This is one of my only personal posts I have on my blog. My life is uneventful, I've discussed this many many times before. But sometimes I'm just so content that I have nothing to argue or complain about....
Let me revoke that last statement because I still have things to complain about.
It is cold, and I mean cold!! It could be colder, and for the love of God let's hope it doesn't get any colder. This morning, the temperature was in the single digits. Now, let me just put this out there, the temperature could be in the negative single digits...this is not to jinx myself or the good folks of south-central Kansas. What I don't like about the cold is the cold. It hurts my face. My hands, when I step outside, freeze and contort into these talons and they stay in that grappling, claw-like position the rest of the day. I can't pick anything up - if I had a baby boy or girl, I would not be able to hold him or her in my arms, in fact, he or she would probably turn in to a block of ice and crumble in my palms. Damn these hooks!
We have too much moisture in the air. Every damn morning, I have to scrape off the windows of my car -- I have to maneuver my hands in such an unnatural way because they are talons at this point to open the driver's side door of my car. I don't know if anyone else has had this problem, but -- nylon gloves -- I don't really know if that is the material these gloves are made of, but to describe them, they are heavily-fibered, stiff-bear-traps for your hands with little-to-absolutely-no-mobility. Without them, my hands are talons, with them, my hands are stiff, mannequin's hands. My house is an obstacle course because if I have to open doors with these gloves, shit doesn't work. My grip just continues to slide on the surface of the doorknob. I would burn alive if their were a fire in my home and, for some unexplained reason, I was wearing these gloves. Just these gloves alone; no pants, no shoes, no shirt, no service!
For some of yous, yous is thinking I'm fucking nuts! Felted gloves are absolutely mobile, they don't transform your hands in to useless dead trout-hands or turn yous in to a mannequin -- they are comfy, they are all-around versatile, and if you're lucky, JC Penneys has them on sale for like $5. Ever tried brushing your car of snow caked on your hood and roof, not to mention, your windows with felted gloves? They're like a god damned sponge! Snow gets on them and melts, and the fabric absorbs the water, and stepping out in this kind of weather with wet gloves is 10x worse than no gloves-at-all. So your choices of hand-ware in temperatures as low as these are few and far between. If they could make a glove from the total opposite of the ShamWOW! material, that would be uber-bitchin'! You could pour a 24-cube of Mountain Dew on the carpet, and the ShamWOW! which is wizardry-all-in-its-own would absorb that shit up by you just placing the fabric over the wet area, no pressure applied whatsoever. If the glove I was speaking about earlier were to be made from the opposite material as the ShamWOW! not only could liquid not get in, but heat could not escape, which means once you start sweating in your gloves, your hands slick with sweat, the glove would become almost vacuum sealed, and now you always have gloves on your hands; never can they be removed or even cut from your hands because the fabric is indestructible. Obviously, because of these conditions, no such glove will ever be made, and I would never wear it.
*Side-note*
It is already duly-noted that some people in this world are so fucking cold, they have transformed themselves in to yetis, and that maybe I should be grateful that I don't have to experience that kind of hellish weather.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Barely Baring my Soul; Bare with Me!
I need a vacation. A long, long, long sunny and not windy or cold or frosted, but not exactly snowing-vacation...near a beach with a wide assortment of alcoholic beverages, and maybe a thick book. Yes...some reading and drinking...and if a bikini-clad woman were to lounge next to me, I'd accept her company...with opened arms. It's been a while since I had a day off work. Here's how annoying it gets when you've worked as much as I have, with no relief, and bare with me - I realize my job isn't what most people might call hard or, in a better adjective, excruciating; I'd describe what I do as a walk in the park. But it's the attitude I get from the people who come in, or simply, the amount of the same people I have to see every day of my life, that gets me down. The same caliber of people I have to see every day...EVERY DAY, those same buffoons come in here, do the same thing on the computer as the day before...people, do you not have anything better to do with your time!? So again, as an example of how trite this job can be, last night I was supposed to chill with a few of my friends, and I didn't get to because I fell asleep at like 8:30-9 p.m. That is absurd! I couldn't keep my eyes open that early in the night, and so regardless of how many times my friends tried to get a hold of me, I was out! My one break away from work and doing nothing, and work, and coming back home and being so bored I just stare at a television to pass the time, was ruined because I was so, either exhausted from my mundane atmosphere or quiescent by the stupidity of these people. I think my mind was fried. I mentioned above in this somewhat-similar-to-all-my-posts-diatribe that I'd rather take a vacation, away from all this vexatious shit; I have plenty of stuff I'd rather do than babysit these adults! I need to explore my calming center...that sounded really gay.
TV Land has been rerunning episodes of The Cosby Show at about 10 or 11 o'clock at night. That's a fantastic show to fall asleep to. I caught it on the network about three days ago, and can't get enough of it. About a year or so ago, any time I just wanted to veg or chill to the television, while channel-surfing, I'd miraculously come across The Cosby Show on like Nick at Nite (I think it was Nick @ Nite) Aside from the ridiculous Cosby sweaters, and his goofy, shuffling dancing at the beginning of each episode, the show is just so chalk-full of heart! YAY! Actually, Bill Cosby is very funny in his role as Dr. Heathcliff Huxtable; this was still before he became embittered by the death of his only son, and became the douche bag he is today, demanding a lapse of violence and sexuality in all forms of media, particularly television and video games. I'm almost willing to go out and buy The Cosby Show on DVD, considering at Target I can get the entire series for like $70. Just depends if I want to spend $70 on something I can watch on cable for free.
What else? I never have anything good to talk about. Which is why I'm so quiet if I go out to dinner with people, or go over to someones house where people I know are at, chilling. Or, if I run in to someone out-and-about and we get to talking, I'm always the one shaking my head in agreement or going, "uh-huh...uh-huh...yeah, that's true....really!?" like I'm actually fucking shocked; "Really!? You don't say!" The bad that comes with that is I then sound like I'm uninterested in what the other person is talking about or I seem distracted. Folks, that's my A.D.D. kicking in, and my lack of social skills; I'm sociable, but I've also been flung bullshit all day while at work, and had to deal with some pretty crappy people, so bare with me if I don't speak up. Like, for instance, about a week ago, I went over to a friend's house and my friend's sister - my friend wasn't there at the time - her sister decided to color a 'Welcome Home' dangling banner, with the letters 'Welcome Home' or whatever the fuck it said, dangling and separate from one another. Good for her, right? Wrong. Everyone in the room had to color a letter, now, I don't know about you, but coloring or doing anything creative, being forced in to doing creative-things is not my favorite thing to do. Especially after I had to work. But there was no talking my way out of this one, and arguing seemed trivial, so I sucked it up, grabbed a letter, and went to town, as the saying goes. Only my way-to-town was through a briar patch, or in sensible-terms, I was thoroughly stumped on how I wanted to decorate my letter. In fact, my friend's mom even noted that I looked stumped. So, instead of coloring, I just drew a slack-jawed, whimsical character I refer to as "The Rambling Man" peeking over the letter 'O'. And that ended my participation in coloring letters for a banner. Again, not that I didn't care, I was inebriated and unable to be sparked by creativity. As we all attempted to start a conversation, our attempts were futile. I had nothing interesting to say, and it didn't seem right for the parents of my friend to carry all of the conversation - it got awkward.
