<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27957694</id><updated>2011-04-21T11:24:31.983-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Brother's Blog SUCKS</title><subtitle type='html'>When My brother tried to explain to me what a blog was and why you would create one, I made fun of him. A lot. I'm sure he'll have some shit talking to do now that I have my own.

This is my response.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybrothersblogsucks.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27957694/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybrothersblogsucks.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Jonny</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11494503527079985642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3340/2916/1600/922380918106_0_ALB.2.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>7</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27957694.post-115471047683996495</id><published>2006-08-04T09:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-04T09:54:36.840-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Off to Madagascar</title><content type='html'>I'm leaving for Madagascar today until September 4th. I will post whenever I can find the internet, which will probably be around once a week at most.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27957694-115471047683996495?l=mybrothersblogsucks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybrothersblogsucks.blogspot.com/feeds/115471047683996495/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27957694&amp;postID=115471047683996495' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27957694/posts/default/115471047683996495'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27957694/posts/default/115471047683996495'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybrothersblogsucks.blogspot.com/2006/08/off-to-madagascar.html' title='Off to Madagascar'/><author><name>Jonny</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11494503527079985642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3340/2916/1600/922380918106_0_ALB.2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27957694.post-115471033240564371</id><published>2006-08-04T09:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-04T09:52:12.443-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Last Roommate Story</title><content type='html'>So this will be the last of the stories concerning my old roommates, but it's a pretty good one. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my fellow Vet classmates used to live right across the street from my building. He lives in a nice house with his wife and dog. One day during happy hour, he approached me and was curious about my roommates. The conversation went something like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Classmate: "So Jon, did you have some new guys move into your building recently?"&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Actually yeah, they moved in a couple weeks ago."&lt;br /&gt;Classmate: "Um, do you know them very well?"&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Ha, actually we talk all the time, they're pretty interesting guys."&lt;br /&gt;Classmate: "Really. I had an interesting experience with one of them."&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Oh yeah? What happened."&lt;br /&gt;Classmate: "Well I was sitting on my couch at home, and I heard someone knock on the door. So I slowly got up and walked over. That's when I noticed that who ever knocked on my door was now giggling the handle, trying to get in. I stopped, being pretty freaked out, and then walked over to the door as soon as the handle stopped moving. I slowly opened the door, and there was your housemate, on his knees, trying to open pry open my garage door. As soon as I opened the door, he jumped to his feet, and with a big smile said: "Oh hey! Do you need any help?". I replied: "Um, help with what?". He said back: "Oh you know, whatever." Then he walked away into your building."&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Wow, that's a pretty good story. It doesn't really surprise me though."&lt;br /&gt;Classmate: "Really? That doesn't surprise you?"&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Not really, last week he drilled out the change machines on the washer and dryer downstairs and stole all of the quarters. Oh yeah, he also stole my bathing suit and some underwear. The nice thing is, I don't have to pay to do laundry anymore."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27957694-115471033240564371?l=mybrothersblogsucks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybrothersblogsucks.blogspot.com/feeds/115471033240564371/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27957694&amp;postID=115471033240564371' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27957694/posts/default/115471033240564371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27957694/posts/default/115471033240564371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybrothersblogsucks.blogspot.com/2006/08/last-roommate-story.html' title='The Last Roommate Story'/><author><name>Jonny</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11494503527079985642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3340/2916/1600/922380918106_0_ALB.2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27957694.post-115202259603490566</id><published>2006-07-04T07:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-04T07:16:36.046-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Door</title><content type='html'>So one day I come home from class, and I hear this loud banging coming from the second floor. I walk up and #1 is standing in his doorway, hammer in hand, smacking the shit out of his destroyed door. The knob fixture is dangling, and the door is cracked in half where the knob usually inserts. #1 is apparently trying to beat the knob back into place. The conversation went something like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Hey #1! Whats up here, what happened to your door?"