Well we finally got internet today, so I decided to end my extended blog sabbatical. I'm sure by now everyone has quit reading this so I guess I'm just doing it for my own personal enjoyment. Although I don't really like writing in the first place, especially typing, so I guess I'm still doing it so I can write things like shit, piss, twat, clit, cocksucker, motherfucker, and have it posted on the internet.
Anyway, the new house kicks ass. I inadvertantly moved next door to my freshman year roommate, Anthony Jackson. All things aside he is a Kappa Sig, actually, he is the prince of Kappa Sigs. He throws dance parties, is like a four year sing chair letterman, and is of African-american decent. And you may be asking yourselves, "man Shep, you must hate it over there." In all truth, I don't mind it. Women flock over there like Padre seagulls to potato chips. So, by my deductions, women flock over there, they get tired of the loud music and general disarray of the strobe light, head around the corner to see who's playing Willis Alan Ramsey, and see the coolest mutherfucker around...yours truly. And then I take them inside and show off the hall of horns just to make em wet. It's a win-win if you ask me.
I was'nt the first to throw up in the new house. A friend of mine came out with us a few nights back. She had been drinking a bottle of Petron I bought for her 21st. She was pretty sauced by the time we got home, as was I. I went over to Anthony's to hang out for a while as I walked through the hall I noticed she was laying down on a bed with her eyes slightly glazed over. When she saw me she jumped up on the bed and started bouncing on it. After about the third bounce the fan blade caught her on the right side of her head and she stood there stunned. It was like seeing a "FINISH HIM" fighter on Mortal Combat. Thinking fast, I dashed over and caught her before she fell on her face. She told me she wanted me to carry her home, seeing as how she lives about five blocks away, I declined. I convinced her that my house was just as good and proceded to carry her. On the way out I kicked the door open...and they say that chivalry is dead. false. When I got her home, she layed on the couch for a while, and then it happened. Luckily, I had a trashcan ready. It smelled like hot peppermint schnapps and I almost lost it myself.
Jim Bob Cooter. Quarterback at University of Tennessee. Arrested for drunk driving...ok...so? If
his name was Marshall Bufort Thigpen III, I would read into the story a little deeper, but Jim Bob Cooter? I already know his entire 20-something year history. And on a sidenote, I bet he is a campus legend. A true hellraisin, beer-guzzlin, suffin, cussin, sum-bitch. Oh and vag-poundin. Admired by men and wanted by women. Thats all I really have to say about Jim Bob Cooter. I think he kicks ass and I want to be his friend, or possibly in his entourage. 
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