Myspace.com sucks.

That's right, I said it. And if you get upset over that, then you're what's wrong with this country.

This website, which I joined only to mock and ridicule Tila Tequila, is wholly without substance and is like the retarded child that is given attention just because. I don't know what's more pathetic: the fact that I stayed on the site so long, or the fact that Tom is your one default friend.

Let me explain why I hate myspace. For one, the bulletin board has become this place where spam email (that would've been deleted long ago) has now found a place to thrive, much like herpes and Paris Hilton's vagina. You never have people saying on their bulletins, "hey, there's a party happenin! Come join the fun!" No, no. Instead, you get people putting up crap like, "hey, if you agree with this stupid crap about being pro-God, repost this with the title 'Yay for God!'" Or 100 random facts about themselves that nobody gives a rat's hairy nutsack about. I got news for you: if any of you enjoy rock music or chinese food, I don't care. Nobody cares. Not even your significant other, who has been dating you, so they fucking know what you like and dislike.

That's a waste of bytes. Or something computer related. It's not really time-relevant to me, because I never read the fuckers to begin with. You could have it say, "Adam, read this bulletin and Halle Berry will magically appear right next to you! And she'll be happy to see you!" and I still wouldn't click. No, not because I know that for anything to Harry-fuck-Potter themselves to a location, we would need to exist in the confines of the actual books, but because it would mean that I would have to read some bullshit article on how some random biker was killed because a douchebag motorist didn't see him, or some such bullshit. First of all, it's not like bikers are as cool and awesome as pirates, so I say, "fuck bikers." Unless you're a Hell's Angel type of biker. In which case, I say it in my head.

Another bad thing is the fact that people still have private fuck profiles. Fucking why?! It's an online community! Make them public and shut the fuck up about how some stalker might see you and kill you. That is so self-centered and unlikely of happening on the 15th of "NEVER IN THIS FUCKING TIMELINE!!!" Let me explain how stalkers work: if you're famous. And that's about it. Don't think that just because Micheal J. Fox and Kevin Costner were stalked by crazy people, it's gonna happen to you. 'Cause it won't.

Speaking of profiles, you know what's annoying? When I try to reach out and touch (THANKS, AT&T!) old friends from high school and the sons-of-motherfucking-bitches never reply back. Let me clear something up: if your life is that fucking busy, explain why you have a myspace account to BEGIN WITH! What's the fucking point? It's so frustrating, it makes me want to headbutt a kitten.

But, and here's the M. Night Shamalamadingdong twist, I can't delete my personal myspace. My friend Jessica would have a cow that one of her only friends has bounced. And while normally I don't care, I do like her company and the two times we've bumped uglies. Yeah, boy!

And then, on the 8th day, God created Mel Gibson's temper. And it was fiery.

So I was watching Braveheart the other day, and I gotta tell you, if this movie isn't based on complete and total historical fact, then I just don't ever wanna see it again.

Before I continue, let me apologize. I meant to blog the other day, but because the niggers who live around the apartment complex take over this place on the weekends (this place being the computer labs), I couldn't use a single computer. Let me also say that if you're offended by my use of that word, I say fuck you. Let's see you live in a place where they descend like locusts every weekend in a place they don't live, using facilities they don't pay for. It's like if they went to your house, and just made themselves at home.

Anyways. I'm watching Braveheart, and I just realized my favorite scene. It's not when William Wallace survey's the battleground and just screams, or when Longshanks pushes his son's gay lover (which really must've pissed him off, knowing that his son was the bottom) out of a window in a high-fuck-castle. It's when the English lord kills Wallace's wife and then says, "now let this scrapper come to me." Dude, that is a brave man. Brave, but stupid as all fuck. 'Cause then the scrapper does come. And fucks you and every Englishmen between Scotland and France up. I mean, he really fucks you up.

