The Old Prof

I know everybody expects me to keep them on the forefront of awesome. I don't want to let you down cause I know if you're not getting it from me you'll look elsewhere. I feel a duty to preotect you from lesser sources that you may encounter out there on the interweb superdriveway.

Well, there's a hot new roast out there. In fact you are the first people I have told about this and it will spread fast. The word:

ASS-CENTAUR

I was reading "The Name of the Rose" by Umberto Eco last night when I came accross the term. It is literally a centaur where that back half is that of an ass. You are basically telling someone that they have the ass of an ass. I have a hunch that this one will take off, and my hunches are never wrong.

Possibly uses:

"What's this ass-centaur doing in the fast lane?"

"Hey, ass-centaur, your an ass-centaur."

"I can't believe you said that in front of my parents! You're such an ass-centaur!"

"I'm sorry but I don't date ass-centaurs."

I suggest that you use this as soon as possible so you can say you were one of the first and so it doesn't get used on you first. Good luck and godspeed you ass-centaurs.

Posted by Old Prof at 12:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I know everybody expects me to keep them on the forefront of awesome. I don't want to let you down cause I know if you're not getting it from me you'll look elsewhere. I feel a duty to preotect you from lesser sources that you may encounter out there on the interweb superdriveway.

Well, there's a hot new roast out there. In fact you are the first people I have told about this and it will spread fast. The word:

ASS-CENTAUR

I was reading "The Name of the Rose" by Umberto Eco last night when I came accross the term. It is literally a centaur where that back half is that of an ass. You are basically telling someone that they have the ass of an ass. I have a hunch that this one will take off, and my hunches are never wrong.

Possibly uses:

"What's this ass-centaur doing in the fast lane?"

"Hey, ass-centaur, your an ass-centaur."

"I can't believe you said that in front of my parents! You're such an ass-centaur!"

"I'm sorry but I don't date ass-centaurs."

I suggest that you use this as soon as possible so you can say you were one of the first and so it doesn't get used on you first. Good luck and godspeed you ass-centaurs.

Posted by Old Prof at 12:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

This is sort of pathetic but I've recently discovered (or admitted maybe) that even in my dreams I am totally lame.

The other night I had a dream about going back to college. So I was taking a campus tour and I noticed this kid wearing a T-shirt or a button that said Utah in big letters. I was not in Utah in my dream so it stuck out to me. I asked the kid about it and he said that it was actually the name of a band he liked and it was called "hot weather in Utah." That's weird enough but here's where I get lame.

I said, thinking this to be quite funny, "I've lived in Las Vegas and in Utah and Utah just isn't that hot." You see, this was supposed to be funny I guess cause it was just the name of a band but I was calling them out on it as a statement. Of course i wasn't even considering St. George, which can get quite hot. Probably just as hot as Vegas.

Either way, it was a stupid thing to say and not at all funny. Furthermore it forced upon me the realization that even in my dreams this is as cool as I get. I think everyone expects to be cooler in their dreams than they are in real life, but I am just turning into my Dad, one lame joke at a time. Even worse, what if I am still cooler in my dreams than in real life? Pathetic.

Posted by Old Prof at 11:55 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

This is sort of pathetic but I've recently discovered (or admitted maybe) that even in my dreams I am totally lame.

The other night I had a dream about going back to college. So I was taking a campus tour and I noticed this kid wearing a T-shirt or a button that said Utah in big letters. I was not in Utah in my dream so it stuck out to me. I asked the kid about it and he said that it was actually the name of a band he liked and it was called "hot weather in Utah." That's weird enough but here's where I get lame.

I said, thinking this to be quite funny, "I've lived in Las Vegas and in Utah and Utah just isn't that hot." You see, this was supposed to be funny I guess cause it was just the name of a band but I was calling them out on it as a statement. Of course i wasn't even considering St. George, which can get quite hot. Probably just as hot as Vegas.

