Crap disguised as art

I have a paper due next week. What does this mean for you, my loyal readers (anybody, anybody, Bueller?)? It means that I will do absolutely anything to procrastinate. In one of my attempts to procrastinate today, I came across some photos belonging to a DJ who will remain anonymous (not because I don't want to call him out, but because he's some local DJ from Nowhereville, OH). This photo gallery is of limited size, meaning that the DJ had to select his three favorite pictures to post. Given this constraint, one would think that the DJ would select the best pictures available. This was not the case.

Our little DJ friend had posted only blurry pictures. One (presumably) of himself spinning records, and two others of people dancing (presumably) to his music. Now I have a great appreciation for modern art and an even greater appreciation for the difficulty of taking pictures in nightclub settings (after all, I did spend 6 months doing so professionally), but there is absolutely no excuse to post three indistinct pictures. Thanks to digital cameras, we now have the ability to delete bad pictures and take more! It's brilliant!

I'm sure that our little DJ friend thinks that blurry pictures make him look edgy and artistic, but let's face it, whoever took the pictures was probably too drunk to hold the camera still. And after seeing the drunken pictures, the DJ was probably thrilled at the less than stellar results, given that they allow him to cover up the fact that there were only two people dancing in the entire club.

So let's face it Mr. DJ, you're not edgy, you're retarded. Blurry pictures are not artistic, they're blurry.

Hugs and kisses,
The Bitter Libertarian

Spring is in the air.

That's right folks, it's springtime, and here in Collegetown, USA, that means drinking on your front lawn in as little clothing as possible. I feel like an old hag writing this entry already, but hello, I am the bitter libertarian, and I'm a graduate student, which immediately ages you by 10 years.

So back to what I was saying...drinking on the front lawn. On the first warm Friday of the semester, I decide to skip out of work a bit early and head home. On my half mile walk home, I passed at least five different beer pong tables. At five different houses. All surrounded by undergrads wearing their best beachwear (because, obviously, when the weather hits 70 it's practically law that you should NOT wear a shirt under any circumstances, no matter how unattractive your body may be [yes, scrawy guy from NY, I'm talking about you, no one wants to see that]).

Congratulations college undergrads, you have finally hit that magical age of 21 (or at least found someone who looks enough like you so that you can pass for 21 if the bouncer doesn't actually look at your ID). While I understand that being 21 can be exciting for the first month or two or sixty, but let's face it, there is absolutely no need to hang out on your front lawn with a beer just to prove that you are, in fact, of legal drinking age. Why? Because everyone turns 21 at some point. This means that you're not special (despite what your mother said, really, being 21 != special).

So, college undergrads, we have established that you are not special and unique just because you can in fact drink beer. So put some damn clothes on and put down the beer, or go back into your houses to spare me the sight of you being pathetic, lest I have to return to my home and drink heavily to forget what kind of town I live in.


Hugs and kisses,
The Bitter Libertarian

Yay, I found my password

Ok, I never really lost it, but I did forget that this thing existed. But in the past year, I have found tons of things to be bitter about. Look forward to oodles of amusing articles about important things, like what I had for lunch, and people who are annoying me daily.

Hugs and kisses,
The Bitter Libertarian