Friday, February 29, 2008

I can See! part II

Put your left leg down
and your right up, tilt head back
and finish the cup

LASIK, Oh Gawd!

So anyway, I am sitting in the waiting room. listening to the nervous banter while giving no indication I am absorbing anything but abject hatred for all things, or I looked like a fat nerd squinting, either way.

So the pop cap gun sound stops, and this guy who is the same complexion as me but trim and kinda geeky looking, saunters out, doing this- I swear, I'm not making this up - Undercover Brother walk into the lobby where we all sit, terrified. He looks at me, walks up and shakes my hand, never saying anything, and walks back into the operating room and shuts the door. O-o-okay..... that was weird. I try to politely ignore the 2 chicks speaking in hurried Spanish next to me, secretly hating them for having a stupid code language, and then it is their turn to go in. It is a little disconcerting that each operation is only taking about 5 minutes, I mean seriously...

5 minutes later it is my turn. I ignore the asswipes telling me "good luck!", "break a leg!" "Hey Stevester I want to make love to you tonight!" I mean really I don't even know you dude! And why are they telling me good luck? ALl I am going to do is lay there while some dude pokes my eyeball with his finger, shouldn't HE have good luck?

I get in the OR, and another Barbie doll tells me to lay on this leather dentist's chair. It is actually quite comfortable, prewar- WHAT THE FUCK?! As I sit down she sneaks up on me and literally SQUIRTS this crap in my eyes that feels like vinegar mixed with acid. I try not to scream out or fart as she informs me that it will sting for a minute and then go away, and the reason she snuck up on me was so I wouldn't get the chance to close my eyes. Thanks, hoe!

The doctor comes in and puts some more drops in my eyes, and I hear him turn some hot 103 JAMZ on, and crappy generic R&B fills the room. He informs me he is going to tape my eyeballs open, and this is a weird feeling, it didn't hurt, but it felt weird because I could still feel it.

He starts droning on about some suit he needed to pick up and how babies are all ugly when they are born (I agree) as he gets out a curved scalpel and cuts the membrane above my cornea. He was looking at my eye as he did this, I hope, because he mumbles "perfect, yet again... God I'm good" which went a long way toward easing my mind. This whole time I am supposed to focus on this orange light, which at this point goes from kind of foggy to completely out of focus as he lifted the membrane over my eye with the scalpel. I felt the cut, and it felt.... squishy. Not sure how else to describe it.

He then puts this metal cylinder on my eyeball and tells me the "laser" (when you read this please do the Doctor Evil quotemarks every time you read the word "laser". It will make it feel like I am actually there!) is going to start, so try to look at the orange light. I focus on the huge gelatinous orance aura blinking, and barely see a purple light off to the right blink about 10 times. He then flips the membrane back up, and gets what I assume was rubber cement and brushes it over my eyeball, which felt weird as hell...not bad, just weird.

After that he does the other eye, about 3 minutes total, and informs me that my eyesight will be blurry for awhile but it will get better. Is it sad that even blurry it was better than it was when I was wearing glasses a few seconds before?

I go into a dark room, where they seat me into a comfortable chair and have me sit with my eyes shut for 15 minutes. The Annoyed Nurse, who I now have a crush on due to her bad attitude and homely appearance, walks in and starts rambling as she is giving me more eyedrops that she loves drinking soda and she has a cold and one time she sneezed and almost got snot in someone's eye... you know, calming me down real good.

And that was it, I mean I had to keep my eyes shut for 3 hours after that, and for a week after (tonight is my last night) I have to wear these venitlated goggles to bed to keep me from rubbing my eye (I am still trying to get lucky whilst wearing the goggles, if I do I will take a photo of the deed and post (j/k honey, I am not that insensitive) but seriously, I will guys!) and I cannot get water in them or go swimming for 2 weeks (but my Chippendale's audition requires me to get in a poooooool!) but it was pretty pain and hassle free.

Back to the funniness Monday.

PS - I went to JJ's, and he was annoyed with Smeagol again. The reason? Smeagol asked if he could come pick JJ's daughter up (you may not know this, but raptors are actually pretty decent nurturing parents or parental guardians, at least that's what JJ claims. Haggard, let him watch your kid first and then I will think about letting him watch mine) and take her to his hovel, and JJ got her ready, she was all excite to go, and Smeagol was only using that as an excuse to come over and bum money off of my mom. What a piece of crap! He came over, stepped over JJ's daughter, begged for money, and when he didn't get it, raptor-stomped (check the definitions for what this is) his way out of the house, not even giving her a second look. What a jerk!

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

A Job Once Lost, the Conclusion

Tattered green awning
a town desolate and dead
Ferrelview, I'm home

So we have a meeting the next day after I am told I have until the end of the month, and I trudge on in there, still wondering what the fuck I am going to do about a job. The mood is festive, with everyone talking about how awesome it is that they got such sweet ass raises, which I am willing to bet combined would have equalled my annual salary.

I sit next to Big Jim, who is talking about the new sweet ass Ford F250 he just purchased once he got his raise, and how his penis grew and he was a major stallion with his wife the evening prior (I added that last part in, dammit there's no taste as powerful as the bitter palate humiliation brings) and everyone grabs a slice of pizza and sits down. My manager walks in and lets this go on for a few seconds, and sees me sitting there and tells everyone they should maybe not be so excited, not all of us got such good news. You remember that hot shame you had, when you were in Kindergarten and you had to sit in timeout because you flashed your penis to everyone who was outide from the second floor window of your classroom again and everyone is looking at you? How your ears burned and you wish you were not there? I experienced that same feeling, and instantly resolved to learnify as much of the k-rat as I could (I was a yellow belt at the time, not even close to high enough to defeat a group of ruffians in hand-to-hand combat) and kill everyone around the table.

Everyone got real quiet and looked at me for about 10 seconds, chewing their pizza quietly. You ever also notice that the quieter it gets the more you have to fart?

I informed them that I had a job (I didn't) and that it was for a raise (it ended up being for one, but I had no way of knowing that at that time)... and the fiesta started back up in earnest.

I finished out my time there, going in to work late and leaving early, not knowing soon I would get a job where that is expected of me, and I got the call from a staffing company. Apparently they had a sweet job, North of the River instead of Grain Valley, and it paid 2.50 more an hour. It was on a Wednesday, and I informed my job that if this went through I would not be in that following Monday. No one cared.

Anyhoo, That whole fiasco will be tomorrow's tale. On my last day, I packed all my crap up and threw it in my cherry 83 crown vic with the glove compartment that wouldnt shut and the doors that allowed snow intor them, and we all went out to lunch. It was this Mexican restaurant, which was odd, as it almost ensured that I would have explosive diahrrea the next day, like I did every time I ate at El Mezcal's, just off of Exit 20 off I-70. Good food, something in my tummy can't take it though.