Either way, it was a stupid thing to say and not at all funny. Furthermore it forced upon me the realization that even in my dreams this is as cool as I get. I think everyone expects to be cooler in their dreams than they are in real life, but I am just turning into my Dad, one lame joke at a time. Even worse, what if I am still cooler in my dreams than in real life? Pathetic.

Posted by Old Prof at 11:55 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

What a week! I've really been riding a roller coaster this week my friends.

Up: Mandy Moore breaks up with Andy Roddick. She's single, I'm single. It's almost too perfect.

Down: Just when I begin to celebrate the demise of Creed (the Christian schlock band) they turn around and get a new singer and start calling themselves Alter Bridge. If they end up being so bad that I start missing the old Creed I think I will probably kill someone. Maybe 4 people.

Up: I can't remember. There was something really awesome that I was hot and bothered about but it escapes me. It continues to escape me. But it was way awesome, I swear. Down: I forgot something that I was giggles about.

Down: Rick James passed away. Sure, he was a misogynist, cocaine addict who sang songs about kinky prostitutes but, he was also a misogynist, cocaine addict who sang songs about kinky prostitutes.

You know, life is funny. This is what people tell me and I guess it must be true cause people don't just repeat benign common phrases for lack of better insight. My heart is broken when I find out that Lindsey Lohan is seeing that fellow from "That 70's Show." Then my heart is mended when I learn that my first true love (Mandy) is back on the market. Creed is going to keep on making music under a different name, but Rick James will not be bringing the funk this side of mortality any more. Devestating. How can I continue living in a world so horribly out of balance? Well, the answer is love. If I can hold on to the hope that Mandy will one day see me as more than just an aging stranger with no job and no direction, but as someone who loves her for what she appears to be then I know I can keep on going. Mandy, with only the hope of your love I can take whatever this topsy-turvy, over sour, undercooked, minor itching, flaky-crusty, sweet and sour, Morgan Stanley, ramen noodle, Fox on tuesday, home and garden, swelling burning, Oprah choking, mixed up, crazy world throw my way. Call me Mandy.

Posted by Old Prof at 11:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

What a week! I've really been riding a roller coaster this week my friends.

Up: Mandy Moore breaks up with Andy Roddick. She's single, I'm single. It's almost too perfect.

Down: Just when I begin to celebrate the demise of Creed (the Christian schlock band) they turn around and get a new singer and start calling themselves Alter Bridge. If they end up being so bad that I start missing the old Creed I think I will probably kill someone. Maybe 4 people.

Up: I can't remember. There was something really awesome that I was hot and bothered about but it escapes me. It continues to escape me. But it was way awesome, I swear. Down: I forgot something that I was giggles about.

Down: Rick James passed away. Sure, he was a misogynist, cocaine addict who sang songs about kinky prostitutes but, he was also a misogynist, cocaine addict who sang songs about kinky prostitutes.

You know, life is funny. This is what people tell me and I guess it must be true cause people don't just repeat benign common phrases for lack of better insight. My heart is broken when I find out that Lindsey Lohan is seeing that fellow from "That 70's Show." Then my heart is mended when I learn that my first true love (Mandy) is back on the market. Creed is going to keep on making music under a different name, but Rick James will not be bringing the funk this side of mortality any more. Devestating. How can I continue living in a world so horribly out of balance? Well, the answer is love. If I can hold on to the hope that Mandy will one day see me as more than just an aging stranger with no job and no direction, but as someone who loves her for what she appears to be then I know I can keep on going. Mandy, with only the hope of your love I can take whatever this topsy-turvy, over sour, undercooked, minor itching, flaky-crusty, sweet and sour, Morgan Stanley, ramen noodle, Fox on tuesday, home and garden, swelling burning, Oprah choking, mixed up, crazy world throw my way. Call me Mandy.