I'm amazed I've been able to supply this blog with a post just about every month! I was thinking about how stupid people are any more. Like this morning, I had a guy come in who wanted headphones while he "worked"/played around on the computer. See, we rent out headphones as well. The only problem is, like everything you give other people, they break it, or in this sense, break the headphones. The funny thing is, we have a whole cabinet to the back of the room full of the headphones we use. I tell people whenever I run out of headphones that they will have to wait until someone returns a pair, when in fact, they could have a pair of headphones right now if I wasn't lazy and didn't want to walk over to the cabinet to grab a few pairs. What made this incident "stupid" was what the guy said to me when I told him I didn't have a pair of headphones for him to rent. He asked, how could I run out of headphones? And I told him I had a limited amount of headphones to give out, and all of my pairs are in use at the moment. He then said, that's dumb...you need to buy more headphones then..., where, upon him saying that, I thought, no, what you need to do is bring your own headphones with you if you are planning on using them with one of our computers. This fuck is so acclimated to using a pair of our headphones that, once we ran out of them like we did today, he wasn't satisfied without headphones. Let's do a little math to further ridicule this creature; each day he comes in and gives me a quarter for headphones. If he were to come in for seven days straight, or a full-week, he has spent a $1.75 on headphones alone. And he's a regular, so tally that up for a month, that's $7 a month. He could have bought his own headphones, headphones only he is using, headphones that will always be there and never taken by another person, we hope, and we need to buy more headphones...but I don't tell him that.
Some of our practices here in the lab, and by that I mean our list of rules we have compiled, have different variations in other fields of work, but otherwise, they are unique. We have a 60-70 page report just on people we've had to warn for unacceptable behavior. A lot of the people on that list are repeat offenders. We have an equally compromising not-paid list. There's a person in here now, no matter who you are, if he sees you coming up to him, he says hello. Doesn't matter that it's the fifth or sixth time I have had to come up to him, to either give him a pair of headphones that have just become available or to tell him his time is up, each time a person comes up to him, it's hello. And it's not because he's nice; he's just weird, but has a good attitude on life. A lot of these people who come in I know on a first and last name-basis; now that's sad, and it's all because they come in so often. Whenever we have a problem-patron come in, and our newest employee is unsure of who it is, they come to me. Because I've seen them all, dealt with them all, know how to deal with them, hate to deal with them, but don't have a choice in the matter. All it takes are a few haphazard descriptions from a co-worker of how the person acted or looked, and I'll instantly know who they are talking about. One time, it was simply one of my co-workers saying the person was incredibly loud, no matter what his demeanor was, meaning, even if he was being nice, he could not control the volume of his voice - that and the fact that he always carried around a neck pillow, and a large quilt. Instantly, I knew who my co-worker was referring to. I mean seriously, I could bring along a camcorder with me to work for 2 or so months, and have an interesting story to tell. From the assortment of posters we have tacked to the walls to make the place "homey"-to- the oddest part of this room; how, some days during the summer we are stuffy as hell and so damn hot up here, and then the next day, freezing cold...I can almost state that I like my job...
TV Land has been rerunning episodes of The Cosby Show at about 10 or 11 o'clock at night. That's a fantastic show to fall asleep to. I caught it on the network about three days ago, and can't get enough of it. About a year or so ago, any time I just wanted to veg or chill to the television, while channel-surfing, I'd miraculously come across The Cosby Show on like Nick at Nite (I think it was Nick @ Nite) Aside from the ridiculous Cosby sweaters, and his goofy, shuffling dancing at the beginning of each episode, the show is just so chalk-full of heart! YAY! Actually, Bill Cosby is very funny in his role as Dr. Heathcliff Huxtable; this was still before he became embittered by the death of his only son, and became the douche bag he is today, demanding a lapse of violence and sexuality in all forms of media, particularly television and video games. I'm almost willing to go out and buy The Cosby Show on DVD, considering at Target I can get the entire series for like $70. Just depends if I want to spend $70 on something I can watch on cable for free.
What else? I never have anything good to talk about. Which is why I'm so quiet if I go out to dinner with people, or go over to someones house where people I know are at, chilling. Or, if I run in to someone out-and-about and we get to talking, I'm always the one shaking my head in agreement or going, "uh-huh...uh-huh...yeah, that's true....really!?" like I'm actually fucking shocked; "Really!? You don't say!" The bad that comes with that is I then sound like I'm uninterested in what the other person is talking about or I seem distracted. Folks, that's my A.D.D. kicking in, and my lack of social skills; I'm sociable, but I've also been flung bullshit all day while at work, and had to deal with some pretty crappy people, so bare with me if I don't speak up. Like, for instance, about a week ago, I went over to a friend's house and my friend's sister - my friend wasn't there at the time - her sister decided to color a 'Welcome Home' dangling banner, with the letters 'Welcome Home' or whatever the fuck it said, dangling and separate from one another. Good for her, right? Wrong. Everyone in the room had to color a letter, now, I don't know about you, but coloring or doing anything creative, being forced in to doing creative-things is not my favorite thing to do. Especially after I had to work. But there was no talking my way out of this one, and arguing seemed trivial, so I sucked it up, grabbed a letter, and went to town, as the saying goes. Only my way-to-town was through a briar patch, or in sensible-terms, I was thoroughly stumped on how I wanted to decorate my letter. In fact, my friend's mom even noted that I looked stumped. So, instead of coloring, I just drew a slack-jawed, whimsical character I refer to as "The Rambling Man" peeking over the letter 'O'. And that ended my participation in coloring letters for a banner. Again, not that I didn't care, I was inebriated and unable to be sparked by creativity. As we all attempted to start a conversation, our attempts were futile. I had nothing interesting to say, and it didn't seem right for the parents of my friend to carry all of the conversation - it got awkward.