I took a good long look at the RVs sitting behind the restaurants, the ones we had all joked the waiters and incredibly hot in a trashy way waitresses worked and lived in, as I was probably going to be living in the exact same place very soon.

Back at the parking lot, we all shook hands, promised to stay in touch, and parted ways. I always thought it was funny, when you and someone promise eachother to "stay in touch", knowing full well as soon as your hand released from the handshake you would forget who this person is and never contact them again, it's kinda sad too though. I mean the only person I kept in regular contact was was Jeremy, and that was not contact with the actual person, but with his photo, which I will post below:

Not... that was too easy... I will unleash Jeremy soon though.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

I can see! Part I

Weird Al Yankovic
Sweaty lederhosen scent
grungy pubic hairs

Sorry for the late post, ladies and gentlemen, but I wanted to make sure I got adequate time to heal - not from the Lasik, but from this weird dull ache my asshole has had since the doctor brought me out of my anesthesia. I have had some pretty loose bowels, and I started watching Dharma and Greg and identifying with some of the underlying issues, but he assured me they are all very normal side effects of Lasik surgery.

Anyway, I figured I would tell you all about this entire process, in case you were thinking of doing it or researching and coming up with 2 wildly different stories on what can happen and are confused, or if your doctor touched you in an inappropriate way and told you it is because you dress like a slut, all of which I may be able to assuage your fears and fuel your fantasies. Let's begin.

So my wife decided I need Lasik surgery, and told me to do it. Although I was a little wary since I had heard all of the horror stories about people losing their eyes, going blind, and developing erectile dysfuntion and leaky bowels, it is still easier than arguing with a woman so fuck it.

I pick the first place in the phone book, which was stupid because after I got the surgery done I found out there is a place 6 miles from my house instead of in Southern Overland Park, which is like 35 miles away, and go down there. The lady behind the counter seemed annoyed to be dealing with customers, which funnily enough put me at ease. SHe told me she was going to have me watch a short video on Lasik and then the doctor would see me.

Let me tell you, friends: This video is shit. I was expecting something that talked about what could happen, or something that would explain what Lasik is, but it is just an infomercial that looped twice and then cut out. Nothing on the actual procedure, nothing on how much it would cost, nothing. What was funnier than that, dear reader, was that there were people watching this same video intently, and a few were taking notes, on what I have no idea since the only thing on this video were things like "It was embarrassing wearing glasses, and then I got Lasik. I had heard that Lasik had a 100% success rate, and cured scurvy, but I was still unsure because I was a child molester. When I finally got Lasik, my penis grew to a healthy 19 inches long and I got a patent the next day for an invention that I would never have been able to get with those glasses.... thanks Lasik!" I mean, these were some pretty cheese testimonials.

Anyway, I go back with the nurse, who looks like she walked off the set of Scrubs, and let me put this bluntly here: I don't trust attractive nurses. I don't trust skinny nurses either. I want a fat, nasty, sleep deprived cranky asshole who is so damn good at her or his job that that is the only reason they are still employed. Anyway this little Barbie doll takes me over to run some tests on my eyes, which were pretty mucl like you would get done at the doctor's office. The only thing that was a tiny bit odd was how many times they verified that I have not worn contacts. I mean they were really big on that, and kept asking and asking. I wore contacts for about a week when I was 12, and that doesnt fucking count, so I kept telling them no. If I end up with cancer because of it, fuck it.

We get done, and another barbie doll bimbo takes me into a much smaller room and starts asking questions about my health and how I heard about them. The only off the wall question she asked was "does your family support you getting Lasik?" WHo the fuck gives a shit if they do or dont? What if I say no, was she going to say "Well then you can't get it until you get their blessing"? That is one of THE QUESTIONS that puts me off. Tangent time!

THE QUESTIONS are those questions that some asshat in a marketing job somewhere decided would be good to ask to prod someone toward a sale, and any of them automatically make me wary. Here are some examples:

1. Do you feel that this product would help you with (insert random affliction)?
2. Does your family support you getting (product or job)
3. Does this sound like a winning opportunity?
4. Do you want to get married? (I am kidding on that one, kidding honey!)

Anyway, you get the picture. No one has to believe these questions do anything but tip the person on the receiving end that they are going to get screwed, and when she asked I got annoyed and started trying to wade through the bullshit to see what it would cost. Luckily she got to the damn point after that. Since my eyes sucked anus, it was going to be about 2800 dollars. Whatever, I make an appointement and go home.

So the day has finally come, and I am not nervous or anything, if I go blind I will just carry a blade in a cane like Rutger Haeur in Blind Fury and roam the countryside doling out mad street justice to quench my mad thirst for revenge, revenge for the one I love... or something. I hadn't thought that all through.

So I have to go through some more tests, they put rubber stoppers in my tear ducts, I asked if he could make them permanent because men shouldn't even have tears unless his dog dies or the Chiefs lose once they become competitive, and they give me a shower cap and some booties to wait.

What is funny is I am sitting in this waiting room, looking right at the door with the laser in it, and I can hear this thing running, it sounds like a cap gun going off over and over, just this popping sound.

Tomorrow - I will finish one of these last 3 or 4 stories I started, don't worry.

Thursday, February 21, 2008

The job once lost, part 2

I said sweep the leg
you got a problem with that?
No, cobra sensei

Karate Kid r0xx0rs

OK before I get to today's postittly goodness, a few rants to ruin your day and your lunch.
First, the traffic. Now I know I rant on the stupidity of people and how almost everything annoys me a lot, and you might be bored with it. But wait! This is a new and imroved, calmer Stevester, a more caring, sharing brown bear, if you will.

I know things were bad this morning, and I will get to that, but I wanted to share for our few remaining friends at The Firm, enjoy:

Steve's Top Ten Ways to Act Out in a Manager's Meeting!
(Steve's Top Ten series always goes to 11!)

Steve's top 10 ways to act out in a manager's meeting!:
10. Sit leaning back in the chair with your arms crossed.

9. Embrace the uncomfortable silence.

8. Inform management every chance you get that you have a diploma in communications (really)

7. fart as you walk in and close the door to keep the stench in.

6. Make a reference when the meeting is about to be wrapped up that "Oh looks like it's Mark time, guess my time is up"

5. Make the CIO cry and claim innocence.

4. roll your eyes at EVERYTHING.

3. Finish every meeting with "Are we done now?" (note: this will DEFINITELY get you another manager's meeting, so watch it)

2. Sit silently for at least 10 seconds before responding to ANY question.

1. Rub your hand all over your crotch before going in and make sure to try to touch someone's hand

Bonus! Inform them frequently that you miss Frank (Warning: this will get you a very real write up)

Godspeed, friends...