Posted by Old Prof at 11:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I'm a terrible blogger. All the clever things I have to say I say to people over MSN messenger. By the time I get around to thinking about what to write on here I'm spent. Not a clever thought left. So now you have me with no funny crotch stories. No depressing poetry. I just know that I have to put something on here or no one will ever read this blog again and someday I'm going to say something really profound or proufoundly funny or mildly awesome and no one will be here to see it. I just can't bear the thought. I figure if I give you guys enough fodder you'll start thinking I'm on verge of saying something totally awesome and you'll keep coming back cause, "I just know he's about to say something totally sweet, I can feel it." I probably won't ever say anything that cool but the thing is you never know.

As of late I've been quite occupied with finding employment. The problem with looking for a job is finding the motivation. I spend all day looking for jobs and sending out applications and at the end of it all I keep hoping none of them answer back. I need a job, but I'm pretty sure I don't want one. Not a single job listing really excites me and if I want to get a job with anyone I have got to pretend really hard that it's just what i've always wanted to do. I'll be honest, when I first read the words "peek-a-boo panties" I was intrigued but I don't really want to spend all day calling businesses and telling them why they need to sell them. Part of me thinks that marketing might be a cool profession and then I realize that I hate a lot of stuff and I don't want to pretend I don't for a living. I hate peek-a-boo panties. I don't really know what they are but I hate them. I hate the neck pillow/regular pillow transformer. I hate the magic hands bra. I hate guys who say, "I was just in the financial district and you know what? Everyone was in suits. We dress for success," and "I don't care what your professors have told you, there's no business until theres a sale." I don't like slicked hair. I don't like little man complexes. I don't like law school. I don't want a job, I just want to get paid. Someone help me figure out how to do this.

By the way, here is my famous crotch:

Posted by Old Prof at 12:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I'm a terrible blogger. All the clever things I have to say I say to people over MSN messenger. By the time I get around to thinking about what to write on here I'm spent. Not a clever thought left. So now you have me with no funny crotch stories. No depressing poetry. I just know that I have to put something on here or no one will ever read this blog again and someday I'm going to say something really profound or proufoundly funny or mildly awesome and no one will be here to see it. I just can't bear the thought. I figure if I give you guys enough fodder you'll start thinking I'm on verge of saying something totally awesome and you'll keep coming back cause, "I just know he's about to say something totally sweet, I can feel it." I probably won't ever say anything that cool but the thing is you never know.

As of late I've been quite occupied with finding employment. The problem with looking for a job is finding the motivation. I spend all day looking for jobs and sending out applications and at the end of it all I keep hoping none of them answer back. I need a job, but I'm pretty sure I don't want one. Not a single job listing really excites me and if I want to get a job with anyone I have got to pretend really hard that it's just what i've always wanted to do. I'll be honest, when I first read the words "peek-a-boo panties" I was intrigued but I don't really want to spend all day calling businesses and telling them why they need to sell them. Part of me thinks that marketing might be a cool profession and then I realize that I hate a lot of stuff and I don't want to pretend I don't for a living. I hate peek-a-boo panties. I don't really know what they are but I hate them. I hate the neck pillow/regular pillow transformer. I hate the magic hands bra. I hate guys who say, "I was just in the financial district and you know what? Everyone was in suits. We dress for success," and "I don't care what your professors have told you, there's no business until theres a sale." I don't like slicked hair. I don't like little man complexes. I don't like law school. I don't want a job, I just want to get paid. Someone help me figure out how to do this.

By the way, here is my famous crotch:

Posted by Old Prof at 12:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I decided today that a peanut butter sandwhich would make for an excellent lunch. For one thing, I have peanut butter and bread. On top of that I was hungry and sandwhiches are quick and easy to make. Furthermore, what could be safer than a peanut butter sandwhich? Safe to make and safe to eat (though chunky peanut butter presents some slight choking hazard).