&lt;br /&gt;#1:  "Hey Jon! Look... I got locked out."&lt;br /&gt;Me:  "Oh yea? What, did you kick in your door?"&lt;br /&gt;#1:  "Damn right I did. Fucking #2 went out and took the fucking key."&lt;br /&gt;Me: "That sucks, did he loose the key?"&lt;br /&gt;#1: "No, he just fucking went out and left me here."&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Why not just wait until he gets home?"&lt;br /&gt;#1: "Because he's a fucking thief."&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Uh, alright. Well I'm gonna go upstairs."&lt;br /&gt;#1: "Hey Jon! you wanna have a beer?"&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Uh no. Thanks. I have a lot of work to do."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27957694-115202259603490566?l=mybrothersblogsucks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybrothersblogsucks.blogspot.com/feeds/115202259603490566/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27957694&amp;postID=115202259603490566' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27957694/posts/default/115202259603490566'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27957694/posts/default/115202259603490566'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybrothersblogsucks.blogspot.com/2006/07/door.html' title='The Door'/><author><name>Jonny</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11494503527079985642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3340/2916/1600/922380918106_0_ALB.2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27957694.post-115049629966056402</id><published>2006-06-16T14:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-16T15:20:54.073-07:00</updated><title type='text'>#1 and Our Trips To The Park</title><content type='html'>So for the next two weeks after meeting my new housemates, every time I would come home #1 and #2 would invite me to either hang out and watch TV or to have a drink with them. And they were always drinking. It could have been 10 am, or 3 in the afternoon. Always an open 40, and always poured into a glass for some reason. I always turned them down of course, usually just because trying to make conversation with these two was probably similar to teaching an ESL course. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day I was leaving my apartment to take my dog Riley to the park, and #1 and #2 always went nuts for Riley. They would scream:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"RIIILLLLEEEEEYY!!!!!!RIIILLLLEEEEYYYY!!!!!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say, she was terrified every time she would hear them. She would slowly move down the stairs and I would have to make some excuse like:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh she just really wants to go outside." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When what I was thinking was:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You know it scares the shit out of me too when you scream and wave your hands around."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, one time #1 decided to accompany me to the park.  The conversation went something like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#1: "RRRIIIILLLLLLEEEEYYYY!!!!!!!! Hey Jon! You goin' to the park?"&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Yup, sure am #1."&lt;br /&gt;#1: "Hey, hold on a sec, I'll come with you."&lt;br /&gt;Me: "um, sure ok."&lt;br /&gt;#1: "Hey #2, where's your jacket? I'm gonna wear it at the park."&lt;br /&gt;#2: "Its in the other room hangin' up, make sure you take my pistola outta there." (He says while grinning and glaring at me from the corner of his eyes) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we walk out of the building, and I notice that #1 has a significant limp. He then starts to tell me his life story, including how he had been blown 500 feet off of a ship while in the Navy, losing half of his knee. He also told a few tales about how he had been mugged in Philadelphia a number of times in the past decade. He then pointed to his neck and face, showing me how he had been shot in the face. Sure enough, there were two circular scares on both his neck and face, the later right next to his nose. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we get to the dog park, and I let Riley off leash and walk into the center of the park. #1 however, decided to simply lean on a tree on the outskirts of the open area. There were a number of dog owners in the park. All of them would glance over at #1,  and all of them seemed to be a little wierded out. After about 10 minutes, #1 yells:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hey Jon! I'm gonna head back!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then he turns and limps away. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On another occasion, #1 again joined me at the park. It was warm and a nice day, thus there were a lot of other dog owners around. On the way over to the park #1 stops at a store and says he'll meet up with me. A few minutes later he shows up with a chocolate muffin (at 5pm?), and a tall boy of Milwakee's Best. He then proceeds to feed Riley and a few other dogs beer, and make references to his doctors and other people, often using the work 'cunt'. He then talks to me about his 'motherfucking doctor' who tells #1 that amputation is the only solution to his problems. He proceeds to pull up his pant leg and expose the remaining 1/2 of his knee, and what's left of his mangled leg.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After some subtle gasps, most of the other people in the park have sudden plans to leave.