Now that that's done with, it took me 2 fucking hours to get in to work this morning. 2 hours! You wanna know why? This will really queef your taco, listen to this: some asshat rear ended a fire engine. I am not making this up, some asshole, trying to draft behind a fire truck that is presumably on it's way to or on it's way from saving lives, runs into the back of the damn fire truck, making it so wherever it was going, they get to wait a few more hours.

What really chaps my ass is the accident is on the OTHER SIDE OF THE ROAD!

Whatever, moving on.

Anyway, after the asshat Pankey tells me I have 2 more weeks to find a damn job, I mosey on back to tell Richard it's his turn. He is all worried, which only pisses me off, and I inform him that he and everyone else waiting have nothing to worry about, I was the one who got fired.

I watched, annoyed and a little hungry, as everyone breathed an almost imperceptible sigh of relief, thank heavens, this negro took the shot that could have been aimed at one of us!

Damn, I dont have enough space or time to finish, more tomorrow...

Wednesday, February 20, 2008


a road less travelled
setting sun; golden treetops
Not in KC Beeitch!

I am a lazy buzzard. I have 2 stories to finish up, one on my end days at GE and another on whatever I wrote about yesterday, but I spent all my time creating a myspace page. Add me if you want, or don't, no pressure,\da_stevester

I am getting Lasik Friday, so I was gonna be kinda scared, but hell I am slowly going blind anyway, might as well go get surgery and sue someone for it.

Not many votes on the poll, I promise the third choice is the only one like that... seriously. I can't stop watching that video, as sad as that sounds.

I will round some of this crap up tomorrow, I need to actually get some damn work done.

Congrats to Max for breaking free from the chains that bind and the leather clad asses that show themselves, he probably deserved it the most. But it is only a partial congrats because he got a job right by where I live, so I am also jealous and hate him for that. I would trade jobs but I just found out how to view porn on my computer so I don't want to go through that crap again.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Back to Basics

Get outta my dreams
because you might just get killed
bunny-man costume

When I was a young lad, life was not as grand as it is now. We were going through some tough times, me being a man-whore and all, and things needed to look up. My dad cheated on my mom all throughout their marriage. She said he slept with her sister on their wedding night, which is 1) awkward, and 2) fucking awesome that he was sly enough to pull something like that off!

Anyway, life had been kinda hectic, what with my mom knocking my little brother's teeth out because he took a knife to school and Smeagol finally moving out for good, and the WORD came up: Divorce. You see, my mom had gotten a boob job so that she could finally realize her sexy time dream: stripping for men who paid her money. SOunds romantic, right? It's strange though, my dad was less than receptive to the idea of random men stuffing dollar bills into her g-string (every time I think of my own mother in a g-string I want to throw up. EVERY TIME) during the late hours of the night. It was a natural fit though: she was a nurse, so she had the right uniform for it and everything!

He forbade her to strip as long as he was "Man of the house".

So 3 weeks later, we had to find somewhere else to live, and Mom started her career path toward greatness, dancing for men who were willing to stuff money into her underwear... kind of like a fairy tale!

As an aside, I wonder how much money jizz moppers make, and if they get tips. If someone knows please tell me, I am trying to get someone a job in the industry.

Anyway, we moved in with my uncle, who lived in KCK, which is a dump. My dad took me to enroll at Eisenhower Middle School, which sounds much more hardcore than Arrowhead Middle School. We signed up for classes, and he informed anyone that would listen that I am diabetic and need to take a shot once a day when I eat lunch and I am so weak and frail that I need help holding my tiny weiner to pee pee (Actually I would have liked that part). He also signed me up for orchestra.

I play the cello, I played for 9 years. A cello is a fucking huge instrument, only bested in size by the bass and busted in weight by the bass and the trombone or something (I did absolutely no research on this so if I am wrong you are gay for looking it up), and he asked which bus should I take.

"None, he lives too close to the school" the old ass receptionist cawed harshly. You see, dear readers, in Kansas there is a law, called the Fuck Steve Wallace law, enacted the instant I set foot in this state, that says if you live less than 2 miles from the school you need to walk. My dad asked if there could be an exception made for me, as 1) I chug a cello to and from school, and 2) I lived so close to the line that my fucking neighbor, who was as hot as the day is long by the way, rode the bus. I mean, I was THATCLOSE! She lived literally 20 feet from our back yard, and she rode the bus!

The lady informed us that if she made an exception for me she would have to make an exception for every asshole that walked in the door, proving she did not know what the word "Exception" means... but I digress.

And so the school year started, and I lugged my cello to and from school 5 days a week, which is awesome. What is even More awesome is that in the area I lived in, there were no sidewalks, so you had to either walk in the street, which was usually just a 2 lane blacktop, or walk int he ditch, which was almost always filled with water.

What was MORE AWESOME is the dogs. You see, I think the people out on 62nd to 72nd and Leavenworth road did not like negros, as they all allowed their shit eating dogs to roam free, looking for easy pickins, which did not get any easier than a fat nerdy kid with glasses struggling with a cello and backpack nearing absolute exhaustion going to and from school.

Tomorrow... the Chihuahua and I start tying up Friday's story...

Friday, February 15, 2008

On the vote

They are all work safe, but they are all music, so make sure your speakers are at a comfortable level.

I have an idea board at home, and I was trying to organize my stories so I did not bore you all with the same kinds for too long... or would you rather a few in the same vein, i.e. 3 or 4 on Smeagol, then 1 or 2 scams, then 3 on like Burger King customers, and so on and so forth? I wanna know, or should I just write about whichever one pops into my head first each day and damn what anyone else thinks?


Did you come to rock?!
Did you know God is a sock?
The best crack is rocks!


So I got an email from the place I worked at before I quit to work at da Firm, apparently they are having some kind of get together or something, which sounded cool, I liked them. But today I would like to reminisce about a few things I didn't like so much... observe:

The year was 2005. I had just been laid off from GE, and let me go on a side tangent to talk about that for a second. I have been laid off more times than a young thai man-whore in July in Washington DC, which is a lot. I have been laid off from Gateway, GE, Cap Gemini, Whelan, and Big Bob's Used Carpet (apparently they did not know there were 2 meanings for the term "used carpet", lesbians rule!), where I worked for 2 days as a door greeter. (Kidding on that last one, but I would actually do it since I rule at communications, have I already told you I have a diploma?) Out of all of them, the GE one hurt the most, because it was the most embarrassing.