I'm amazed I've been able to supply this blog with a post just about every month! I was thinking about how stupid people are any more. Like this morning, I had a guy come in who wanted headphones while he "worked"/played around on the computer. See, we rent out headphones as well. The only problem is, like everything you give other people, they break it, or in this sense, break the headphones. The funny thing is, we have a whole cabinet to the back of the room full of the headphones we use. I tell people whenever I run out of headphones that they will have to wait until someone returns a pair, when in fact, they could have a pair of headphones right now if I wasn't lazy and didn't want to walk over to the cabinet to grab a few pairs. What made this incident "stupid" was what the guy said to me when I told him I didn't have a pair of headphones for him to rent. He asked, how could I run out of headphones? And I told him I had a limited amount of headphones to give out, and all of my pairs are in use at the moment. He then said, that's dumb...you need to buy more headphones then..., where, upon him saying that, I thought, no, what you need to do is bring your own headphones with you if you are planning on using them with one of our computers. This fuck is so acclimated to using a pair of our headphones that, once we ran out of them like we did today, he wasn't satisfied without headphones. Let's do a little math to further ridicule this creature; each day he comes in and gives me a quarter for headphones. If he were to come in for seven days straight, or a full-week, he has spent a $1.75 on headphones alone. And he's a regular, so tally that up for a month, that's $7 a month. He could have bought his own headphones, headphones only he is using, headphones that will always be there and never taken by another person, we hope, and we need to buy more headphones...but I don't tell him that.
Some of our practices here in the lab, and by that I mean our list of rules we have compiled, have different variations in other fields of work, but otherwise, they are unique. We have a 60-70 page report just on people we've had to warn for unacceptable behavior. A lot of the people on that list are repeat offenders. We have an equally compromising not-paid list. There's a person in here now, no matter who you are, if he sees you coming up to him, he says hello. Doesn't matter that it's the fifth or sixth time I have had to come up to him, to either give him a pair of headphones that have just become available or to tell him his time is up, each time a person comes up to him, it's hello. And it's not because he's nice; he's just weird, but has a good attitude on life. A lot of these people who come in I know on a first and last name-basis; now that's sad, and it's all because they come in so often. Whenever we have a problem-patron come in, and our newest employee is unsure of who it is, they come to me. Because I've seen them all, dealt with them all, know how to deal with them, hate to deal with them, but don't have a choice in the matter. All it takes are a few haphazard descriptions from a co-worker of how the person acted or looked, and I'll instantly know who they are talking about. One time, it was simply one of my co-workers saying the person was incredibly loud, no matter what his demeanor was, meaning, even if he was being nice, he could not control the volume of his voice - that and the fact that he always carried around a neck pillow, and a large quilt. Instantly, I knew who my co-worker was referring to. I mean seriously, I could bring along a camcorder with me to work for 2 or so months, and have an interesting story to tell. From the assortment of posters we have tacked to the walls to make the place "homey"-to- the oddest part of this room; how, some days during the summer we are stuffy as hell and so damn hot up here, and then the next day, freezing cold...I can almost state that I like my job...
Monday, November 24, 2008
Results and Aftermath
The United States Presidential Elections have been concluded for awhile now, and Sir Barack Obama is now president-elect; I don't like that term, one bit. President-elect -- I realize Bush still retains office, but people, stop saying President-elect - it's annoying. I'd rather have them say newly-elected president, or, better yet, all you news-sites, come up with your own term for a person who has been elected president, but does not hold office. Everyone uses president-elect, and if one news source uses it, all of them start using it. Fact: if you hear a news cast on one station, flip to all the others - they all repeat the same shit, only a few twist the facts to their liking (ahem, Fox News; anymore even MSNBC) And yes, President-elect might be the official term used, but Jesus, every sentence is the president-elect-this-and-this, and, oh, Mr. President-elect; you can't just refer to him as Barack Obama, or Obama? Hell, I remember when former-President Bill Clinton was referred to as Governor Clinton before he took command, why not Senator Obama? We fucking get it -- he's president! Great! I know I'm really scrounging for this one, but isn't it referred to as reverse racism if you constantly insist on drawing all your attention on one aspect of a different race, for instance, the fact that Obama is the first black president? Hear me out: it would be like the news stations constantly referring to Obama as, "In today's news, first-elected-black President Obama issued..." (I realize by saying President-elect you aren't acknowledging any ethnicity, but it seems like it's almost alluding to an assured uncertainty of whether or not the guy was actually elected president, like we are in some kind of dream) Personal story, I was riding in a car from Wichita, and a black Toyota pickup passed us, and I just happened to glance at its bumper and saw the words 'Kill Obama' in silver paint. That guy's life is a fucking nightmare now that Obama is president, and I say, fuck that slanderous, outrageously racist dick! - Bush might have left a bad taste in my mouth, but I never wanted to kill the guy (yes, that pun was intended)
I like newly-elected president; I also like president-in-waiting...I'm sure if I had the time, I'd have more terms for you. What I don't like is how this post-election has been treated. Obama is a normal person, and he hasn't even been in office yet, and he's donned already as this savior. I was walking through an aisle at Target the other day - the coloring book aisle or whatever, with all the children's books and puzzle books - one of the books there was a children's book on Obama. I imagine it was full of pictures of him beating up ruffians, and returning the purse of an elderly lady before flying off to his ice-palace on Antarctica, or using his power-breath to blow away the next Katrina back to the middle of the ocean, saving some coastal providence. An infomercial was on the other day, which was trying to persuade me to order a golden coin with the image of Obama etched on it, and some bullshit drawn on the back of it, all for only 19.95! On The Daily Show, on a segment they like to call Back in Black with comedian Lewis Black, I heard people are selling t-shirts, decorative plates depicting Obama, other shit that will linger in a storage closet here in the next ten years. Come on, really?!? My God, you're really exploiting the next president of the United States; shame on you! Marvin, you genius son of a bitch, you've done it again! First, it was the 'I Survived Katrina by Floating on my Drowned Neighbor's Body' t-shirts, and then the 'Earthquake! in Indonesia Electric Toothbrush' that, once vibrating and the picture of a tropical resort village shakes, the buildings begin to crack; now, the Obama commemorative plate, with stand. I could do this my whole fucking life!
So, since the president has been decided, who else has heard the claims of Sarah Palin throwing fits after reading each briefing every morning? It's fact -- actually, Fox News were the ones who ran the story. It appears she didn't know basic Civics, or many of the responsibilities of the vice-president. She actually threw -- what her staff referred-to-as -- tantrums. I FUCKING CALLED THAT! If you remember, or paid attention while reading my last post, or read it at all - because I don't have readers, I know that, it's a fact; nobody reads this garbage -- I stated that I believed Sarah Palin looked like the type of person who would start screaming uncontrollably if put in a compromising situation. And it's true! What integrity, indeed! Wow, three times, Mr. McCain, and still NOTHING!
