Friday, July 24, 2009



Much like a fine wine
underwear is meant to age
then worn inside out

Ah, gentle readers, it's been too long, like 2 lovers seperated by land, sea, and vicious STD's many things have tried to keep me from you, but like the erstwhile pedophile, I show up again, climbing through the open window of your psyche, ready to fill your ear-pussies with jisms of knowledge.

So updates... updates... well Smeagol's search for employment continues. JJ insists he is not living with them but EVERY time I call Smeagol is asleep on the couch in the living room, thonged up to the max, so seriously...

I recently spoke with a good friend of mine, Ricardo, who I worked with at Burger King, and thought I would share a story from our special time together... this being a slow news month (Smeagol is in his molting season, historically all of his arrests have occured closer to the end of summer and beginning of the fall) and all...

By far and away my favorite memory is the one with the BK Broiler where Ricardo put huge slabs of mayonnaise on it and the guy got it all over himself but thought it was the best sandwich ever (I told you about that, right?) But a second favorite story concerned the Mullet haired tow truck driver.

This guy comes stomping in there and slams a chicken sandwich onto the counter in front of me, right in front of the customers. I look at his questioningly, never stopping my retarded spiel taking the customer's order. He looks at me, tapping his foot angrilly for a minute, and as soon as I finish launches into a tirade about how crappy his sandwich is, how the lettuce must be a year old and the cheese isn't even melted and blah blah blah. All the while I am looking at the sandwich and it actually looks pretty good to me, man was I hungry too...mmmmmm....

Anyway, Ricardo was having a particularly challenging day, and had no patience for such tomfollery by this ruffian carpetbagger. As I remember the scene (my fellow BK alumni will undoubtedly correct me), Ricardo slapped the whopper he was making down on the counter and came out, rolling his sleeves up. The trucker guy, seeing this very red-faced, very angry fellah strolling toward him, decided perhaps the state of the mayonnaise and used condoms on the sandwich weren't bad enough to merit further action, and absconded with his mashed, now cold sandwich I had touched with my fingers that, as you will remember, had been massaging my junk only seconds before.


So last night I went to karate, and since we are going to spar with another school tomorrow morning, the majority of the class was spent sparrifying it up.

So I get up with my first opponent, which is a white belt -

Wait a second, let me explain real quick. Yes, I am a 3rd degree black belt, so TECHNICALLY this is not a very fair fight. THe reason I was sparring this gentleman, though, is because as my instructor takes every opportunity to inform new recruits, "Stevester is a gentle giant, and he has a ton of control and so you will be safest sparring with him. Also he is a fat asshole and he wears a tutu."

So anyway, my first opponent, whom I had sparred before, gets ready, and makes the request that I only kick him on his right side, as apparently I had cracked one of his ribs during some earlier sparring. This came about (and it was totally his fault, I swear) when he walked up behind me and I instinctively launched a - hold on, how would Karawte Man put this - "Kick that flew at supersonic speeds, like a German Panzer tank with a space shuttle taped to the top of it, hell bent on flying through wormhles in the space time continuum and shattering not only the sound barrier, but creating a powerful vortex from which no light can escape, the souls of consumed kittens crying in agony as they try desperately to avoid the unstobbable rebel force of such a deadly attack" - side kick that landed right in his ribs.

Anyway, sparring goes as usual, I completely eat up the other side of his ribs, and already feel like a heel, when I get my second sparring opportunity. This guy is a green belt, but hasnt sparred much. We line up, shake hands, start circling, me giving him tips as I launch test attacks to see how he responds, and then it's time. I do my famous Jean Claude Van DAMMETHATHURT kick, which is when I kick low to distract you and then kick high really fast. He completely falls for it, and thusly is ducking down and to the side when my foot is coming up. At full force. Toward his face. and my foot isn't padded.

Well I catch him mostly on the neck, and it runs up the side of his face, and I can feel his teeth digging into my foot as I look on, horrified, at what is ensuing. I back up, and look on as he stands there dazed for a few seconds, and begin apologizing profusely. He is all like "I'm not gonna lie, it hurt, but don't worry about it" later on, but all I can see is that his neck and face are turning red and then purple... Sheeeeiiiittt...

The funny thing? I have been taking martial arts for almost a decade, and have NEVER hurt anyone until this last week or two, when I have hurt 2 really cool guys. I am a doucher. What's sad, is I am only going 50%, and I STILL cannot manage to not maraude through other people like an unstoppable rebel force.

Now tomorrow I will have to annihilate someone or these guys will think I have it in for them.

More later

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