You see, I did not work for GE, I worked for a contracting company that worked for GE, offering discount IT personnel at incredible savings and quality service! Well our contract ran out, and another company got the bid. My manager informed us it would not affect any of us as we were all for the most part well liked, and that it would simply be a different name on the pay stub, with a nice little raise to boot!

So this new company takes over, let's call it Innetech, and the guy comes in and looks over our operation and tells us all that we are well liked by upper management, and blah blah fuckin' blah. This no talent ass hat shakes my hand and jokingly tells me to make sure I keep my stuff packed hmea hmea!

So he leaves, and a week later we are told we have to reinterview for our jobs, as they can only keep 3 employees, a network admin and one manager under their new contract. there are 4 employees, a manager and a network admin working there.... hmmmmm......

I had not started to panic, though everyone else did, because I generally close a lot more tickets thatn anyone else, I get a lot more calls and am generally a likeable negro, so well spoken! Big Jim, who used to watch my mom strip (another story) goes in to his interview shaking like a leaf, and comes back out with a huge shit eating grin on his face and literally gets on the phone and starts making an appontment to order a new truck.

I am next, and I am admittedly starting to feel a little wary as I walk the 400 yards past all the other empty conference rooms to the one this asshole picked. I walk in, and he shakes my hand.

P - The asshole, his last name was Pankey
S - me.

P - Well, how are you feeling? I know it has been rough with all the uncertainty...
S - Fine, I guess. *Looks at him expectantly*
P - Well, let's get down to business. We are going to go ahead and keep Jim, mm-kay? and we are going to keep Richard as well (Richard was this Kenyan guy, as dark as midnight and just as cool, and he was a citrix/Cisco/Windows/Unix/Linux certified fucking genius) , and that leaves you and Chris (our procurement guy, he was the newest) as to our decision, as you know we can only keep 3. I have the unfortunate duty of letting one of you go (It's hilarious that it is somehow so hard on him) and I'm betting you can guess which one of you we are going to keep...."

At this point he arches his eyebrows as if to say "Figure it out, buddy..." I never wanted to punch someone in the face so hard in my life until I met Flanders and Greyskull, in that order, which is saying something, because I lived next door to people who once climbed the parition that divided our duplexes and robbed our house and tried to sell our stuff back to us (another post, see how far behind I am?) and also lived around the corner from a bunch of Neo-Nazis, none of which were or knew German... if that makes any sense.

To be continued.....

Thursday, February 14, 2008


Editor's Note: In lieu of a haiku today, I would like to posit a poem. Haikuey goodness will return tomorrow.


The Greeks called it "naked dudicus"

My dad once called it "crack"

Smeagol calls it "failure"

for me, addiction is thus dubbed "Wii"

Majestic ship sailing,

a calm, balmy breeze

a raptor, subtley cawing

in his thong rest my car keys

But I careth not, gentle reader,

my keys ensconced can be

for the world ceases to move

and time stands still

When I'm gently stroking my Wii



So I got the Simpson's movie last night, and got the boys to sit still for an hour to enjoy it's good natured family entertainicles on our big screen, when there is a knock on the door. Quothe the raven? Nevermore...

Sorry, I have a flair for the poetic today. Anyway, I knocked that stupid raven off of my windowsill and answered the damn door. It was the UPS guy. I was wearing no shirt, and we stood there, awkwardly staring at eachother for what seemed like 4 seconds, and he had me sign for the package as he scissored me with his eyes, yearning to pound my monkey hole Richard...

Sorry, I am getting off topic again.

Anyway, I cut the box open, and there it is. A Nintendo Wii. I had yearned for it for almost 3 business days and now it was here. I bought a gamecube out of boredom and was so engrossed in playing Zelda the Wind Waker I didn't think I would care about the Wii once it showed up. It all changed when I opened that box though.

My fingers trembled sensually as I attached the sensor bar to my nipples and rubbed the nunchuk on my hairy crotch, then read the instructions and put the bar on the television (but how is it supposed to know what I am doing?) and hooked everything up. Oh, gentle reader, is it possible something could be as awesome as playing golf in my house? No, No I say loudly, ruffian!

Anyway, it's kind of funny because my sons and I all created Miis and the entire process for all of us combined to learn how to use it and connect took about 15 minutes. My lovely, beautiful wife comes home and it takes her almost an HOUR to just create her Mii. Nothing else, just creating her character. "What do you think of this eyeshadow color?" "What kind of pants should my character wear?" "Let me look at each damn configuration possible before I pick the original one I chose!"

So does anyone have a Mii? Ours are lonely and I need someone to whoop up on some golf with!

Road Rage

So I am leaving the house this morning, and I get to the stoplight to get onto i-29 south at cookingham. It is usually a pretty busy intersection, well for where I live, which means there are 3 cars at the light sometimes, a veritable traffic jam. Anyway, in the morning there were a few extra cars getting on, and we are sitting at the light to turn left, which is green but says yield oncoming on it. This no talent ass clown gets behind me and starts honking his horn over and over, completely oblivious to the sign that says to yield and the still moving line of cars coming from the other direction. Then we get going, get on the highway and he cuts me off and slows down to about 50 in a 70 mile an hour speed limit. WTF?!

Yesterday, on my way back to work (I left my drugs at home accidentally) There was a huge sign that said surveyors working ahead, and about 500 feet up I could see this guy waving me into the other lane with a little red flag. I try to get over, but some asshat in a Tundra starts pacing me, and he has a huge truck in front of him so I cannot get over, and almost run the surveyor over, he hit the side of my car with his flag. Then after the incident the asshat moves over, as he is going a completely different direction.

I am so glad we cannot carry guns in our cars. Why is it that people have to be as stupid as possible whenever they get behind the wheel of a car? I am talking, of course, about other drivers, not any of you, dear readers, you're cool!

Random Jeremy Shot!

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Shorts Time Beeeatches!

Who wears the short shorts?
Benson Hunter wears short shorts!
He also loves goats

Short #1

Alright so I was upstairs toilet shopping, a little early but nonetheless good feeling, I specifically choose a floor I have no business on at that time so I do not run into anyone I know or anything... and in walks what has to be a lawyer, because I can hear his obnoxious voice on his cell phone. Knowing what is coming, I make sure to shift my legs so that he cannot look at my feet or anything. You see, it seems to only be lawyers that do this, but if you are in a public restroom and you are a lawyer, if you are going to use a stall even if there are 7 of them and someone has taken the next to the last one, it is perfectly alright to take the one next to theirs, bonus points if you halk past their stall and are looking at it, almost making eye contact as you pass.

Anyway, he walks all the way to the end of the line and takes the stall right next to mine, ruining my dump and my game of Castlevania. Seriously. He made me lose because I was annoyed with him. So now I don't feel like starting over, and I just get back to crapping. This asshole is only peeing! I don't hear even a cramped fart, just a tinkle...

