Yep. I haven't posted in a while. For this I apologize.

Unfortunately, this post is not going to be of the delicious syrupy goodness that you have come to expect from Hasta la Byebye. It's quite dreadful that I must break a dry spell with this damp sponge, but alas...

So let's start with the most mundane of the mundane. I own a copy of Madden 2004, courtesy of my friend John (no, not John of the John/Sean duo). I had it for quite a while, actually, but I only got to playing it a couple of days before Christmas. Well, I've finished two seasons, and I'm proud to say that I guided the Panthers to a Superbowl victory in the second year (which equates to this year--go Panthers!). Hurray.

All right. So I could try harder to add flavor to this thing. I could put an exclamation point after "hurray," for example. Unfortunately for some reason, I have temporarily lost my spunk; my mojo, if you will. It's possible that it's due to general lethargy caused by the holidays, it's possible that I have turned into a manic depressive, it's possible that aliens have tuned into my brain waves and are currently playing around. After all, I did right now just have the urge to say it were possible that I had "SCABIES."

Amazing how much better scabies makes you feel. Perhaps I am manic depressive (or bipolar, if we wish to remain politically correct). After all, how much is scabies really supposed to make you feel better? Aha! Exactly! That's what I thought! Yes, well... now let's move on to something more heartening than scabies ever could be.

About a gagillion (approximately 23,000 as of now) people have tied in South and Southeast Asia as a result of tidal waves. You know what's sick? You know what's really fucking sick? The big websites that show the headlines include links directing us to places where we can help. Bloody disgusting!

And I'm not being sarcastic (duh...?).

I'm shot back, BAM!, into a position where I can see some of the world's most glaring problems. I'm not complaining because I don't want to know. No; I want to know, but I want to know without having everyone else participating in it--I want to understand the fundamental flaws of the place where we live, but I don't want people trying to "help." As I type this, I realize that it doesn't make any sense, so perhaps I'll try tackling it from a different angle.

In America, gillions and gillions of people complain about the outsourcing of American jobs. It's a legitimate concern; I mean, where is daddy going to get his paycheck if his job goes byebye? I believe, however, that the problem of outsourcing has been overblown by Democrats seeking to seize on some economic crisis. It's not that bad. Jobs in America doth disappear, but not necessarily because of outsourcing. Irregardless (God I love that non-word) of what the problem is, Americans are essentially actively seeking to increase their own economic welfare at the direct expense of others'. Many of these same Americans are turning right back around right now and asking "how do we help?" Well, that's a bit frustrating. I understand that one has to look out for oneself before attending to the Sri Lankans, but if you haven't lost a job and weren't in danger of losing a job and swallowed the bullshit about the economic downturn caused by outsourcing, then you suck. I'm sorry, but someone in the world always must suffer, and the greater good is done by supporting a policy that involves more trade and not less; if you're too afraid to realize that the long term benefits are greater for those who you think you're providing the benefits for, then you would lose the right to vote in any country I ran (vote Turkman 2024).

And so, using this logic, I'm finding disgust in the way we try to use patches to fix solutions that require extensive surgery. If that makes sense. If it doesn't, maybe I'll clarify later.

Yes, that was hastily done, but it needed to be done hastily. You see, the lady, she IMs me. I simply cannot hold her off for long. Hasta la byebye

Yep. Those braces. Not coming off.

Grr.

And that's enough for today.

Hasta la byebye.

I'm such a fucking sap. I miss her already.

I thank The Darkness and their song Friday Night for that. Astonishing, yes? After all, it is Friday night. No, not really that astonishing.

At least I'll be home with my dear friends and family soon. God how I miss them now that I am so close. It must have sucked terribly for Odysseus.

And I just finished the Oreos that were left over. Though disturbingly, someone ate most of them without telling me. I think I have to kick someone's ass for that. It's cool to partake of some of my food if you ask for it, but to steal behind my back... uncool.

Currently drinking fermented orange juice to chase it down. Well, it's not fully fermented, but there's definitely some ethyl alcohol in there. Alas, it actually goes surprisingly well with Oreos.

Remember, bitches. The poker season really begins on Saturday.