I just realized, at work, when people are talking to me, I don't fucking listen. A girl asked me if she could get on a computer, just as someone else was getting off and exiting the lab, I asked her name (I was typing a sentence in here, my blog, at the time) I even had the girl repeat her name, separate, starting with first then last, and still, when I switched over to my Excel spreadsheet, I couldn't remember it. In fact, before she even gave me her name, she asked if she could get on a specific computer, one that just so happened to be next to her friend, and after taking her name and forgetting it instantly because I don't fucking listen to these people, I told her to pick whichever was open, a complete contradiction to me letting her know it was okay for her to sit next to her friend. To quote musician Phil Collins, "I don't care anymore... ..no'mo, no'more...no'mo...no'more...no'mo, no'more..."
I'll leave you all with one of my favorite poems:
Hey Tony,
I like the things you do.
HEY TONY!
If I could I would be you.
The one and only tiger
with the one and only taste.
You know how to take a breakfast and make it, mmmm'GREAT!
Frosted Flakes are more than good; THEY'RE GREAT!
I like newly-elected president; I also like president-in-waiting...I'm sure if I had the time, I'd have more terms for you. What I don't like is how this post-election has been treated. Obama is a normal person, and he hasn't even been in office yet, and he's donned already as this savior. I was walking through an aisle at Target the other day - the coloring book aisle or whatever, with all the children's books and puzzle books - one of the books there was a children's book on Obama. I imagine it was full of pictures of him beating up ruffians, and returning the purse of an elderly lady before flying off to his ice-palace on Antarctica, or using his power-breath to blow away the next Katrina back to the middle of the ocean, saving some coastal providence. An infomercial was on the other day, which was trying to persuade me to order a golden coin with the image of Obama etched on it, and some bullshit drawn on the back of it, all for only 19.95! On The Daily Show, on a segment they like to call Back in Black with comedian Lewis Black, I heard people are selling t-shirts, decorative plates depicting Obama, other shit that will linger in a storage closet here in the next ten years. Come on, really?!? My God, you're really exploiting the next president of the United States; shame on you! Marvin, you genius son of a bitch, you've done it again! First, it was the 'I Survived Katrina by Floating on my Drowned Neighbor's Body' t-shirts, and then the 'Earthquake! in Indonesia Electric Toothbrush' that, once vibrating and the picture of a tropical resort village shakes, the buildings begin to crack; now, the Obama commemorative plate, with stand. I could do this my whole fucking life!
So, since the president has been decided, who else has heard the claims of Sarah Palin throwing fits after reading each briefing every morning? It's fact -- actually, Fox News were the ones who ran the story. It appears she didn't know basic Civics, or many of the responsibilities of the vice-president. She actually threw -- what her staff referred-to-as -- tantrums. I FUCKING CALLED THAT! If you remember, or paid attention while reading my last post, or read it at all - because I don't have readers, I know that, it's a fact; nobody reads this garbage -- I stated that I believed Sarah Palin looked like the type of person who would start screaming uncontrollably if put in a compromising situation. And it's true! What integrity, indeed! Wow, three times, Mr. McCain, and still NOTHING!
I just realized, at work, when people are talking to me, I don't fucking listen. A girl asked me if she could get on a computer, just as someone else was getting off and exiting the lab, I asked her name (I was typing a sentence in here, my blog, at the time) I even had the girl repeat her name, separate, starting with first then last, and still, when I switched over to my Excel spreadsheet, I couldn't remember it. In fact, before she even gave me her name, she asked if she could get on a specific computer, one that just so happened to be next to her friend, and after taking her name and forgetting it instantly because I don't fucking listen to these people, I told her to pick whichever was open, a complete contradiction to me letting her know it was okay for her to sit next to her friend. To quote musician Phil Collins, "I don't care anymore... ..no'mo, no'more...no'mo...no'more...no'mo, no'more..."
I'll leave you all with one of my favorite poems:
Hey Tony,
I like the things you do.
HEY TONY!
If I could I would be you.
The one and only tiger
with the one and only taste.
You know how to take a breakfast and make it, mmmm'GREAT!
Frosted Flakes are more than good; THEY'RE GREAT!
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Retraction, Reshmraction
In my last post, I stated that the R.M.S. Titanic sunk in 1917...fuck me, I was wrong! I meant 1912, but in my defense, 1917 and 1912 look a lot alike, and, in my grandmother's cursive handwriting, they are the same. How she writes cursive, clearly, it's because she's old and lazy. A straight line with a bump in it equals, "I went to a hair appointment; there's pot roast in the fridge."
I also related that Martin Scorcese's masterpiece (best movie - whatever) was Good Fellas. Wrong again, Joe - oh Sarah Palin, you dumb ballsy-bimbo of the Republican party - excuse me, I was wrong stating Good Fellas was his best picture because I completely left out Raging Bull, the better picture compared to Good Fellas. Both are extraordinary, but Raging Bull is truly a masterpiece.
Does anybody else think Sarah Palin is the kind of person who would start shrieking uncontrollably if put in a really compromising and high-stressed situation? She already shakes during her interviews, and it almost seems like she's collecting all her inner strength to suppress herself if tempers flair in a debate/ice cream shoppe/supermarket self-checkout when the credit card machine won't scan her American Express. Just let it out, Sarah. Scream fuck you! at a defenseless animal who wet on the carpet; Joe Biden needs to be called a big nippled, old shit from time-to-time. He deserves it - in fact, while he was smirking like a jackass during the vice-presidential debates, you should have whipped a Duracel battery at his behemoth five-head. I wanted to! He thinks he's soo clever for naming his son Beau?! So smug! Beau and Joe Biden - HEY! Well I'll be a son of a bitch, that rhymes! THAT'S SOO FUCKING CLEVER!!! How in the hell did you come up with that one, Joe?
I think Sarah Palin should start carrying around a massive ruler, or maybe a riding crop. When somebody gets out of line - maybe reports that she abused her power as Governor, grills/reams her like Charlie Gibson did - she can slap that down on a hard surface and yell, "THAT'S ENOUGH!" I would have a chubby for weeks! What does that even mean, any ways? Pssh! Abuse of power; we had eight years of abused power in the highest position in government; Sarah Palin abused her power as Governor...in Alaska...oh dear! If the McCain ticket wins the election, her brim ass will rest comfortably in the awkward, bulbous ass indention left behind by Dick Cheney in his old leather seat. She can gawk at Cheney's claw marks on the edges of his desk where he used to perch and take his meals - some bloodied animal carcass - and be shocked at finding the remnants of egg shells where Dick Cheney birthed Karl Rove. As far as corruption in a state office goes, hers wasn't the first and won't be the last, and, not as I see it, but as the media and especially those who would reside over the case surely will see it, it's not severe enough for prosecution. But for the love of God, keep your hair down, Sarah...could you show some cleavage as well? What are your views on fish-nets? How about candy-apple red nail polish, and undoing two top buttons on your blouse? I like boots...
I wish I would've written this post when the Charles Gibson interview with Palin was fresh in our minds, but I was working, so, you know...shit.