I made my sandwhich and appeared to be out of the danger zone when the peanut butter jar was suddenly sent into motion by my muscular arm brushing by. Thinking fast (as I usually do) I used my cat-like reflexes to catch the jar with my testicles. Nestled in my crotch, the shatter proof peanut butter jar escaped the mishap unharmed. Meanwhile my testicles ached in agony. I couldn't help but think of how many times I had put myself through such abuse when the alternative was actually quite acceptable.

For instance, I was one day folding my newly clean t-shirts at the laundromat. While folding a particularly common white undershirt (it was white when I bought it anyway), the shirt managed to free itself from underneath my manly chin. It was lurching toward the floor when my brain went into action. "this is a public laundromat . . . there are dirty people in here, with dirtier clothes . . . their feet are even dirtier than that . . . SAVE THE SHIRT AT ANY COST!" In a memorable display of heroism, my right hand lunged after the shirt, which was just then passing my belt buckle. I'll never forget the feeling of triumph I felt as I held that t-shirt where I had caught it against my body. . . nor the ensuing punishment my crotch inflicted against me. Yet again, it was a bitter-sweet victory.

Interestingly enough, I have noticed that my reflexes seem to protect the crotch first whenever any person or foreign object wielded by such person attacks. Unless distracted by a potential blow to the head, the crotch is always the first thing to be covered. I just don't understand why my body doesn't protect the crotch from the other, obviously jealous, parts of my own body. If sacrifice is supposed to mean "giving something up for something better," than why do I keep doing this?

Posted by Old Prof at 01:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I decided today that a peanut butter sandwhich would make for an excellent lunch. For one thing, I have peanut butter and bread. On top of that I was hungry and sandwhiches are quick and easy to make. Furthermore, what could be safer than a peanut butter sandwhich? Safe to make and safe to eat (though chunky peanut butter presents some slight choking hazard).

I made my sandwhich and appeared to be out of the danger zone when the peanut butter jar was suddenly sent into motion by my muscular arm brushing by. Thinking fast (as I usually do) I used my cat-like reflexes to catch the jar with my testicles. Nestled in my crotch, the shatter proof peanut butter jar escaped the mishap unharmed. Meanwhile my testicles ached in agony. I couldn't help but think of how many times I had put myself through such abuse when the alternative was actually quite acceptable.

For instance, I was one day folding my newly clean t-shirts at the laundromat. While folding a particularly common white undershirt (it was white when I bought it anyway), the shirt managed to free itself from underneath my manly chin. It was lurching toward the floor when my brain went into action. "this is a public laundromat . . . there are dirty people in here, with dirtier clothes . . . their feet are even dirtier than that . . . SAVE THE SHIRT AT ANY COST!" In a memorable display of heroism, my right hand lunged after the shirt, which was just then passing my belt buckle. I'll never forget the feeling of triumph I felt as I held that t-shirt where I had caught it against my body. . . nor the ensuing punishment my crotch inflicted against me. Yet again, it was a bitter-sweet victory.

Interestingly enough, I have noticed that my reflexes seem to protect the crotch first whenever any person or foreign object wielded by such person attacks. Unless distracted by a potential blow to the head, the crotch is always the first thing to be covered. I just don't understand why my body doesn't protect the crotch from the other, obviously jealous, parts of my own body. If sacrifice is supposed to mean "giving something up for something better," than why do I keep doing this?

Posted by Old Prof at 01:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

So, this is my new blog site courtesy of Amishrobot.com and Josh Penrod (notoriously clever blogger and all around tall guy). Since you are probably here because I know you and told you to come here I thought I'd start by telling you a few things you probably don't know about me:

1. My mother was in attendance at a UNLV basketball game the night before she gave birth to me. UNLV won a very close game that night. I was born somewhat prematurely and it is believed to have been caused at least partially by my mother's excitement during the game. Therefore, I am a lifelong UNLV basketball fan.

