Sleep.

Peace Peekaboo.

Peekaboo (daughter of Mookyboo) used to sleep in my lap when I played Super Mario Bros. on Nintendo. That's how long ago we saved her from her family. She used to nurse my cuts and hog my sheets. She was the raddest bitch alive and she will be missed.

Back From The Future

Maybe this will help keep me sane.

Repeat the 3-Peat.

Game 1 vs. the Heat was on TV here. I had to stay up until 4am to watch it but it was well worth it. Go Bulls.

30E Winton Drive. Room 4.

Here are some pictures of where I live.

Slippin on some sizzurp!

Ivica and I went on a 20-day trip over Christmas break. Our goal was to hit up a bunch of cities and end up in Italy for New Years. We didn't plan anything and we totally improvised as we went along. After many delays we met in Heathrow and flew to Amsterdam. After my luggage failed to arrive we kicked it in Amsterdam for about 5 days. Amsterdam is filled with beautiful people and bicycles, oh yeah and skankin ass ho ass skankz. Actually the Red Light District was really interesting, the girls were a lot better looking than either of us expected but we are moral dudes, kind of. Ivica didn't seem to have any sense of direction and we spent more time walking around looking for our hostel than sightseeing. Highlights of Amsterdam: Flanked by Warhammer Legionnaires, Ben from New York and his ideas that humans were going to become immune to antibiotics, Ivica hitting on Brazilian hardbodies that only like other hardbodies, CO's in Amsterdam, Desk Girl that never answered a question with an explanation, Christmas Eve aka the greatest night of my life, THE BOX, Guacamole, crazyass Old English lady, 'OH MY GAWD!'. Barcelona: We flew to Barcelona and met a dude named Alejandro from Italy while trying to figure out how to get to our hostel. He escorted us there and we hung out with him for a few days. He then tried to help me pick out underwear, since I had been wearing the same ones for 5 days, and that was when we decided to just hang out with ourselves. For the amount of time we were in Barcelona we failed to get a lot of sightseeing done but we did a good amount of partying. We hung out with some locals who spoke very little English and planned to take us to a Rave. It all fell through and we ended up going home really late. Highlights: 'Grasshopper!', Ivica met 1 of his many European loves, depressed ass people at hostel, Argentinian Hardbodies, crazy Chilean girl who loved the way 'North American' guys dance, the Luiz's, drinking brewskies on the street, partying until 8am, dying German girl, Flamenco dancer steams up the dance floor, Dan & Val New Year's, Ashlee Simpson (the one that got away). After about a week in Barcelona we flew to Paris. We ended up staying in the same hostel I stayed at the last time I was in Paris. We had to share a bed for the first night and I know Ivica loved every single second of it. This is where I lost my camera while Ivica was too busy proposing to his fiance Meredith who he plans on moving in with early next year (congrats Ivica). Ivica met Meredith in Heathrow during his layover, while he was waiting for me. He told me later that it was love at first sight. Good job big guy, I hope I'm invited to the wedding. Anyways, we went on some tours, ate some badass food, met up with my friend Lauren, and tried to enjoy as much of Paris as we could. Highlights: Luggage is in Glasgow, people at hostel recognized me, Australian breezy, Prashant: Indian business man that bought us a lot of drinks and got totally obliterated the last night we were there and hit on some really young Russian girl, totally hilarious, he invited us to his night club in India, hopefully one day we will be able to take him up on his offer, Meredith's crazyass French girlfriend, both dodge fights, Matt from Canada. We then took the train from Paris to London where Ivica stayed for a half-day. We met up with Natalie and she showed us some really cool spots around town. Ivica left in the morning. I stayed in London for 2 more days and kicked it with Natalie. We did some shopping and eating and dancing. It was a swell time indeed. Overall, the trip turned out to be a great success. We didn't die and we made it to more than one city. We never got close to Italy but we had some good times. I'm sure half of the things I mentioned above don't make any sense but I guess that's what Ivica and me will always share. Plus we both have secrets about each other and you will never hear any of those. Even though we were the highlight at every place we went, everything seemed to slip through our fingers but that's alright. We'll get them next time. Good times mu-fucka.