If auto racing would do something other than just have challenges where cars go around on a circular track, or a straight line, then I could embrace the so-called sport. Rally racing is pretty badass, where two people, usually a navigator and driver, take up residence of a suped-up Lancer or Subaru and hit the off-road trails some place in another country. Dune-buggies hitting the dunes; now that's fun because who knows what bodily harm can and eventually will be done. That makes sense because people do stupid things. Here's a sport with cars I'd watch if it existed.
Welcome back from clicking the link! IF you haven't clicked the link, you hate the troops!
The link was of a video from the popular BBC programme "Top Gear" - it's a damn good show; I watch it just about every Monday night. Compared to NASCAR, it's more appealing as well as entertaining, plus the cars they use reserve gas (38+ mpg) and aren't emitting as harmful of toxins. I have a feeling soccer is probably the only game a car could play, unless you had car-chess, but that's just wasteful, and stupid IMO. I say, since the housing market is in such rough shape, and apparently Ed McMahon is having quite the pickle selling his mansion in Beverly Hills, we all take a couple Aygos and play a game of "Clue" in his home. Miss Scarlet, in the Conservatory, with a length of rope! SMASH! We just drove a fucking car in to Ed McMahon's library!
I also related that Martin Scorcese's masterpiece (best movie - whatever) was Good Fellas. Wrong again, Joe - oh Sarah Palin, you dumb ballsy-bimbo of the Republican party - excuse me, I was wrong stating Good Fellas was his best picture because I completely left out Raging Bull, the better picture compared to Good Fellas. Both are extraordinary, but Raging Bull is truly a masterpiece.
Does anybody else think Sarah Palin is the kind of person who would start shrieking uncontrollably if put in a really compromising and high-stressed situation? She already shakes during her interviews, and it almost seems like she's collecting all her inner strength to suppress herself if tempers flair in a debate/ice cream shoppe/supermarket self-checkout when the credit card machine won't scan her American Express. Just let it out, Sarah. Scream fuck you! at a defenseless animal who wet on the carpet; Joe Biden needs to be called a big nippled, old shit from time-to-time. He deserves it - in fact, while he was smirking like a jackass during the vice-presidential debates, you should have whipped a Duracel battery at his behemoth five-head. I wanted to! He thinks he's soo clever for naming his son Beau?! So smug! Beau and Joe Biden - HEY! Well I'll be a son of a bitch, that rhymes! THAT'S SOO FUCKING CLEVER!!! How in the hell did you come up with that one, Joe?
I think Sarah Palin should start carrying around a massive ruler, or maybe a riding crop. When somebody gets out of line - maybe reports that she abused her power as Governor, grills/reams her like Charlie Gibson did - she can slap that down on a hard surface and yell, "THAT'S ENOUGH!" I would have a chubby for weeks! What does that even mean, any ways? Pssh! Abuse of power; we had eight years of abused power in the highest position in government; Sarah Palin abused her power as Governor...in Alaska...oh dear! If the McCain ticket wins the election, her brim ass will rest comfortably in the awkward, bulbous ass indention left behind by Dick Cheney in his old leather seat. She can gawk at Cheney's claw marks on the edges of his desk where he used to perch and take his meals - some bloodied animal carcass - and be shocked at finding the remnants of egg shells where Dick Cheney birthed Karl Rove. As far as corruption in a state office goes, hers wasn't the first and won't be the last, and, not as I see it, but as the media and especially those who would reside over the case surely will see it, it's not severe enough for prosecution. But for the love of God, keep your hair down, Sarah...could you show some cleavage as well? What are your views on fish-nets? How about candy-apple red nail polish, and undoing two top buttons on your blouse? I like boots...
I wish I would've written this post when the Charles Gibson interview with Palin was fresh in our minds, but I was working, so, you know...shit.
If auto racing would do something other than just have challenges where cars go around on a circular track, or a straight line, then I could embrace the so-called sport. Rally racing is pretty badass, where two people, usually a navigator and driver, take up residence of a suped-up Lancer or Subaru and hit the off-road trails some place in another country. Dune-buggies hitting the dunes; now that's fun because who knows what bodily harm can and eventually will be done. That makes sense because people do stupid things. Here's a sport with cars I'd watch if it existed.
Welcome back from clicking the link! IF you haven't clicked the link, you hate the troops!
The link was of a video from the popular BBC programme "Top Gear" - it's a damn good show; I watch it just about every Monday night. Compared to NASCAR, it's more appealing as well as entertaining, plus the cars they use reserve gas (38+ mpg) and aren't emitting as harmful of toxins. I have a feeling soccer is probably the only game a car could play, unless you had car-chess, but that's just wasteful, and stupid IMO. I say, since the housing market is in such rough shape, and apparently Ed McMahon is having quite the pickle selling his mansion in Beverly Hills, we all take a couple Aygos and play a game of "Clue" in his home. Miss Scarlet, in the Conservatory, with a length of rope! SMASH! We just drove a fucking car in to Ed McMahon's library!
Monday, August 25, 2008
My Life Continued
So, like I stated before, I'm doing nothing with my life at this point. Let me just figure some shit out, and sit back to take a few things in to consideration, and maybe I'll spark some transformation in to a more active lifestyle.
This "nothingness" I excel in consists of playing around on my computer, getting on Xbox 360/Xboxlive - when playing 360, I typically play a racing game known as 'Grid', or, I just cause total mass-destruction, namely, against the po-leese in 'GTA IV'; I have yet to buy Too Human, and Star Wars: The Force Unleashed hasn't come out yet. I've been watching movies; this month, I've watched The Dark Knight about 5-6 times, not paying to witness it in a stuffy theater, but in the comfort of my own home. It's not hard to get a copy of that film. Now I know - there's probably a good handful of people thinking to themselves, "I could think of 20 better movies than The Dark Knight to watch over-and-over again." I guess it's just the fan boy in me, and the fact that the movie is pretty damn good. Then, there is a whole different breed of individuals thinking to themselves, "The Dark Knight - this, The Dark Knight - that! I am getting sick of hearing about The Dark Knight" - I remember being sick of hearing about Titanic; that, to me, seemed like a pointless movie. Oh, but the love-story was so romantic - yeah, well, if Billy Zane's character wasn't a wife-beater, the plot would have been virtually unrealistic. No sane woman, back in that time, would have rebelled against her family and a rich husband for a real-life gay stowaway played by Leo Di "Crap"-rio. I guess that is my own bias, but think about that, realistically. It was 1917...I know you want to portray an independent woman, but... Historically, the divorce-rate was almost nonexistent, and family values were something you kept sacred; you didn't sass back to your mother, not to say it didn't happen. Chances are, Rose would've stayed with Billy Zane's character. Those of you who just love The Departed, another movie with DiCaprio in it - my ass, if that's the best Scorsese film! Two words - Good Fellas. He got rewarded the best director because he's old! People love that whole life-time achievement crock of shit! And Good Fellas is by-far the better picture. What Titanic had going for it was the heart-throb. You had a bunch of pre-teen-to-teenaged girls flocking to the theater to see Jack, and you had horrible people like myself watching that film to see him die. James Cameron knew he was swimming in moolah, naked with pre-teen boys standing around him, after signing that pretty face-fuck! for the lead male. And that's essentially why Titanic is still the highest grossing movie of all-time, and, to be honest, it's pathetic that there hasn't been a movie since The Dark Knight that has threatened that title. It's been eleven-fucking-years!!! I guess Hollywood does churn out loads of crap anymore.
