be immensely immature: who wants to steal the little things off the tires of cars again, and swear as though it means something? Sleepover anyone?

But I digress; yes, I have begun to blog. My perspective of this activity was impacted when it came to my attention that people I enjoy had enlisted in the same practice. So hear I go, ready to spew my thoughts onto a world that just might not like them.

At the moment said thoughts are not far beyond the realm of dinner. To coincide with my newly appreciated philosophy of youth, I think I'll have mac n cheese n hotdogs. I'll make a disastrous mess of it, which I tend to do anyhow.