And after all that, as he is getting up (I did hear the toilet paper) he drops all his paperwork all over the fucking floor! I sit there, absolutely fucking horrified, as a few of the papers lazilly float under my stall, and 1 or 2 touch my goddamned leg. My horror only intensifies when I see his hand reach under my stall to grab his papers! Thankfully he never touched my leg, but I still felt violated and raped somehow. He almost touched me! NOOoOoOoOoOooOooO!

Short #2

My dad was talking about the good old days a while ago, and he informed me he used to be quite the animal killer in his younger, apparently happier days. He regaled me with the tale of his first vehicle, a 1958 International Pickup, and how he once chased a stray dog across a field and into the woods to run it over, almost wrecking in the process. The funniest part was when he told me my uncle actually cut the floorboard out of the bottom of the truck when he inherited it so that if he hit something he could pick it up without getting out of the truck. This was of course in the Ohio rural areas outside of Akron where they did these deeds, I just found them hilarious and figured I would share them with you.

More tomorrow, yo.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

I cheated on the one I love...

It's the Tylester
playing music for Baker
Mean? No. Genius? Yes

I Cheated.

I know I should feel bad about this, but I cannot muster up the feelings of guilt one should have when one cheats on the one he loves. Maybe if I explain you can see how I came to this point and you will not think me a monster for it...

We had been in love for years. It started innocently enough, I was a young scrap, who knew little of the world. My love was beautiful, almost angellic, gentle and funny and caring. When we got together we laughed, we cried, we became soulmates, and I thought the bliss would last to the end of my days.

Sure, others came along and tried to pry me from our union, and a few came close, but the bond we shared was, I always thought, too strong to break. For God's sake I have 3 children, 3 beautiful little boys who look up to me as a blueprint for how a man should act in this world, what am I going to tell them?! How can I tell them that love is so fleeting, that some things change as time goes on?

Let me explain.

Last night, I was lonely. My love was gone, as is the norm for these times, and I know it is my fault because I pushed her away, loaning her out to a world that was full of wolves. I knew she was strong enough to come back to me, and I knew she would always be mine, so that was not the problem. It's just that, we had been apart a lot these last few weeks, and I was feeling lonely, and in need of some stimulation that I was not getting... there's nothing wrong with that, right?

When this new beauty showed up, I was at first wary of her pleasures and delicious curves. I had been burned before, and I did not want to lose something I had if it was not for a damned good reason. I took this new, darker harlot into my home, and she seduced me. I was mesmerized by her voice, enticed by her looks and completely under her spell. When it was over I felt a little guilty, a little dirty, but more than that free, as if I had been chained to the ocean floor and a passing anchor had cut those chains, much as it had cut the internet cable connecting Africa and the Middle East.

What should I do, guys? WHat would you do in a situation where you feel like you are living a farce, where you are with your old love and you are just going through the motions, all the while thinking about how the new apple of your eye made you feel?

I'm talking, of course, about Breakin'.

It was a love that I thought would sustain the ages, one that I never thought could be topped, but last night, last night I saw Beat Street. I had heard about it, but had never paid any attention to it's alleged superior soundtrack and breakdancing moves. Last night, I wanted to watch Breakin', but I had let someone borrow it again, and I could not. It had been 3 weeks or more since I had seen it, and I needed some breakdancing in my blood. I did it, I popped Beat Street into the DVD player and was at once mesmerized and enticed. The soundtrack was almost all early 80s hip hop! That's not even fair, ya'll! It's a cheap shot! There was even less of a plot than Breakin'! The entire movie seemed to be random breakdance battles in tight windsuits with Adidas and derby hats and Thriller gloves! I didn't know how to stop! We laughed, we cried, and then we scissored all night long... wait....

I know it is going to be awkward, but I have to tell the children tonight that there is a movie out there, a movie more awesome than Breakin'. I just wish I knew what to say to them! Help me, guys, how do I turn their little minds topsy turvy without ripping the fabric of the space time continuum apart with this groundbreaking knowledge?

I'm so confused, not should-I-hump-dewds confused, but confused nonetheless...

More tomorrow.

Monday, February 11, 2008

Lillian Ray, part III

Suck it, fuck it,
Ligget, but hey don't stigget
crackhead pussy queef!

Lillian Ray

I need a new bed ya'll. Mine sucks anus, it has a lifetime warranty but with all the lovemilk I have shot into that mattress I doubt they would take it back, and it's broken. Some asshole busted the boxsprings and warped the bedframe by trying to superman onto the bed.

Anyway, on to Lillian Ray. I wanted to give you all a few days to stomach that photo of Phil McKraken before we moved on, and I think you have had enough time now. Scammers = black, mine = red, thoughts = blue:

RE: *kiss* With love Phil McKraken‏
From: Miss Lilian Ray (
Sent: Mon 12/03/07 8:48 AM

Hello My Sweetheart Phil McKraken,

How are you doing today? Hope all is well with you, honey I got your mail and the content of your mail is well understood by me, honey I am highly impressed after reading your sweet mail and whenever I remember that am about to get married to the man I love, my heart is always filled with joy.

My love am very happy about that arrangement if you can help me to come over to your country and spend the rest of my life with you. I'm looking forward to building a loving tender marriage caring relationship with you. As God said that when we marry we become one and I want that ones completely in my marriage life. Phil immediately I come to your country promise me that my late father's money will be taken care of by you. May God bless you, make you happy and have everything you ever wanted in life plus a wonderful future. Darling like I told you Reverend John Paul has really been good to me here at the refugee camp, he went this morning to the embassy with my refugee identity card to know the necessary requirements that I need to meet before I can leave the refugee camp and travel down to your country.

From Reverends inquiry at the embassy today,I need the following before I can be allow to travel out of Senegal

1. International passport

2. Senegalese residence permit.

3. International certificate of vaccination. LOL every time I read this it makes me laugh.

4. Police character certificate.

Darling I only have refugee identity card with me, and the others Reverend has promise to assist in getting it ready for me because its is needed. Darling I have told Reverend everything about you that I am coming over to your country and as well get married to you any moment from now and he has promise to go to the immigration office and relevant offices where the documents will be prepared for me by next week, I beg you to contact the Reverend and he will explain more to you on how these documents will be prepared.

Honey I will like to hear your lovely voice and be happy I want you to call me on the reverend father's Tel: 00221-772-418-111 tomorrow from 12.30noon to 4.30pm(12.30GMT-16.30GMT). Remember God has brought us together I believe no man can put asunder. Here is the Reverend John Paul e-mail address and telephone number I will like you to write him and thank him for everything he has been doing for me.

Tel: 00221-772-418-111.