I enjoyed watching The Dark Knight the first time I saw it, which was when it was first released in theaters. Though, I was late to the screening, so I couldn't sit with the rest of my friends - I ended up sitting next to one of my friends and my brother, who drove us to the theater because he doesn't drive a late-model car. The seating was naturally packed, being a highly anticipated feature, and the last full-length movie for actor Heath Ledger. Again, a well-known heart-throb amongst an all-star cast, attracting many of their loyal fan-base to the film. Yet this time, not such a pretty face...
I didn't admit to my other friends that I really digged the movie; number one, being the bitter person I am - bitter because of my incompetent brother who made us late to the movie - number two, I had to take a leak the second we got in to the theater, and if you've seen the movie, or, at least, read about it, it is a long-one, maxing out at 2 hours and 30-some minutes, and there was no chance in hell I was gonna miss a second of that flick. As I sat in my seat, though, and, while my friend Shaun had an empty-or-near-empty paper bucket that was once full of popcorn, temptation almost grabbed a hold of me to ask Shaun for that bucket, so I could kneel in front of my seat, and just piss in the theater, or in said-bucket. I'm not ashamed to do so; if you've gotta go, you gotta go - I'd rather get kicked out of a theater for pissing in an empty popcorn bucket than to have to trek up the aisle, out the exit doors, down a hall, across the entrance-area passed the concession stands, to the Men's room, urinate, wash my hands, then make that same trek back to my seat; not to mention, passing, or, in a sense, shuffling my fat ass in front of total strangers to get out of the row of seats I'm snugly seated in the middle of, telling people, "excuse me...excuse me...sorry, excuse me...I know I'm in the fucking way, and I know how much of an inconvenience this is to ask you to move your feet back to make room for me, but you see, I have a fucking fat everything here, and also a full bladder; I'm trying to make this as easy as I fucking can without losing said bladder on your nice, clean, non-piss-stained shoes..."
See, this is why movie theaters should have a restroom IN the actual theater-part of their building. With, I might add, speakers in the bathroom with the audio of the movie you are watching, so, while you're away from the screen, you have an understanding of what's going on once you return. The theaters around my area don't have this - do other parts of the country?
Like I said before in an earlier post, I've been working. I just love working 40 hours in a room full of the public! Such a fantastic job - it's like the ultimate customer service; I have to answer/pretend to care about the concerns of other people, no matter how insane they are. I'm in a room that's not NOT air conditioned; we might have seven fans running at once, but it's never comfortable. These people have no reasoning for how benign they act. On a related matter, I was coming back from the gas station - I drove three blocks to fill up my car, and purchase a bottle of orange juice because I have been, a bit, under-the-weather this whole week, and I thought the shot of vitamin C would do some good - and, as I drove from the gas station to the library, and was waiting in my car at a stoplight, I hawked a ball of spit-and-mucus out of my mouth on to the street, being as congested as I am today. A black lady who is a frequented visitor of the library, most notably the computer lab, noticed this from the side of the street, and irately asked if I had spat at her. I said no, I was just spitting, and, from what I gathered from her reaction, she didn't believe me, like I'd spit at someone I didn't know; had not even acknowledged I hated or resented. She blew me off, muttering what I interpreted was "asshole," and then she walked down the street. This whole conflict had completed, and still, my light had not turned green. I sat at that fucking light for three more minutes, before blowing through it. I'm one of those people who could give a shit if the light is red. What aggravates me is the fact that she didn't believe that I wasn't spitting at her. What would be my reason for spitting at her; because she's black? Really?! Or could it have been that I thought she was homeless - what kind of person would I have to be to spit at another person? What reasoning is behind her thinking I was spitting at her? Crazy bitch.
Also, since we are on the topic of crazy people, I had a frantic, almost jittery person call me 'sweet' and show me a picture of their daughter, hoping I'd date the pictured girl. Okay, first off, how do you respond to that? "She's...pretty..." She was, in fact, pretty, but by acknowledging that, you come across as a person who is only interested in looks. I'm sorry if I didn't seem too enthused about your daughter, but, seriously - I'm a total stranger, you're a total stranger. Do you always prostitute your daughter like that to strange men? Just because you refer to me as, "sweet" doesn't mean...whatever...one of those unbelievably crazy moments. And hey, maybe the mother realizes her daughter isn't getting any, or perhaps wonders why her daughter doesn't get more people asking her out or she does, just by the wrong people, and I seemed nice. Again, I don't know you, you don't know me. I definitely don't know your daughter. I was just slightly irked by this.
I've been drinking more water these days. What's the point of drinking something sweet all the time; can't you just enjoy water? I love water. I prefer it over other beverages. And for being as sick as I am now, a nice tall one of water really hits the spot. That was one New Year's Eve resolution I could get behind, was drinking more H2O. If you think about it, as far as setting regulations for yourself, 4 liters or so a-day of water is a cake-walk! Better than having to exercise! Somehow, I don't think I'm ready for my transformation in to a more active lifestyle...
On a side note, even though I have just stated drinking more water would be a cake-walk, I can understand how difficult it would be obtaining just water for a full day. Being that I work in a room where I can't leave on my own volition due to how sneaky and crafty-of-fiends the general public are, it would be hard for me to always fulfill that need. Call it paranoia, whatever, I would just rather not have an incident to deal with coming back from drinking six-ounces of water.
I wish I had more interesting things to talk about. I was thinking last night of a few things that would really blow people's mind. For instance, if a random act of kindness, on my part, were to reward me with huge sums of cash. Like, let's say, I were to drive a person to their house - just randomly pick someone up off the street and drive them home without them slitting my throat, and they were one of these people who are downtrodden that society is as fucked up as it is - that, especially now-a-days, more people are mistrusting of those around them, and chivalry and kindness are on a decline - my random act of thoughtfulness was just enough of a spark to get them out of that void...and then they ask me to write down the amount of money I'd like to have in my bank account...and then they gave it to me...the real moral of that story is that I'm not financially stable, and a tad-bit selfish for wanting someone to hand me money I should be earning myself.