Look, all I'm saying is that when you kill a man's wife and then say, "now let him come to me" can be considered in the same ballpark as kicking Chuck Norris in the nuts as a way to start the greatest ass-kicking in the history of ass-kicking. Unless it was Laci Peterson you killed. Then I bet right about now, Scott would love you. Not love like the ass-fuckin' he's probably getting right now. Love like, "my new friend!"

Some dude in Japan is 111-years-old. His secret? Who fucking cares? He's a 111-years-old. He's just some old fucker who will do nothing but complain about how shit isn't the same, and then want his porridge. That's it. The picture they showed of him also made him look like an old mean bastard. That's probably his secret to longevity: being an asshole. If that's the case, hurray for me!

Anyways. Fat girl (Norm knows who I'm talking about) is playing loud, annoying ass rap music. So I'm gonna go.

This movie is so bad, it goes beyond bad, and right into the land of shitty shitty shitty.

So I watched The Skulls. Again. For those of you who have never seen it, it's about a guy who joins a secret society, only to want to leave, after a cover-up. And a bad cover-up, too. Nothing like the JFK conspiracy or anything like, oh no. See, here's what happens: Luke McNamara (played by total 'mo Joshua Jackson) wants to join the secret society known as the Skulls, loosely based on real life secret society Skull and Bones, which our current president is/was a member of.

He wants to join the society because his mom died in a car accident (in a deleted scene, she abandoned him for unknown reasons, except that if she hadn't, there might not have been a movie. BITCH!!!), because if he does, they'll pay for law school, and that's what he really wants to be, but can pay for himself because he's constantly broke since his mom died/abandoned him! *takes deep breath like Ace Ventura when he solves a case*

Anyways. So his friends (played by Leslie Bibb and some black dude that's on CSI: New York) know that he wants to join the Skulls, and why he wants to join the Skulls. But herein lies the problem: because they're not true friends, when he joins, they act like dicks. Especially the black dude, who's name was Will Beckford. Will was doing an expose on the Skulls, and even broke into another Skull's car to steal his rule book and key to the ritual room. Unfortunately, that's when things go bad, and he ends up dead. How he ends up dead isn't really important, because it's all a cover up that's poorly written and thought out. Let's just say that he runs from Caleb Mandrake (Paul Walker), and accidentally falls down and is dying before Christopher Martin's character (we'll call him Shooter McGavin, in honor of the greatest movie villain of all time) comes in and finishes the job. 'Cause all that happens.

And I say, FUCK WILL BECKFORD! That son of a bitch knew what being a Skull meant to Luke. I got news for you: he was an asshole, not Luke's friend. For 3 years, that was Luke's fondest wish, to be a Skull. That, and to touch Leslie Bibb's boobie. After all, who doesn't enjoy touching boobies? And then Will, having to be all sneaky Mcjournalist, illegally breaks into a car and trespasses onto private property, all because he can't join a club for white kids.

Your so called best friend wants to join a secret society and you're initial reaction is to act like a little bitch and ruin his good time? Explain to me why Joshua Jackson spends even 5 minutes mourning the loss of this douchebag. Personally, I'd have been like, "you know what? You're right, this is bullshit. He broke into your pimpmobile, stole personal items, broke into here, and acted like a douchebag when something good had FINALLY come into my miserable existence I call a life. Fuck him, give me that check, and here: I wanna go to Harvard Law."

But no, instead of manning the fuck up and realizing that his "best friend" was acting like a little bitch, he cries and sets out to solve the murder. And then, he shows up, acting all bad-ass and they're like, "he came to pick up his check. Sweet." But still he picks fights.

Dude. Shut the fuck up, pour you some scotch, take a seat and RELAX! Solve the fucking murder, what's gonna happen? Nothing. He's dead and no longer ruining what friendship you did have by being a dickhead.

So to wrap this up: Paris Hilton is in jail, I enjoy strippers WAY too much and The Skulls is a horrible movie. Horrible, angry, young movie.