This is the group of dudes we hung out with in Barcelona. From Left to Right:Singer of INTWINE from the Virgin Islands (www.intwine.nl). He was a total liar. Luiz #1: Engineer working in Portugal, actually just a party animal. He didn't get out of bed until 7pm most days. Me. Luiz #2:This dude shared a special experience with me. We watched some Portuguese dude suffer a bad trip and slam his head off the ceiling air conditioner and then try to jump out the window. Totally awesome. Ivica. Chris: Total mooch. 'Artist' that was trying to move to Barcelona. From Manhattan, had a sillyass accent and made fun of the fact that we said 'dude' and 'man' a lot. Not pictured: Hardbodies from Argentina, I guess it's because we didn't really hang out with them.

One of the few left of Amsterdam.

I am a tiny dude.



Ignore the rug-burn on my face and look at the protestors about to get they ass whooped by the po-po-fo-sho.


Outdoor escalators are the shit.




Where's Waldo?

Love.



We went swimming and hung out with this playboy.


One of the only pictures that survived Paris.

Cut it out.

Looking good:

Looking illnasty good:


Today I worked out. As I was squatting using the Smith Machine I tried to re-rack the weight when I was finished. I managed to miss it and as I tried to move from underneath the bar it dragged me down to the floor. It scared the shit out of me. Maybe I should have been embarrassed. Smith Machine=1 Marty=0 (I won't count that one time I got nasty with it's baby mama). Wait. Marty will be around for a lot longer. Start getting used to it.

..........

A rather short list of things Mexico has to offer.

What up wit it Fresh? Alright enough of that. (I think I have turned gangster (which is always wonderful) somewhere in between Dublin and London). So I was making an American (god bless it) delight for dinner, Sliggity Sloppy Jiggity Joe's, ya dig? And my flatmate Adam came up to me and asked me a really interesting and specific (no doubt) question. We had been having a very intellectual conversation of American (god bless it) Fast Food places that they don't have here (and that I miss ALMOST as much as Black People). Let me fill you in. Scotland has McDonald's, Burger King, Pizza Hut, KFC, and A&W. If I think of anymore that I have seen I'll let you know (Barcelona had Dunkin Donuts). As I explained my love for greasy digustingness (food, not girls) he popped the big question(s). "What is Taco Bell?" he asked. My answer was simple "Awesome/Diarrhea". (I would ask my English major friends if it is proper to put a "/" in a quote because I obviously didn't say "slash" (although I do sometimes) but they can't even spell "RIDICULOUS", bitchass hoz). This question didn't bother me at all but the following question did fo sho. "Actually, what is a Taco?, I know it is some sort of sandwich but I'm not too sure of what it really is". My answer was simple "Oh, Lordy" followed by a Beyonce booty shake (I wish). I never thought the day would come where I would have to explain a Taco to someone. Where does one even begin? Answer: Nowhere. If someone lives in a 1st World Country (as Scotland seems to claim, I'd beg to differ) they should know what a fucking Taco is. Come on people. OK, I guess Mexico and all the other Central/South American countries that eat Tacos (I know it's traditionally Mexican but I also know they eat some sort of Tacos in Costa Rica), are far from Scotland but get real. I mean haven't you seen a movie with a Taco (sometimes known as Mexicans, racism is a beautiful thing) in it? Maybe I'm being too hard on the guy but it was all really surprising. I actually ended up showing him some pictures and described what Tacos usually consist of. So that's my story. The Tacos in this picture actually look straight delicious, on the real fa real fa real fa real on the real fa real, comprendas? (4 years of Spanish and I still don't know if that is correct). Anyways I'm outta here, I'm gonna go to the movies and laugh at the teen whores who try to impress young ugly Scottish boys by walkin around with their pink tacos hangin out (I'll try not to hit on them, no promises). My parents read this and I'm sure they are very proud. Time to answer 20 of the same question (Oh Al!).

Mr. Marty J. C (Oh Al!)

