MrAoki1's Xanga SiteThe guy being walloped on is me, in the blue sports coat, yes too sexy, nothing says man than a good butt whippin
MrAoki1
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Name: Eric
Country: United States
State: California
Birthday: 8/14/1982
Gender: Male


Interests: I try to convince people that something I do or like is cool just for the sake of starting that trend/fad. I started the asians wearing racist abercrombie clothes movement.
Expertise: Duck Hunt and Tecmo Baseball. Also an expert at the night life here at UCI.
Occupation: Military
Industry: Art


Message: message me
Website: visit my website


Member Since: 4/21/2003

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*AACF @ UCI*
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Friday, October 09, 2009

Just Re-Read My Xanga Entries

Christ....I had a lot of free time back then.


Sunday, April 13, 2008

Elephants Never Forget

In 1986, Mkele Mbembe was on holiday in Kenya after graduating from Northwestern University.

On a hike through the bush, he came across a young bull elephant standing with one leg raised in the air. The elephant seemed distressed, so Mbembe approached it very carefully.

He got down on one knee and inspected the elephant's foot and found a large piece of wood deeply embedded in it.

As carefully and as gently as he could, Mbembe worked the wood out with his hunting knife, after which the elephant gingerly put down its foot.

The elephant turned to face the man, and with a rather curious look on its face, stared at him for several tense moments.

Mbembe stood frozen, thinking of nothing else but being trampled. Eventually the elephant trumpeted loudly, turned, and walked away.

Mbembe never forgot that elephant or the events of that day.

Twenty years later, Mbembe was walking through the Chicago Zoo with his teenaged son.

As they approached the elephant enclosure, one of the creatures turned and walked over to near where Mbembe and his son Tapu were standing.

The large bull elephant stared at Mbembe, lifted its front foot off the ground, then put it down. The elephant did that several times then trumpeted loudly, all the while staring at the man.

Remembering the encounter in 1986, Mbembe couldn't help wondering if this was the same elephant.

Mbembe summoned up his courage, climbed over the railing and made his way into the enclosure. He walked right up to the elephant and stared back in wonder. The elephant trumpeted again, wrapped its trunk around one of Mbembe' s legs and slammed him against the railing, killing him instantly .

Probably wasn't the same elephant.


Tuesday, November 13, 2007

couldn't resist a more detailed entry

okay, sitting in my office, should be reviewing the design standards for a master planned community in vegas but i want to talk about whole foods.  Whole Foods is great.  May be it's too great, i don't know, I just shop there, but what i know now as opposed to saturday, which had been my first day in a whole foods to eat, is that the food is not as good as i thought it was two days ago.  And this worries me because i'm still going to go there to eat, and i've already decided to go there a lot, because i've realized that paying high prices makes me feel good about myself.  Paying more for food makes me think i'm a better person, and consequently, the people shopping where I shop are better than the scum at 99 ranch market ergo.  It's just food, it really boils down to a supermarket with a food court but what makes it so appealing is that I know, and we all know, that people who shop at whole foods act like they have lots of $$$ and thats an exclusive group I want to be a part of. 

I'm really struggling with this xanga, i don't think i'm blogging right.






It's been two months and the only thing i have to report is that i bought a big and f'ing expensive tv.


Friday, September 28, 2007

Poem: "To the Man in a Loden Coat" by Deborah Garrison, from The Second Child.

To the Man in a Loden Coat

Hey, mister
man in a loden coat
standing in front of me
on the escalator and blocking my
way—
I know
I'm self absorbed,
particularly at this hour,
5:22 to be precise and I need
to make the 5:25 home—
don't you know that in this city,
in this life, we
walk on the left,
stand on the right?

Don't tell me to chill out,
don't tell me to "breathe,"
I hate breathing
I mean unless it is happening
without my knowing it,
which is, thank God, most of the time,

and don't tell me life is long
because it actually isn't
it's all I can do not to
give you a sweet shove
on your rich loden back,
same as all the bottled-up
left-lane travelers
behind me want to do
to my own navy-clad shoulder,
a nice blue to your green,
like water for the earth,
sky for the forest,
green and blue a tea for two,
etc., among the vistas
that call me home now,
at 5:23, about to miss the bus,
so would you please

MOVE OVER?



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