A near-death experience would be another interesting topic. I, sort of, had a near-death experience this year. Earlier this month, I contracted MRSA, a form of staph infection. Here is what I got off of Wikipedia about the nasty, little bugger I had:
MRSA infection is caused by Staphylococcus aureus bacteria — often called "staph." MRSA stands for methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus. It's a strain of staph that's resistant to the broad-spectrum antibiotics commonly used to treat it. MRSA can be fatal.
*I bolded the fatality of this condition.
Let's read on:
Most MRSA infections occur in hospitals or other health care settings, such as nursing homes and dialysis centers. It's known as health care-associated MRSA, or HA-MRSA. Older adults and people with weakened immune systems are at most risk of HA-MRSA. More recently, another type of MRSA has occurred among otherwise healthy people in the wider community. This form, community-associated MRSA, or CA-MRSA, is responsible for serious skin and soft tissue infections and for a serious form of pneumonia.
*I did not bold whatever is bolded in that paragraph; I cannot take credit for that.
**Does anybody else watch re-runs of Becker early in the mornings on the USA network? It's actually a funny show! Ted Danson plays Dr. John Becker, who operates a small practice in The Bronx (a place in New York City where a lot of people are murdered) and is constantly annoyed by his patients, co-workers, friends, and practically everything and everybody else in his world. As a result of his outspoken nature, Becker is inaccessible to most people that do not know him. He still knows people who like him because inside his rough exterior, is a kind-hearted man. (Courtesy of Wikipedia, though tweaked by Mr. Austin Smith)
I lost the page I was on explaining MRSA because I navigated away from it to look up information on Becker. Well any who, blah blah blah, more nonsense, skin-condition, could be fatal...and, take in to consideration that a person, like myself, who has a heart murmur, is more at risk due to the bacteria traveling down in to my heart, I had a good chance of death if I hadn't gone to the doctor at the time I did. What an interesting story! Not. I would've preferred telling a near-death experience-story which involved me, hanging off the side of a cliff from my car, and being rescued via helicopter, before a mining company blew out that portion of the mountain, for diamonds.
That's another thing the Croc-Hunter had going for him. You could invite that fucker to a party, and just being the Croc-Hunter, he'd be the most popular person there, but also, just imagine all the wicked stories he had! The guy had people eating out of his hand!
Pete: "I was eating a hot dog at the ball park, and choked on someone's wedding ring they were going to give their wife by hiding it in her food...the guy at the stand fucked it up, and got the weiners mixed up! Needless-to-say, we located the disgruntled couple who was supposed to have the hot dog I was inhaling; they just had their second child!"
Then, the Croc-Hunter steps up. "I was down in Belize, a part of South America, trying to reintroduce these little spider monkeys back in to their natural habitat, after they were malnourished, and had to be treated at a nearby reserve. As I helped little Ernesto in to the canopy - we named the monkeys to tell them apart; we also color-coordinated little collars that went around their necks..."
Pete: "I thought we were talking about near-death experiences; I almost died choking on a hot dog...not playing around with monkeys in a rainforest..." (snickering like an idiot, smart-alic bastard)
Croc-Hunter (unamused) "As I was saying, just as I helped little Ernesto in to the canopy, a ferocious Pit-Viper slunk down from a branch to nab the little bugger! I immediately withdrew the spider monkey from harm, but took a venomous strike right to my shoulder! I was rushed to a medical team on-hand, but at this moment, knew I was in trouble - the nearest village was more than sixteen kilometers..." (Pete walks off)
Many o'times I reference the Croc-Hunter Steve Irwin. He's deceased now, but, as far as interesting characters in the media and pop-culture, he was a gim! I, personally, found it insane that he did the things he did, but, as I've expressed before, he benefited the animal kingdom, and the guy was seriously, an animal himself. That dude loved life, literally, loved life; nature, animals, being among animals, eating with animals, driving around town with various animal-life in his Jeep...hanging with his posse of animal-experts and, most likely, a few crocodiles. I promise you, I won't bring Steve Irwin back up in any more future blog posts. Where can I go from here? I've discussed interesting topics, from life-threatening to my selfish want for someone to selflessly give me a shit-load of money, and the interesting tale that would be, to a person who lived their life in the wild.
I realize that a lot of people now-a-days would like to dry-hump Michael Phelps, the gold-medal-winning fish-boy, because he has transcended from star-athlete to phenomenon, but do you really think it's necessary to berate him with comments on his Facebook every half-second? It's gonna take that guy a millennium to read all those, if he ever does, and you know by now, sitting at his computer and reading your comments is not his first priority. I'd be absolutely burned-out if I was him! He's going to be overwhelmed. But that's celebrity for ya; his life has completely changed from here-on-out; well, not really changed. It was probably more of a change taking something he enjoyed casually, like swimming, to making it his career, then eventually accomplishing his goal of winning every swimming event he was in at the Beijing Olympics. But now, he's a celebrity, which means promotion, life in the limelight, and various reaction from fans. I don't know - I'd be worn thin, but that's just me. Maybe he's taking it in stride; I don't know the guy. I guess it would be fucking awesome to have millions-upon-millions-upon-millions of fans; let's just hope they don't scrutinize him too severe if he flubs up. I mean, THAT NEVER HAPPENS.
Celebrity, in itself, is an interesting topic. I wish I had more interesting things to talk about... I've talked about regulations for yourself, like mine for drinking several liters of water a day, and I used to have one for my blog. This is a clear sign that I have nothing interesting to say, or more evidence of my idiocy.
This "nothingness" I excel in consists of playing around on my computer, getting on Xbox 360/Xboxlive - when playing 360, I typically play a racing game known as 'Grid', or, I just cause total mass-destruction, namely, against the po-leese in 'GTA IV'; I have yet to buy Too Human, and Star Wars: The Force Unleashed hasn't come out yet. I've been watching movies; this month, I've watched The Dark Knight about 5-6 times, not paying to witness it in a stuffy theater, but in the comfort of my own home. It's not hard to get a copy of that film. Now I know - there's probably a good handful of people thinking to themselves, "I could think of 20 better movies than The Dark Knight to watch over-and-over again." I guess it's just the fan boy in me, and the fact that the movie is pretty damn good. Then, there is a whole different breed of individuals thinking to themselves, "The Dark Knight - this, The Dark Knight - that! I am getting sick of hearing about The Dark Knight" - I remember being sick of hearing about Titanic; that, to me, seemed like a pointless movie. Oh, but the love-story was so romantic - yeah, well, if Billy Zane's character wasn't a wife-beater, the plot would have been virtually unrealistic. No sane woman, back in that time, would have rebelled against her family and a rich husband for a real-life gay stowaway played by Leo Di "Crap"-rio. I guess that is my own bias, but think about that, realistically. It was 1917...I know you want to portray an independent woman, but... Historically, the divorce-rate was almost nonexistent, and family values were something you kept sacred; you didn't sass back to your mother, not to say it didn't happen. Chances are, Rose would've stayed with Billy Zane's character. Those of you who just love The Departed, another movie with DiCaprio in it - my ass, if that's the best Scorsese film! Two words - Good Fellas. He got rewarded the best director because he's old! People love that whole life-time achievement crock of shit! And Good Fellas is by-far the better picture. What Titanic had going for it was the heart-throb. You had a bunch of pre-teen-to-teenaged girls flocking to the theater to see Jack, and you had horrible people like myself watching that film to see him die. James Cameron knew he was swimming in moolah, naked with pre-teen boys standing around him, after signing that pretty face-fuck! for the lead male. And that's essentially why Titanic is still the highest grossing movie of all-time, and, to be honest, it's pathetic that there hasn't been a movie since The Dark Knight that has threatened that title. It's been eleven-fucking-years!!! I guess Hollywood does churn out loads of crap anymore.