Still miss her, though. Such a fucking sap.

Hasta la byebye.

This update is short, sadly enough. Because I have other things that need a-doin'. Don't worry though, I'll be back. Those other things would be a paper, after all.

But no, I would just like to say that the recent swarming of poisonous comments is now sort of getting to... well, you know, swarm. So, I invite anyone that has any sort of beef with me to send an email to turkman at gmail dot com and tell me about it, because anonymous comments just don't quite do the trick anymore. And if I don't get emails from people who have been less-than-satisfied with me, I'll start to question the validity of their dissatisfaction.

For those of you that have been scratching your heads a bit the past few days in confusion, my sincerest apologies. It will be safe to continue coming and commenting (hopefully at the volume recently achieved, of course). Thank you for staying with Hasta la Byebye and not switching to other reality shows like Trading Boxes.

And now I have things to do. And stuff. So hasta la byebye, folks.

Welcome to another edition of I-Really-Ought-to-be-Working-but-I-Don't-Want-To Hasta la Byebye! Before we continue with the broadcast, we'd like to shamelessly plug our upcoming Hasta la Byebye: Back in Katyland series:

Remember all those good times you had following Cantay around while he was in his little suburbian world? Well for a limited time, you're going to get more of it! And you'll like it too! We say so! Watch as Cantay balances on a small wooden plank as he tries to cross from one hot-air balloon to another to save his family; watch as Cantay tries to land a job at the prestigious storage depot near his house; watch as Cantay eats an inordinate number of insects to win $4.95 US! It'll be hot, humid, and downright sticky. And you know what we mean!

All right! Welcome back to the program. Cantay currently has a paper due at 2 PM, which gives him thirteen hours and nine minutes from the end of this sentence. Will he make it? We sure as hell don't know, but he hasn't even started* yet!

So yeah! It'll be great! Watch him suffer and procrastinate and worry about his grade in Comparative Politics while also bending himself into multiple knots trying to track down and DESTROY his tormentor!

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And we're back! And I hate my job! And Cantay has a paper to write!

Hasta la byebye you pretentious weeds!

*"Started" is based on the lack of actual paperage created by Cantay and does not reflect the time he has spent researching.

Just realized. I named Danielle. Heheheheheheh.

Well, she may be female K, she may not be female K; she may be my girlfriend, she may not be my girlfriend; she may be a closet shemale, she may not be a closet shemale. Whatever the case, I named someone from GW that isn't Fred. Scary, yes?

Well hell, I think so.

And yes, I should be working on my paper, but Fred just turned off his music, and I was too stubborn to go to the library and read my articles there. Needless to say, I've gotten damn near nothing done since about three hours ago. Go me!

Oh, and for those who I haven't told that read this blog (all one of you), I return home on the 18th. Go me!

Man. You know what I need to do? No, I mean aside from work. I need to write more. All of my shitty little pieces of shit that I started writing have been collecting obscene amounts of dust--we're talking enough dust to kill an elephant, here. Millions of industrial-sized tubs filled with dust of all kinds, but especially the kind that's still alive, since that's the grossest one.

Oh, and I say cheers to whoever it is that's fucking with my head with the comments. Cause it's working, motherfucker. And now, to either get rid of you or to make my friends back home eager to find you, I will kill one person for every day that your identity remains secret after the 19th of December in the 2,004th year of our Lord. I could start immediately, but then I might accidently kill my girlfriend, and I don't want to risk that. I'd much rather kill my parents or something, cause eighteen years of love has nothing on four hours of hot sex.

And by "hot," I mean disgusting, and by "sex," I mean panda porn. Don't ever order mystery packages from "mystery stores."

What does panda porn have to do with my girlfriend, you ask? It's made me realize the need for someone special to cuddle that isn't a panda.

Why did I watch all four hours of panda porn if I found it so disgusting? Because you never know if the plot will pick up--I mean, seriously, right up until the end, I was half-expecting that Australian crocodile guy to jump out of the foliage and start talking. Really. I was.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go masturbate to my memories of Xinxin while replaying the ska version of Come on Eileen. Hasta la byebye!

Just to reiterate, anonymous comments suck. Ass.

