Let's talk about Coheed and Cambria.

Anyone who has known me for more than a day knows that my favorite band ever, period, was Coheed and Cambria. Until yesterday. Yesterday, I was browsing the World Wide Web, as I so often do, when I remembered that I hadn't done my daily check-up on how my favorite band was doing. I quickly typed my way to Coheed's myspace page, and their Snazzalicious "Neverender" Wallpaper loaded up. So far, everything was fine. I scrolled down to the section of their page about recent news/tour dates, and couldn't help but notice something. Coheed's profile picture had the word "SLIPKNOT" at the top of it, and the cover of Slipknot's new album: "Poorly Written Lyrics, Awful Vocals, and Mediocre Instrumentation: Volume 6". I blinked and looked again. Underneath was the text: with special guests: Coheed and Cambria, Trivium, and another lame band. My heartbeat slowed. I couldn't see, and I'm pretty sure I was unconscious for like 20 seconds. I returned to my computer, and attempted to write a blog post about the situation, but was too damn angry. So I went to bed, hoping this whole thing was a nightmare.
Turns out, it wasn't a nightmare.
Coheed and Cambria are touring with Slipknot.
For those of you who know me extra well, you know I now am required to find a new favorite band.
This is going to be extremely difficult.
As for all my Coheed music, I'm not sure what I'm going to do with it. I will probably have to compeletely separate myself from Coheed society and current events, and ignore everything they do. How will I purchase their new album without paying attention to it? I'm not entirely sure.
So much confusion. So much to do.
I've been looking for a new favorite band, and I'm begging anyone who thinks they can help to try. I'm going to ignore your suggestions and put you down if you recommend bad music to me.

It's safe to say you dig the backseat.

I would be writing, but I'm too pissed off. Sorry.

And you know what?

Have a happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Fortress/Escape

Well, guess who lost something very special to...himself.
Me did.
That was terrible grammar.
Whatever.
Anyway, I recently forgot two very, VERY, special things to me. An autographed copy of Escape, by Therefore I Am, and a copy of Fortress by Protest the Hero. Which is just amazing for me, since, as anyone who knows me knows, I love losing cherished albums more than I love anything else in the world.
JUST KIDDING. I THINK IT SUCKS.
Let's explore this terrible happening.
A couple weeks ago I attended a gathering at my friend Kevin's house. I played Guitar Hero and GTA 4 until about....damn... two o'clock. This is quite an achievement for me.
ANYWAY, I had brought Fortress and Escape to burn to my friend Kevin's XBox 360. So, I leave the next day, and forget Fortress and Escape at my friend Kevin's house. I call to check in on Escape and Fortress, and Kevin doesn't answer, probably because he's in class, I don't blame him. But, he didn't call me back. I was pissed. But this wasn't even his fault. I tell Mom, "We really, really, need to stop by Kevin's house and pick up those GODDAMN CD's! But my mom's too busy cooking/cleaning, and we still haven't gotten them. And I'm f'ing pissed. Damn.

Bye Bye, Beautiful.

Don't bother to write.

Um...

My blog post time is pretty way off. Just keep that in mind from now on.

Let's talk about whose babies belong to who.

Let's get a little something out of the way. Rody Walker has official legal possession of my children. This means if I ever have any babies actually worth keeping, I'm morally and patriotically obligated to feed/donate them to Rody Walker. This means that these:

Are in fact the property of this man:

This way, even if my wife/woman decides to ruin my baby's life by eating healthy, exercising, and reading to it in the womb, my seed will be raised by the god of metal vocals himself, and will grow to be strong and kick an incredulous amount of ass. As we speak, the Pentagon is preparing a defense against the onslaught by the David/Rody babies. They will crush the earth under their fingers, and as men, they will strike fear in the hearts of the gods themselves and blind all those who gaze upon them. Yeah.

Also, in this new future ruled by my babies, it's gonna rain whales.

Get pumped.

"I swear I have compassion, I've just been trained to disregard the prisoner's life: cause I'm a prison guard."

Man.

That was a big poop.

A look back on my poop.

I didn't flush, because I'm sure if I did, I would have clogged my toilet. So get off my back.

"AMEN to the people!"

A Huge Poop.

This afternoon, after sitting on my ass for 10 hours during tech for Our Country's Good, I decided I needed to take a poop.
Expecting an average bowel movement, I strolled into my bathroom, turned on the fan for the sake of my family, and commenced the pooping.
What happened then was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. Allow me to explain.
There are three categories of poop (in order from greatest to least):
1. The quick, painless poop, which is rare and greatly appreciated. This poop takes one flush.
2. The 2-Act poop. This pooping takes two tries, as its title implies. In between these attempts, there is usually a period of wandering around your house, feeling disgusted with yourself, after which you run to the bathroom to complete the poop.
3. Diarrhea. This needs no introduction in the world of poop.
Now, dear readers, you must be asking me, "Which category did your poop fall in, David?"

My answer, mortals? This poop defied genre. After the first part of my poop, I had believed it would be a standard two-act. No big deal, I wandered back to my bathroom and completed it. But then, I did something unexpected. I waited. And the poop continued. I was in shock. When I had finished, I wiped, stood up, and for the first time in a while, I felt accomplished. I washed my hands about four times, and ran to my computer to tell Danny of this amazing event. I felt as though a thousand years of pain had been cleansed from my system, or like I had just done something amazing and wonderful, which I had. Every part of my body felt free, like I had just given birth. Indeed, my friends, my poop was a poop of epic proportions. America has witnessed history, and I'm currently emailing Congress to make a statue resembling my poop in front of the Washington Monument in our nation's capital. Rejoice, people of earth, for my body is free of a great scourge. Remember this day. Remember it well, and tell your children. Never let them forget what happened tonight, for if we do not learn of our history, then we are destined to repeat it.
Thank you.

"If I believed in meat, I'd eat a plateful of our dead."

As celebration of how attractive I am, I've decided to start following my own blog.

Trust me, the title is self-explanatory.

"Kezia, my darling, please never forget, this world's got the substance of a frozen summer silhouette."

Undoubtedly the sexiest human being alive:

I'm not going to lie, sometimes I'm so hot, I give myself goosebumps walking by myself. Sometimes, I see myself in the hall in the ATC, and I doubt my sexuality, because my good looks sometimes come close to turning me gay for myself. At least 41 assassinations have been attempted on me by men all over the world, jealous of my incredible powers of seduction and my unbelievable good looks. Sorry, but David's here to say, and he isn't getting any less sexy, so you other guys best be happy with the leftovers.

"Drop the gun."
-Protest the Hero.