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27957694-115049629966056402?l=mybrothersblogsucks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybrothersblogsucks.blogspot.com/feeds/115049629966056402/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27957694&amp;postID=115049629966056402' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27957694/posts/default/115049629966056402'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27957694/posts/default/115049629966056402'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybrothersblogsucks.blogspot.com/2006/06/1-and-our-trips-to-park.html' title='#1 and Our Trips To The Park'/><author><name>Jonny</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11494503527079985642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3340/2916/1600/922380918106_0_ALB.2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27957694.post-114900357466330859</id><published>2006-05-30T08:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-30T08:43:31.480-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Housemates Story #1</title><content type='html'>Like I said, for the first 7 months I lived in this building I was the only tenant. Then one day I noticed that the door to apartment on the first floor was closed, which was accompanied by a funny smell. I had never seen or heard anyone moving in, so it was a little puzzling. Then I noticed the pillows from the couch on the front porch were missing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For a week I never saw anyone, until a Monday afternoon after spring break. My dad and step mom were driving up to my place to drop off my dog which had stayed with them for the week. They were over an hour late, so I decided to go sit on the front porch with my phone and wait for them. Coming down the stairs, I can hear them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of my housemates (#1, the one pictured) is 65, an old war vet, and is mentally insane. I am not just saying he's insane because he's a little strange. He's insane. He is on medication, and when he doesn't take it he wanders off. He has an amazing mullet, which is streaked with silver hair. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other housemate (#2) is around 40, and is pretty much the stereotypical shady, greasy, south philly drunk. He's got a couple teeth missing, and looks like an extra out of Rocky V.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They both drinking, which was a constant whenever I saw them. On this occasion it was about 4 o'clock. The best part was they had 40's of malt liquor, which they would pour into glass mugs. This somehow made it classier to drink a 40. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I walked out onto the porch, introduced myself, and sat down next to #2. They offered me some of their 40, which I declined and explained my parents were meeting me for dinner. We started talking, and the conversation went something like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: "So when did you guys actually move in? I didn't hear or see you moving anything."&lt;br /&gt;#1: "We ain't got furniture right now, we just brought in these couch cushions in so we have something to sleep on."&lt;br /&gt;Me: "I see." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A girl walks by the house.&lt;br /&gt;#2: "Awwwwww. I need to go home and get my fishing poll."&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Oh yeah? Why's that?"&lt;br /&gt;#2: "Cause I'm gonna fish me one of these bitches. Hook em, and reel em in!"&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Ha, oh yeah? Does that normally work for you?"&lt;br /&gt;#2: "Aw, man, you'd be surprised. This one time I banged this 260 pounder, she was a wild one."&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Wow, that's a big girl. How did that work out?"&lt;br /&gt;#2: "Well, first of all, she didn't have any teeth. They got knocked out. So you can see how that would work out for me." (gives me a nudge)&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Yea, I guess that's pretty awesome."&lt;br /&gt;#2: "She was fuckin crazy, I used to bang her all the time. She could never get enough, always wanted it. Then she jumped off the roof and broke both of her legs."&lt;br /&gt;Me: "She jumped off the roof? Jesus, why did she do that?"&lt;br /&gt;#2: "I don't know, bitch was crazy. I saw her in the hospital a couple times, then I had to cut her loose. My wife was getting pissed."&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Wait, you have a wife?" &lt;br /&gt;#2: "Yep, a 13 year old daughter too. Bitch threw me out a couple months ago. Fucking worthless bitch."&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Huh..."&lt;br /&gt;#1: (Chimes in) "Hey Jon!, you want some of my cheesesteak?"&lt;br /&gt;Me: "No I'm ok, thanks."&lt;br /&gt;#1: "Hey Jon! How about some beer?" (gestures the 40's towards me) &lt;br /&gt;Me: "No I'm good, thanks. Hey I'm gonna go upstairs and check my messages." (I didn't say e-mails, somehow I figured this would spark either more conversation or some kind of outrage)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I walk upstairs. While I'm in my apartment, my parents slowly drive down the street looking for my address. Then I hear:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#1: (screaming): "Hey! Jon's parents! Are you Jon's parents! Come on up!"&lt;br /&gt;#2: (also screaming): "Hey Hey Hey! Jon's upstairs, come on!" (giving hand gestures)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My parents look at each other, and slowly drive away. I come down the stairs, say goodbye to #1 and #2, and meet my parents. My dad starts with:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dad: "Who are those guys? They are pretty scary."&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Oh, well I guess those are my mew housemates."&lt;br /&gt;Stepmom: "Oh my god."