But on a happier note, I still have a paper due on Wednesday! Yay! And I think it may be on Turkey! W00t! Yeah! And I think I just might not fail! Maybe! Yeah!

On an even happier note, I actually have nothing to put in this space. Though Koz is playing a ska version of Come on Eileen on his computer. Which kicks ass. Major ass. Like--at this very moment, I am masturbating to the sound.

Well, perhaps not. I don't want to weird Koz out. But DAMN! Come on Eileen in ska kicks ass! Except when it skips. Which it's doing. Gah! That's terrible. It's like Com-come on Eil-l-l-l-l-een. Terrible. Oh well. The whole experience is good.

Oh, and Danielle's here right now. Supervising. Cause she's obsessive like that. And that's sort of why I said I wasn't actually masturbating. And for saying that, I got flicked. Yeah.

So anyway, getting off the subject of Eileen (who is hot), let's talk about... Turkey. As it turns out, the three military interventions in 1960, 1971, and 1980 only really amounted to two. Which is disappointing--you see, in 1971, all that happened was the head leader dude of the military, Gürler, was all, "All right, bitches! You're going to need to make the people stop sucking or we're going to have to take over again!" And then the Prime Ministery guy was all, "Fuck you, motherfucker! I'm a-resignin'!" That dude kept running his party, though, and the constitution didn't change at all, so it wasn't like the sort of thing that happened in '60 or '80. Man... those were kickass times. The military was all, "Okay guys. You all suck. So we're taking over. Blahblahblah. And now that we've given power back, we're just going to threaten you with our constant shadow in the government, adding yet another reason for your inefficacy! Bitches! HAHAHAHAHA!"

That's pretty much how it went. Now all I have to do is write about nine pages about that and one page about how it relates to some theory or another. Not sure which, exactly--need to do some more reading to figure it out. But the point is... I kick ass! Yay!

And... more ska from Koz's computer!

Oh yeah, and Koz = Fred the Roommate. Just in case you didn't get the memo. Good? Good.

And so, I must depart. To eventually study (yeah right).

And I have a French final tomorrow! BOOYAH!

And now that I have finished up my quota of ridiculously short paragraphs and capital letters, I will actually depart. (That was the quota for italics there.) (And here's the quota for parenthetical statements.)

(Hasta la byebye.)

More distress, oh lordy lordy, there is more distress!

There's this female, see? And she's really hot. And she's not my girlfriend. (And now that I've pissed my girlfriend off, I will get on to the real topic...)

There's this female. And she's a friend of mine. But she has done... things.... which are unsavory. Things that do not bear mentioning. Things that may or may not include spanking me with a 2x4. Things that, for the sake of preventing my girlfriend from hurting me, do not actually include spanking me with a 2x4.

Anyways, this female, who we shall call Female K, has gotten quite angry with me. Apparently I was trying to force my morals on her. Granted, I wasn't very -nice- when I told her that I didn't like what she was doing, but it wasn't like it was unwarranted.

So yep... it's going to be fun working all of that out with K later. Yep. Especially because she may or may not read this. Oh well. I'm up for getting my ass handed to me on a platter!

Oh--and guess who has a Comparative Politics research paper due on Wednesday! I do! ^.^

Oh, and I love it when people leave comments when they can't post with a blogger account but don't leave their names in the comment body. (Thanks Turnip.) This is especially useful when the comment is cryptic and confusing.

Cheers to your parents and grandchildren! Hasta la byebye!

I'm extremely distressed. The stupid girl who was listening to Evanescence earlier just walked out.

She was wearing a Foo Fighters hoody. I mean... what the fuck? No! No, no, no! You can't wear clothing that supports a good band after listening to that shit! NO!

I think I'm going to have to follow her now. And do unpleasant things to her. Very unpleasant things. The sort of unpleasant things they make horror movies about. I can just see it now... "The Washington Walloper" they'll call me. I'll get right up behind people whose musical tastes are slightly worse than my own, and... BAM! Maxwell and his silver hammer ain't got nothin' on me, foo! The Washington Wizards won't be called the Wizards anymore, either. They'll be called the Womanbeaters in a freakish reversal of the previous name change.