Darling I love you, I miss you, I feel you, and I want to be with you.Take good care of yourself for me.My hug and kiss goes to Phil McKraken the one I love.

*kiss* With love,

Yours Love,

Lilian Ray

I gotta say, this scammer picked a lovely young lady to use as their avatar. A few questions plague me, though: Why is she always wearing the same clothes? Why, if she is in a refugee camp, are her clothes cleaner than anything I have ever worn? and as you will see, why, if she is in a refugee camp, is she able tot ake photos next to a barn, an indoor courtyard pool, and the beach? Very strange refugee camp, indeed.

RE: *kiss* With love Phil McKraken‏
From: Philip McKraken (
Sent: Tue 12/04/07 10:41 AM
To: Miss Lilian Ray (

My Dearest Lilian,
Much has happened that is so terrible I fear it will tear this country apart. The South has tried to secede over growing tensions caused by the war in Mesopotamia, and the general fears our negotiations will be short-lived. We cannot allow the South to become it's own country, we must stand united, that is what the President said today in his speech. It is a calming feeling indeed to know I have a strong willed ebony queen whom no one knows about due to sociatal norms in this country who will love me and keep me sane in these trying times. I am desperate to hear the sound of your voice, I long to see you standing in the doorway, kerosene lamps glowing fragrantly in the night sky, the horses neighing contentedly in the barn.
I need to know you feel the same way about me as I do about you, Lilian. Tell me how we will please each other, tell me how I should make love to you. Tell me where you want to be kissed, nuzzled and pounded with reckless abandon. Tell me whether you spit or swallow. I love you, dearest Lilian, and yearn to see more of you, I have told my lawyer, Hot Karl, about our love, which is love at first sight. He said that you might be a scammer, and to get a picture of you in a different outfit because all of the ones ou have sent me could have been from a series of pictures gleaned off of the internet.
I called him a liar and a bold faced scalliwag, knocked off his derby hat and cloak and engaged in a hurried bout of fisticuffs with him, besting him in a most exhilirating manner. But the truth of the matter is I need Hot Karl's assistance, as he has an equal share in my company, The Love Box. I need his signature to come up with any money we might need in order to get you out of that horrible hell hole you are stuck in, my beautiful turdblossom (a lot of people think turdblossoms are disgusting, I am not sure why, how could a beautiful flower be disgusting?).
For Hot Karl's sake and to put his mind at ease, could you send along a picture in a different outfit? Try to make it more revealing, but not too much more, maybe some shorts and a halter top, so I can look upon the beautiful prize I am getting, because that is what you are, my love, a beautiful prize won at the carnival of Life. And I am the bearded lady of solidarity. I will write Mr. John Paul, please tell me he approves of the love we share, as the thought of him being against it is overbearing, and I cannot go against a man of the touching cloth.
Yours, Phil McKraken
PS - Did you like my picture? I am proud of my body, and do not mind showing it off. I can send you a picture that shows a little more if you like, though I would want one in return from you, beautiful.
More tomorrow...

Friday, February 8, 2008

Smeagol, the Continuation

I'm a foolish man
with love and support from you,
I can - wait, cracktime!

Part II

So Ted brings this basset hound over, this incredibly fat little basset hound, and gently places him on the floor. He gives me a little wink, gives Smeagol 20 dollars, and leaves. Story over. Yeah, right. Smeagol, firstly, had no intention of watching some damn dog, not when he had 20 dollars in his hands! He immediately put Bailey in a kennel and made a beeline to the nearest Taco Bell to replenish his supply.

This asshole comes back with, to start with, no food for me, a couple of soft tacos which Mystery ate right in front of me, which sadly watching a retard munch on a soft taco while slowly killing a kitten, her leggings turning an unseemly shade of brown from her never peeling them off long enough to wash or probably crap through, I wasn't all that hungry.

Smeagol is sitting on the couch watching WCW, massaging his balls as they hung out the side of his thong, a smirk on his raptor visage at his good fortune, and Bailey breaks out of the kennel Smeags intended o him staying in the entire time. Smeagol gave the poor dog a glare, but was too ensconced in the battle ("They're totally real, niggie! You can't fake moves like that!") on the television to do anything about it. I was playing Guardian Heroes on Sega Saturn, and wondering when I could go back to work to fuckin' eat again, when the smell hit me. It was a thick, meaty shit smell, and I at first thought either Mystery's legs had swung back open or Smeagol's mouth was agape again, but a quick look verified that Mystery was close legged, rubbing Smeagol's bare feet as he lay cockroach style on the couch, cooing with delight as he watched him some wrasslin'.

All of a sudden Smeagol smelled it too. his coos turned to angry growls, and Bailey looked at him like "what?! You shouldn't have locked me up!"

It was on.

Smeagol hopped off the couch and grabbed Bailey by the face, and smooshed it into it's own dookies. Then, and I shit you not, Smeagol punched the fucking dog like 4 times in the fucking snout and threw it against the wall! The whole time he was doing this really weird growling, it sounded kind of gleeful though as he bested this poor gay dog in physical combat. I was still sitting there, dumbfounded, as Smeagol kicked the dog up it's ass all the way back into it's kennel, then lay on his back and rolled back and forth (not in the dookie, though that would have been funnier) howling his hurt raptor howl because one of his kicks hit the door to the kennel instead of soft doggie.

Ted came back a few days later, and Smeagol, without nary a word, gave his trembling, gay dog back to him.

In the aftermath, out of principle, I refused to clean up the dookies until 2 weeks later, when Smeagol and Mystery were still stepping over it, and I had a date coming over. What the hell man?!

Thursday, February 7, 2008

Heartfelt serenade
raptor claws polished to shine
thong emits strong musk

Smeagol (Done in Olde English, as it were)

And lo, Smeagol had been bested by the beast we call life, and Failure reigned o'er the land. A pall fell upon his raptor face, one that not even the siren call of 30 day old Taco Bell could cure. Hath the raptor finally succumbed to the cloak Failure doth possess? Were warmer climes and a hint of tranquil winds sapping the hideous strength of the Thonged Raptor? Listen, gentle guests, as I regale you with the tale of Bailey, and how this gay dog brought Smeagol out of his funk (figuratively speaking).

Twas the noon hour, and of course the raptor was ensconced in his lair, the air thick with his musk and flatulence, a mist so pervasive no living thing dare enter it's realm for fear of the impossibility of escape. Mystery was in the living room, pondering life's mysteries as she stared blankly at a wall. I had just come home from School and was getting a bath before I had to head out to work, so pretty much a typical day. The sickle was outside and there were 4 or 5 tufts of grass out, meaning Smeagol was angered by something and had tired his frail body out swinging tha sickle, I can imagine wildly, his eyes a crazy glare that could cause kitten to go mad upon suffering their gaze.