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27957694-114900357466330859?l=mybrothersblogsucks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybrothersblogsucks.blogspot.com/feeds/114900357466330859/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27957694&amp;postID=114900357466330859' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27957694/posts/default/114900357466330859'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27957694/posts/default/114900357466330859'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybrothersblogsucks.blogspot.com/2006/05/housemates-story-1.html' title='Housemates Story #1'/><author><name>Jonny</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11494503527079985642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3340/2916/1600/922380918106_0_ALB.2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27957694.post-114865846660485478</id><published>2006-05-26T08:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-26T09:41:16.020-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Old Housemates</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3340/2916/1600/IMGP0215.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3340/2916/320/IMGP0215.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So up until three days ago I lived in an old house that was converted into a small apartment building with 6 apartments. For the first 7 months I was the only person to live there, until these guys moved in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a few good stories, and will post them one at a time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27957694-114865846660485478?l=mybrothersblogsucks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybrothersblogsucks.blogspot.com/feeds/114865846660485478/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27957694&amp;postID=114865846660485478' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27957694/posts/default/114865846660485478'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27957694/posts/default/114865846660485478'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybrothersblogsucks.blogspot.com/2006/05/my-old-housemates.html' title='My Old Housemates'/><author><name>Jonny</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11494503527079985642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3340/2916/1600/922380918106_0_ALB.2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27957694.post-114739178579012581</id><published>2006-05-11T16:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-12T06:57:35.546-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SlackJaw Lives:</title><content type='html'>So my good friend from college, who I will name as slackjaw, has gone missing since our graduation in 2004. We've all heard rumors that he had applied to Medical school in Mexico, so I decided to write him an e-mail.&lt;br /&gt;To summarize, I pretty much talked shit about how he never hangs out or tells any of us shit about what he's been up to. Then I told him to come up to Philly this summer and we'll go to a strip club called Delilah's. I also attached a picture reminding him of one of the greatest days of his life, where the two of us drank all afternoon and watched porno.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is his unedited response:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;fuck mexico&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;smith what up son&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;damn i know shit is really when carson is talkin shit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i was actually back in the states for a couple days 2 weeks ago.  only enough time for family stuff before i headed out.  drove my car down here.  fuckin long drive.  got some stories but hit you with them in the next. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mexico is alright though.  fuckin shock at first though.  but been down here for 5 months now so feels like home to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;yeah i havent kept up with anyone really.  no excuse time just passin on me fast.&lt;br /&gt;yall all been hangin out still though. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i know this though.  philly aint got shit on the strip clubs down there.  beautiful girls from all over. cheap. all you gots to do is buy them a beer and their on your lap for the night.  fully naked.  damn.  beautifl.  places look straight out of desparado though.  so ghetto.  if you want you can even bring your own bottle of liquor in or you just buy one for cheaper than you could get it in the states at the abc store anyways. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;im stayin down here for the summer though.  got an apartment down here and no money to make it in the states.  plus im enjoyin my self&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;aint goin lie though.  aint no william and mary kids down here.  probable see if it would be poossible to trasfer back to states in 2 years if i can down well on the usmle 1. dont know if its possible but gots a good mcat so.. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;hows that school treatin you.  hit me up with some stories.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;fcuk yeah america.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;damn that pic is amazing.  may go down as one of the best days of my life en verdad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;take it easy son&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27957694-114739178579012581?l=mybrothersblogsucks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mybrothersblogsucks.blogspot.com/feeds/114739178579012581/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27957694&amp;postID=114739178579012581' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27957694/posts/default/114739178579012581'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27957694/posts/default/114739178579012581'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mybrothersblogsucks.blogspot.com/2006/05/slackjaw-lives.html' title='SlackJaw Lives:'/><author><name>Jonny</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11494503527079985642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='17' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3340/2916/1600/922380918106_0_ALB.2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