Hmmm. My posts today contain a whole lot of anti-female sentiment. Which is quite strange. I guess it must be because I haven't filled in my abuse quota for the day. Cause... you know. I abuse my girlfriend. And stuff.

DON'T BELIEVE HER LIES!

Hasta la byebye...s?

Some female in the computer lab was playing Evanescence so damn loud on her headphones that I could hear it two rows away. And I'm deaf. Right now the sounds of the keyboard are drowning it out if it is indeed still playing, but damn. IT'S A FUCKING TWENTY-FOUR HOUR COMPUTER LAB! MEANT FOR WORK! NOT FOR LISTENING TO YOUR SHITTY MUSIC, BITCH!

But hey, now I'm 2/5 of the way finished with my paper! Yay!

Oh God. She must be listening to it. She just started headbanging. Shoot me, oh God, send Jesus to shoot me. Save me from this idiot! I actually had gone out to get a drink just to make sure I wasn't hearing the radio which they play at very low volume in the hall outside. I was quite dismayed to learn that it was indeed this dressed-in-red blonde-haired tart.

If it persists, I'm going to kindly ask her to turn it down. And maybe offer her a CD of mine. Like... you know, The Goo Goo Dolls. Anything but Evanescence. Anyways, make sure to suck a large one, kiddies. Hasta la byebye.

Hey all you crazy cats and dogs out there. My name's Cantay and I will be giving you a guided tour of my inflamed anus, which is currently being raped.

No, but seriously... I shouldn't be here right now. Why? Because I have a paper due in approximately eleven hours. "What?" you say, "A paper due on a Saturday? That's mad!"

Mad, or just a little crazy? Or perhaps a little bit of both? I don't know, but I'm about 1/4 done. Which sucks. The paper itself will be all right, I'm sure; I just really don't want to have to finish it, especially since I've hit this nice wall-thing that's been telling me to do jack shit for the past forty-five minutes. Blegh.

It's a good paper, though. Really. I mean, it's pretty much explaining how OPEC works, and somehow it's sort of fun to do. I mean, what can I say? I've got a thing for actually applying the shaz you learn in class--especially when that class is Microeconomics. And let me tell you, I definitely don't want to let my professor down; not only is he quite cool, but I also feel like I'm obligated to him to do well because he actually made a homework problem based on my constant desire to use uzis to solve economic problems. And the fact that he has huge teeth helps. We're talking teeth that you'd have to go to the museum McDonald's to buy, because only there can you get humongosized stuff. In a cup.

Yeah, that's right. Eric gets it. And no one else. You know why? Cause no one else reads this blog... except for two or three people every now and again. And one of those two or three would be me.

Alas, I sort of brought it upon myself with this dearth of posts. But still!

All right, so now on to something that isn't focusing on what I am not doing and/or complaining about what I am doing. And that leaves one thing...

I had my first date ever tonight! ^.^

I took her by the arm and ran with her up 21st Street, then New Hampshire Avenue, then 20th Street, then R Street, and then another block up 18th. By the time we got there, I think she might have died from all the running and the two or three cars that just weren't able to stop in time, but I didn't care, cause we made it! 1801 18th Street NW, baby! Dragging her limp form along and coughing up blood with every step, I walked into the restaurant and bellowed, "We need a table for two, motherfuckers!"

The manager promptly grabbed two menus and led us to a lovely table with a great view of a sign that demanded that we clean up our pets' poop. I slipped him a five-note and smacked his ass as he walked off. He winked at me suggestively and left--I knew then that I had secured one kickass meal.

By then, she had woken up, as she was apparently still alive, though bleeding from several places. She complained about a sharp pain in her abdomen and she asked for a glass of water. I slapped her with all the force I could muster and told her to shut the fuck up before I urinated all over her bagillion dollar dress. And then I splashed her glass of water in her face--that taught her to be damn quiet.