Hark, a bell tolls. The phone was ringing, and from the noise I could tell Mystery, who was sitting right next to it, had no intention of answering. Annoyed, I rose from my restful bath and stormed, a towel wrapped around my nether regions, into the lair of Retard to see why she was not answering the phone. She appeared busy giving the kitten she had captured a full nelson, so I picked up, immediately wishing I hadn't. "Well hello silly!" It was Ted, one of the gayest men who worked with Smeagol at the Nursing home. A largely built man, he wore his hair in what is called a "flip" style, and wore lavender pantskirts with his scrubs all the time. Don't ask, I do not want to talk about what kind of place would allow someone like that to work there.

He wanted to talk to Smeagol, and I yelled for him to come out. In comes what I can assume was him, green thong hanging in front like the quintessential fanny pack, his saggy balls barely hidden from view, massaging his ass as he reptored the phone from me. Apparently Ted wanted him to watch Bailey, his little gay beagle, while he turned himself in and went to jail for a few days for prostitution. Ted had been selling one on one and two on one sessions with his anus at a gay bar when a police officer noticed and called it in. Smeagol asked what any sane person would ask, "How much am I gonna get paid for this, cause I am a busy man and I can't be bothered!" And you wondered why Smeags had no friends.

So a price was worked out, and Ted brought his gay dog over along with a bed for it to sleep in and some special dog food, saying Bailey had a sore tummy and Smeagol might want to massage it a little while he ate, to which Smeagol snorted haughtily and informed him that as a raptor he was about as much obliged to be nice to some gay dog as he was to grown clean pearly whites.

Part II tomorrow

Wednesday, February 6, 2008


Also, I will post a new video every week. Look for it at the bottom of this blog. New one today! If I get their permission I will post Bombayvideo vids from some readers as well...


snowdrift, damn snowdrift
Only Escort can best you
it still needs headlights

Wednesday Shorts -

1. This one time (at band camp) I was thisclose to beating Tecmo Superbowl. I was playing as the beloved Chiefs. The score was tied, and I was driving. JJ moseyed in and shut the game off without hitting reset on the Nintendo first, causing it to erase my whole season. I picked him up and bodyslammed him across the metal bunkbed we shared. I thought that was as cruel as humans who share the same biological parents could be, until my kids were born. I have never seen a fistfight break out because one kid's pretend character has more Jedi powers than the other's, but they have shown that hatred bests imagination any day.... (sniff) I'm so proud!

2. Smeagol Loves Hot Wheels. He spends upwards of 50 dollars every payday purchasing them, and then losing them. When asked why he buys them instead of food, he regales everyone of the tale of that 69 volkswagon minibus Hot Wheel that sold for like 50000 dollars or something, and how if they are in mint condition he will soon command those prices. When you attempt to hit him with the knowledge that not only are Hot Wheel cars worthless now, but that he will not live long enough to get any kind of return on them since he does not purchase food and that raptors are not known for their longevity, he grunts angrily and flashes his tooth at you menacingly.

3. I have probably told you all once before, but when he was engaging in the cracketry, my dad had no problem telling people that he would gladly suck a hardened penis so my brother and I could eat. Am I a bad father for saying I would resort to robbing people before I did that?

4. So my dad was walking through the little ghetto Price Choppers, called Cosentino's Apple Market on Independence Avenue, and I was moseying along, chattering about how much more successful I was than him, and he looked at me with this little impish grin, and blew ass. It was the wettest sounding, most gurgly fart ever laid, and I bet he juiced his drawers up laying that little queef too. It looked like it hurt him. I hurried ahead of him so as not to get the odiferous cloud of flatulence all over my person, and was wondering why he was standing there, apparently sampling his own fare much as a wine connoiseur grades a fine wine. He moseyed on, and just as we were going to turn the corner to go into another aisle, some little old lady walked into the stench. It was admittedly hilarious, as she gagged and got a passing stock boy to move stuff around, looking for a dead animal. My dad laughed to himself and watched as they frantically tried to alleviate the stench.

5. So Baker (the kinda slow guy who was a janitor here who calls every person in the clerks office, whether he knows them or not, 3-10 times a day, no exaggerating) has forced me to start playing music for him. Tylester has been doing this for awhile, and had gotten some pretty respectable times from him. What happens is we all know his number, and when he calls we pick up and put the phone by a speaker, and play music until he hangs up, and record how long he listened. I am playing "Get Outta My Dreams, Get into My Car" by Billy Ocean, as well as his other hit "WHen the going gets tough, the tough get going". My best time is still a modest 1:15 or so. Tylester plays "Brass Monkey" for him, and this morning got a 1:46... and still holds the record with almost 8 minutes. I need to know, what song will allow me to topple Tylester's time?
Please vote on it, it would make me so happy!

6. Here is reason 47382q9047832438 why black people should not live in cold climate: The wind was blowing snow UP my fucking nostrils, which if you know me is big enough I can fit my thumb in each nostril. Pretty cool, actually. Anyway, that shits is wrong!

7. Your parents might smoke crack if tax season means you might get your vcr back.

8. Your parents might smoke crack if you screen calls from them when you just got paid.

9. Your parents might smoke crack if they call you and ask for your address and the first reason you can think of for why they would ask is so they can get their crack dealer to meet them at your place (this has happened once).

10. Your parents might smoke crack if your fucking dad got fired from a goddamn dildo making factory for stealing product, I mean dammit what the hell is up widdat?!

11. Your parents might smoke crack if your dad gets fired because he refuses to go to rehab, claiming he has morals.

12. Your parents might smoke crack when your dad looks to a raptor with a bad perm and a green thong for guidance on how to get pussy.

13. Your parents might smoke crack when your dad is afraid to say "money" for fear one of his dealers will hear him and take it; instead he calls it "that", as in "Hey son, you got any that I can borrow?" or "Yerdaddy's a foolish foolish man, anyway you get any that today?" or "I will pay you back as soon as I get some that"... JJ was always more annoyed by this than me...

More tomorrow...

Tuesday, February 5, 2008

Another short post

I am your brother
I'm your best friend forever
singing songs you love

Renaldo Lapuz. Do a search for that on Youtube, he is much man.

Smeagol Controversy

So I was talking to JJ, and of course the conversation turned to Smeagol and how he was doing. JJ informed me that Smeagol was still working the booty ass overtime, and was currently watching his daughter at his apartment. In that instant, many questions flew through my mind:

1. Who in their right mind would allow Smeagol to watch their child? I mean don't get me wrong, Smeagol isn't going to harm her or anything, but if something happens she will be the strongest and most intelligent person in the apartment, and she's 3!