Since I lost my camera in Paris (I'm sure no one really feels sorry for me, afterall I was in Paris) I will have to try charm you guys with my words. The pen is mightier than the really fucking expensive digital camera. Damnit. Anyways, in my attempt to take a picture of what I look like (you should see my stomach, lordy) I took a badass picture of myself rocking my awesome Bears shirt. Since all the cool kids are updating their facebook profiles with pictures of Brian Urlacher or their imitation of Brian Urlacher (by wearing the jersey, it doesn't really work with fat mexican girls, sorry better luck next year), I decided to try it myself. And as you can tell, it didn't work. Meet Marty a 34-year-old peep show actor that loves to drink Boone's Farm and watch reruns of Roseanne, all while dreaming about what Condoleeza Rice looks like nakie (oh my god). But seriously, look at this picture, I think it might be the worst one I've ever taken. I actually used to think that it was impossible for me to take a bad picture. Silly Marty. This has ruined my pride (my ego) and has scared the kids. Anyways, print this picture out and put it around town and tell people that this is what Glasgow does to you. I thought this shit only existed on Jerry Springer and Maury.

Daisy Dukes

Over my very ridiculous/hilarious/stressful adventure with Ivica (more on that later) we lost a No Limit Soulja. Dearest Daisy is now charming other dogs with her ridiculously pungent smelling farts in DoggyDogHeaven (it's where Snoop Dogg kicks it with the illest 'bitchez' around, Daisy deserves it). If they sold 40z in this country I would definitely pour one out but instead I'll have to pour out a bottle of Buckfast which is what the Glasgwegian hillbillies love to drink. (I happen to love it as well, Tonic Wine, what the hell is that? Delicious is today's answer). Daisy and her bigass domepiece will be missed.

Bigass Rocks at the Isle of Skye.

The Isle of Skye is a little place just off the coast of Scotland or at least that is what I'm told. Although the scenery is very beautiful, Skye lacks a key ingredient...The Golden Arches (I couldn't find them and YES I was looking). They may not have had my favorite 5-star restaurant but they did have 'Sweet Home Alabama' and many following enthusiasts. I went with a large group (of losers) and I would have to give the award of "Ethnicities Marty Hates" to...Europe...bigtime. I'm kidding "Just A Lil Bit" (a semi-recent hit from 50 Cent). I miss Mario and the crazies that visit his house.





Guess who I saw taking a bubble bath here.







Name: 'Unknown' (although I had a lot of inapproriate nicknames for it)
Sex: 'Unknown'
Age: '23' (what a disgrace to MJ)
Blood Type: 'Dumbass'
Home: 'The Neverland that is Total-Dog City'
Interests: '1) Celtic knots on the small of back and also around (rather beefy) arm. 2) Blending Traditional Irish Dancing with a new form of movement which is also known as Gettin' Jiggly Wit It. 3) Being an all-around (and that's a lot of around) loser.
Summary from Photographer: 'This thing is the definition of the stereotypical American who loves talking about how Irish they are but knows jackshit about Ireland. After disclosing rather subtle hints of it's Irish heritage (i.e. 'Hi, I'm Irish.', 'I'm pretty sure that the tour guide [who has been doing this job for over five years and is a Highlands native] is wrong because I was told that those clans came from Ireland', and the fan-favorite 'Ireland is like a second home to me, I just got back from Dublin. Ireland really isn't like anything I expected, sitting at home in [The Neverland that is Total-Dog City] I really thought it was going to be totally different. But yeah, it was sooooo cool.') On a cold, windy night, this thing decided to sit upon a ledge (known as The Throne of Ugh) where it modelled for everyone. After performing it's new version of Irish Dancing (see above) it decided to cool off outside in a (green) t-shirt in weather that was labelled "FUCKING FREEZING" by many. As the wind rolled off each disgusting hair on it's body any onlooker could tell that this was a powerful moment in this thing's life. As it looked out into the distance it knew that it could finally go back home and tell even wiser and greater non-interesting stories about how Irish it was. It had finally made it to the mother country...wait a minute...isn't this...Scotland?'

WOW. I wonder where this kid is from.




Advertising ruins (pronounced roons) another picture.



This is our guide Graham. At first I thought he was going to be really annoying but we became best friends. He even told me not to worry because he would be "daddy". Gross.