When the waiter came to take our order, I told him to give me everything on the menu except for the calamari, which my date absolutely hated. I told him to give her that as a punishment for her insolence, and then I kicked her in the face for being such a whiny-ass. The waiter came back with our food five minutes later, and I proceeded to dig in, but not before hocking a loogey and decorating my date's calamari with it. When she complained that she wasn't hungry because she could see her spleen, I overturned the table and punched her right in her spleen so it would go back in and she wouldn't have any stupid-ass excuse not to eat. She cried through the whole meal, but hell if she didn't eat that calamari good!

When the meal was done, our waiter came over and told us that the manager would let us have dessert on the house. I was so delighted that I apologized to my date for spitting on her calamari and asked her what she wanted. When she said she would like the fruit cup, which had raspberries (to which I am allergic), I slapped that ignorant, selfish wench and told her to shut the fuck up. I then ordered the cappucino flan and spit on it when it came so that my date wouldn't want any.

I paid for the meal with a gift-certificate that my aunt gave me to a restaurant with a name somewhat similar to the one we were at, and left before the waiter could even check the check. My date complained up until we got back to O Street that we did a bad thing. At O Street, I stuck my hand down her throat and removed her voicebox so that she would stop. When we got back to the dorm, I left her off at her room and had hot sex with the manager of the restaurant, who followed me home.

::Clears throat:: Some parts of the events above are loosely based on actual events. But anyways, yeah. I had a lot of fun. And she kicks ass.

So yeah... I think I'd better get to that paper. Cheers folks, and hasta la byebye!

Con un plátano llenando mi culo con amor, bienvenidos a Hasta la Byebye! El programa más popular en Guatemala, Uruguay, y La República Dominica! Hoy, vamos a describir la vida de nuestro héroe y después, buscaremos un doctor. Ahora..!

No wait. It turns out that I'm too tired for this shaz. Damn fatigue setting in to bite me in the ass after I worked so hard to scrape together enough Spanish to string up two poorly worded sentences.

Alas, there isn't much to say, except I have this kickass goat necklace now. And females still rock. Even if they distract you from work. Like everything is wont to do, really.

But yeah, females good.

Oh, and I have my first final tomorrow. Yay! Without sarcasm! But seriously... I ought to be reading. So I'm going to go to bed now. Good night, kids. Make sure to brush behind your ears. Hasta la byebye.

Who's up for some squanky-wanky? Some honka-donka? Some flanka-shanka? Maybe a touch of gashtoinky-shtoinky?

::Sigh:: I don't know, dammit! I had to start with something, and those words were just pounding at the inside of my skull, screaming, "Let me out!"

Alas, that's out of the way. Let me now apologize for having deprived you fine individuals of my sweet, sweet writing for an overly extended period of time. I do it a lot, though. So get used to it.

In other news, Islam class sucks. Which came into my mind since Fred's copy of the Koran is just laying out on the floor, staring at me. But Islam wouldn't be so bad, as I've said before, if it were just smaller. It's too damn big, damn you!

Of course, it would also help if I motivated myself. You know, like worked to do the readings for the class and also worked to read the book I did a book report on. Somehow, despite the fact that I read about 1/5 of the book, I expected an A-. Well I got a B. And I complained about it, too. I was quite frustrated, you see, because now my average in that class, instead of being a B+ as I'd hoped and expected, is a B, the grade at which it will most likely stay unless I bust my ass open on the final. Now a B normally wouldn't bother me too much--hell, if I had a B in a class in high school for the amount of work I'd done, I wouldn't mind much at all, but here there is cash on the line. I need something like a GPA of 3.7 or 3.8 (I'm thinking 3.8, but not sure) to get a few thousand dollars tacked on to my scholarship at the start of junior year. And dammit, I want that money--I mean, I have two smaller siblings behind me that won't be able to get as much financial backing as they should get when it comes time for them to get educated. Every little bit helps.

So as it stands, my expected GPA at the end of this semester is going to be a little over 3.6. If that's where it will be, then next semester, even if I get straight As, I will have a 3.78. Quite frustrating, really.

Alas, I shouldn't stress out over it so much. Que será será. Con un plátano en mi culo. Ay, el estrés. Donde está la pornografía?

Quizá yo volveré y escriba más, pero ahora yo dejo de querer escribir nada. Disfrútense, chicos. Hasta la byebye.