2. At the tender age of 3 I got my penis caught in my zipper. My brothers were babysitting and didn't know what to do, so I just layed on the floor watching T.V. with my penis in the air until my father came home and rescued the little rascal. To this day I call my penis the "little rascal."

3. When I was a kid, I was the only boy in my class that thought that pro-wrestling was lame. Now, I think it's awesome (sort of).

4. When I was 14 years old I did the dead man's float in our pool for a half hour with the snorkel on to get back at my Mom for getting mad at me for something I thought was stupid. "What if that was the last thing you ever said to me, mom?" She got scared and my brother-in-law had to go outside and poke me with the pool brush to make sure I was okay. To this day I am a brat who thinks he needs to teach everyone else a lesson all the time.

5. While serving a mission in Texas I aquired the nickname "caps" from some of the missionaries I served with. This nickname was a reference to my large nipples, which were supposedly "as big as hubcaps." In reality they are more like silver dollars (50 cent pieces in colder weather). To this day I have the constant suspicion that, fully clothed, people can still see exactly where my nipples are, even when I'm wearing a sweater. Also, I prefer to call them buttons, because buttons are smaller and cuter than hubcaps.

I think that is enough about me for now. This is my first blog, so I am new to this but, I want to make it a site that is interesting to my friends and others. I intend to post my poetry and possibly song lyrics by request and maybe even songs in the future. I will try to post some other lighter fair as well so that you keep coming back. If you are very lucky, I will post a picture of my nipples and have a caption contest. The winner might just be awarded a free live screening of my actual nipples.

cheers,

Brendan Bybee
AKA Huggy Bear
AKA Magic
AKA Caps
AKA spirograph
AKA the phenom

Posted by Old Prof at 09:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

So, this is my new blog site courtesy of Amishrobot.com and Josh Penrod (notoriously clever blogger and all around tall guy). Since you are probably here because I know you and told you to come here I thought I'd start by telling you a few things you probably don't know about me:

1. My mother was in attendance at a UNLV basketball game the night before she gave birth to me. UNLV won a very close game that night. I was born somewhat prematurely and it is believed to have been caused at least partially by my mother's excitement during the game. Therefore, I am a lifelong UNLV basketball fan.

2. At the tender age of 3 I got my penis caught in my zipper. My brothers were babysitting and didn't know what to do, so I just layed on the floor watching T.V. with my penis in the air until my father came home and rescued the little rascal. To this day I call my penis the "little rascal."

3. When I was a kid, I was the only boy in my class that thought that pro-wrestling was lame. Now, I think it's awesome (sort of).

4. When I was 14 years old I did the dead man's float in our pool for a half hour with the snorkel on to get back at my Mom for getting mad at me for something I thought was stupid. "What if that was the last thing you ever said to me, mom?" She got scared and my brother-in-law had to go outside and poke me with the pool brush to make sure I was okay. To this day I am a brat who thinks he needs to teach everyone else a lesson all the time.

5. While serving a mission in Texas I aquired the nickname "caps" from some of the missionaries I served with. This nickname was a reference to my large nipples, which were supposedly "as big as hubcaps." In reality they are more like silver dollars (50 cent pieces in colder weather). To this day I have the constant suspicion that, fully clothed, people can still see exactly where my nipples are, even when I'm wearing a sweater. Also, I prefer to call them buttons, because buttons are smaller and cuter than hubcaps.

I think that is enough about me for now. This is my first blog, so I am new to this but, I want to make it a site that is interesting to my friends and others. I intend to post my poetry and possibly song lyrics by request and maybe even songs in the future. I will try to post some other lighter fair as well so that you keep coming back. If you are very lucky, I will post a picture of my nipples and have a caption contest. The winner might just be awarded a free live screening of my actual nipples.

cheers,

Brendan Bybee
AKA Huggy Bear
AKA Magic
AKA Caps
AKA spirograph
AKA the phenom

Posted by Old Prof at 09:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)