2. Who in their right mind would allow Smeagol to watch their child for any longer than 30 seconds at a time? I mean it's like Tarzan; how do we know that she will not pick up some of the Smeags' habits? What would JJ do if she came back and was wearing a green thong and eating raw fish and grunting angrilly as her only form of communication? We know so little of raptors, their child raising habits, why would he let his child become endangered?

3. Mystery. That is not so much a question but more of a reason. A reason to not let any children within 100 feet of their house! She stinks, she's a jerk, and I remember she let my kid fall off the couch and bust his head and just sat there looking at him. I mean come on! This is the same....I guess human... that would declare herself homeless at the hospital to get free care. What's even funnier, is after the doctor got a look at her or a sniff of her crotchal region, they usually believed her! I feel like a jerk making fun of her but dammit I never liked her!

I also heard Smeagol filed for taxes. Now the exalted Raptor Dance must be done, choreographed with precision to ensure I get to Smeagol in that tiny window between him touching his refund check and him raptoring it away on Kim Chi and Hot Wheels (I can come up with a whole post on the topic of Hot Wheels) and solidifying his reign as the King of Failure.

On a wholly unrelated note, what would Smeagol's and greyskull's children look like? Think about it while you are eating tonight.

Monday, February 4, 2008

Live (sorta) real-time Superbowl Blogging!

Suck a glory hole
suck him on the toilet bowl
Just gobble that pole

Superbowl XLII: Patriots vs. Giants

5:09PM - I am just now getting home and getting set up, had to work on my aunt's computer, trying desperately to not look at any porn her kid had downloaded while she is sitting there looking innocent. I have a few Foster's to get me started, the wife tells me she is going to run out and get some more stuff and will be right back. Like a retard I believe her.

5:11 PM - Dammit, first pint of Foster's gone. Why the hell hasn't the game started?

5: 26 PM - I am officially out of beer, I only had 3 pints anyway. Well, I guess I better drink something else while I wait for more beer.... dammit water sucks!

5:49 PM - Holy hell! The Giants are looking good! Fuck you Patriots! On a side note, I had become so desperate for more alcohol I was actually pouring green tea into my beer can and waiting 5 - 10 minutes for it to turn into beer, since at this point in my mind I had simplified the whole process down to "Tea is just beer that is not in the can, right?" Wrong.

6:21 PM Goddammit it's almost halftime and she moseys in with some Mike's hard cranberry Lemonade?! I'll never get drunk off this! As I stand up to snatch the stuff from her like a jerk I realize 3 pints of Foster's had hit harder than I thought.

6:39 PM - I would never let some dude suck me off.

6:46 PM - Well, if I got like 5 million dollars and a free monkey, maybe. But only if no one ever found out!

7:23 PM - Mmmmm, Michael Strahan is one sexy- WHat the hell? I'm fuckin' gay!

7:41 PM - I finally (like I know all of you did) went to see that commercial about the beavers and Danicka Patrick. I would screw her, and the beaver.

8:09 PM - I wonder if that's dog shit I smell or if that fart was not all gas? Better not worry about it, Another Lemonade!

8:31 PM - To conserve drunkenness I lay down on the couch. This only makes me sleepy. Is it possible to shit the bed in your sleep? I sure as fuck hope not.

8:49 PM - Holy shit is the lead in this game going to change any more times?! on a side note, with his unibrow Eli Manning looks like the kid they hid in the basement and only fed fish scraps while they raised Peyton in the sunshine. Just an observation.

9:01 PM - Giants got the ball back, game's over pretty much. I changed my mind. I would let a dude blow me but only if the monkey killed him afterwards...

(:08 PM - Way to show some class, Patriots, walking out of the stadium without congratulating the victors. Butt-fucking ass bandits. At least Randy Moss is not crying like that bitch TO.

S*HU P#SX: Myke's Lemonade gone. Will hump anythuigh that moves. Hungry hungry tasty. need internet porn

- Editor's note - I was going to delete this post as it made less and less sense as time wore on and I looked more and more like a retard throughout the process, but you all already think I am either retarded or gay, so fuck it.

Friday, February 1, 2008

Ron Burgundy...?

OK this just happened and I want to post this while it is still fresh in my mind.

I was downstairs in the gym, sculpting the guns, and every day I hit the heavy bag and the speed bag for about 15 minutes to round out the workout and because I look wicked cool doing it. (Disclaimer: I do not look cool ever)

So there I was, hitting the heavy bag, trying out my power punches, I'm a lefty when I fight, and I throw a hard left jab at the bag. It flies back, and then the chain holding it up breaks, and it falls on the ground. I stood there, dumbfounded.

Now, before I go any further, this is the same bag the US Marshal's office uses, and I am willing to bet every one of them (women and secretaries included) is in better physical shape than I am.

Still, it was an awesome sight. Even funnier is today is the first time I tried Creatine, which is supposed to enhance your strength. Damn that stuff works!

Right after it fell, someone from the clerks office (where I work) walked in and saw the bag on the floor. You ever walk away from a conversation and then think up something witty later? I was all like "It's not my fault, the link must have already been weakened..." and after I got in the shower I thought up the line "that's what happens when you call me twice in a day..."

So I am wondering, should I:

1. Put this in my quarterly accomplishments
2. Change my name to Ron Burgundy so I can always talk about sculpting my guns
3. up my usage of creatine
4. post photos of myself in a green thong on this blog

Let me know what you think.

You know your parents smoke crack when...

Herbie Hancock Rocks
Chameleon is the freshness
balls all a-tingle

You know you're parents smoke crack when:

1. Your lights and water are off but your phone bill is paid through the next decade.

2. Your diet consists of egg sandwiches and cinnamon rolls

3. You have seen your dad out in his underwear in the winter more than once.

4. You have the pawn shop on speed dial.

5. Payday turns into broke day before your parents even get home

6. Your Dad informs you and all your friends how he needs pussy (bonus points if he tells your girlfriend while you are taking a leak)

7. You can always buy your dad's car for whatever you have in your pocket, but you never end up owning the car.

8. All of your guests look like Bobby Brown stunt doubles and go by a letter of the alphabet (Q, V, L...)

9. You all of a sudden have 500 brothers (if your parents smoked crack you would see how true this one really is, I will explain to you others later)

10. The best furniture, nay, the only furniture in the house is on the porch.

11. Your parents name their bedroom after something galactic ("The Enterprise", "the Starship", "The Millenium Falcon"...)

12. You can't wait for your dad to get kidnapped so you can sleep a whole night without him waking you up every hour to ask if you have any money stashed somewhere.

13. You go to school one day and when you get home your entire family has moved without telling you.

14. You think it would be a step up to live with Smeagol.

More of these later...