I enjoyed watching The Dark Knight the first time I saw it, which was when it was first released in theaters. Though, I was late to the screening, so I couldn't sit with the rest of my friends - I ended up sitting next to one of my friends and my brother, who drove us to the theater because he doesn't drive a late-model car. The seating was naturally packed, being a highly anticipated feature, and the last full-length movie for actor Heath Ledger. Again, a well-known heart-throb amongst an all-star cast, attracting many of their loyal fan-base to the film. Yet this time, not such a pretty face...
I didn't admit to my other friends that I really digged the movie; number one, being the bitter person I am - bitter because of my incompetent brother who made us late to the movie - number two, I had to take a leak the second we got in to the theater, and if you've seen the movie, or, at least, read about it, it is a long-one, maxing out at 2 hours and 30-some minutes, and there was no chance in hell I was gonna miss a second of that flick. As I sat in my seat, though, and, while my friend Shaun had an empty-or-near-empty paper bucket that was once full of popcorn, temptation almost grabbed a hold of me to ask Shaun for that bucket, so I could kneel in front of my seat, and just piss in the theater, or in said-bucket. I'm not ashamed to do so; if you've gotta go, you gotta go - I'd rather get kicked out of a theater for pissing in an empty popcorn bucket than to have to trek up the aisle, out the exit doors, down a hall, across the entrance-area passed the concession stands, to the Men's room, urinate, wash my hands, then make that same trek back to my seat; not to mention, passing, or, in a sense, shuffling my fat ass in front of total strangers to get out of the row of seats I'm snugly seated in the middle of, telling people, "excuse me...excuse me...sorry, excuse me...I know I'm in the fucking way, and I know how much of an inconvenience this is to ask you to move your feet back to make room for me, but you see, I have a fucking fat everything here, and also a full bladder; I'm trying to make this as easy as I fucking can without losing said bladder on your nice, clean, non-piss-stained shoes..."
See, this is why movie theaters should have a restroom IN the actual theater-part of their building. With, I might add, speakers in the bathroom with the audio of the movie you are watching, so, while you're away from the screen, you have an understanding of what's going on once you return. The theaters around my area don't have this - do other parts of the country?
Like I said before in an earlier post, I've been working. I just love working 40 hours in a room full of the public! Such a fantastic job - it's like the ultimate customer service; I have to answer/pretend to care about the concerns of other people, no matter how insane they are. I'm in a room that's not NOT air conditioned; we might have seven fans running at once, but it's never comfortable. These people have no reasoning for how benign they act. On a related matter, I was coming back from the gas station - I drove three blocks to fill up my car, and purchase a bottle of orange juice because I have been, a bit, under-the-weather this whole week, and I thought the shot of vitamin C would do some good - and, as I drove from the gas station to the library, and was waiting in my car at a stoplight, I hawked a ball of spit-and-mucus out of my mouth on to the street, being as congested as I am today. A black lady who is a frequented visitor of the library, most notably the computer lab, noticed this from the side of the street, and irately asked if I had spat at her. I said no, I was just spitting, and, from what I gathered from her reaction, she didn't believe me, like I'd spit at someone I didn't know; had not even acknowledged I hated or resented. She blew me off, muttering what I interpreted was "asshole," and then she walked down the street. This whole conflict had completed, and still, my light had not turned green. I sat at that fucking light for three more minutes, before blowing through it. I'm one of those people who could give a shit if the light is red. What aggravates me is the fact that she didn't believe that I wasn't spitting at her. What would be my reason for spitting at her; because she's black? Really?! Or could it have been that I thought she was homeless - what kind of person would I have to be to spit at another person? What reasoning is behind her thinking I was spitting at her? Crazy bitch.
Also, since we are on the topic of crazy people, I had a frantic, almost jittery person call me 'sweet' and show me a picture of their daughter, hoping I'd date the pictured girl. Okay, first off, how do you respond to that? "She's...pretty..." She was, in fact, pretty, but by acknowledging that, you come across as a person who is only interested in looks. I'm sorry if I didn't seem too enthused about your daughter, but, seriously - I'm a total stranger, you're a total stranger. Do you always prostitute your daughter like that to strange men? Just because you refer to me as, "sweet" doesn't mean...whatever...one of those unbelievably crazy moments. And hey, maybe the mother realizes her daughter isn't getting any, or perhaps wonders why her daughter doesn't get more people asking her out or she does, just by the wrong people, and I seemed nice. Again, I don't know you, you don't know me. I definitely don't know your daughter. I was just slightly irked by this.
I've been drinking more water these days. What's the point of drinking something sweet all the time; can't you just enjoy water? I love water. I prefer it over other beverages. And for being as sick as I am now, a nice tall one of water really hits the spot. That was one New Year's Eve resolution I could get behind, was drinking more H2O. If you think about it, as far as setting regulations for yourself, 4 liters or so a-day of water is a cake-walk! Better than having to exercise! Somehow, I don't think I'm ready for my transformation in to a more active lifestyle...
On a side note, even though I have just stated drinking more water would be a cake-walk, I can understand how difficult it would be obtaining just water for a full day. Being that I work in a room where I can't leave on my own volition due to how sneaky and crafty-of-fiends the general public are, it would be hard for me to always fulfill that need. Call it paranoia, whatever, I would just rather not have an incident to deal with coming back from drinking six-ounces of water.
I wish I had more interesting things to talk about. I was thinking last night of a few things that would really blow people's mind. For instance, if a random act of kindness, on my part, were to reward me with huge sums of cash. Like, let's say, I were to drive a person to their house - just randomly pick someone up off the street and drive them home without them slitting my throat, and they were one of these people who are downtrodden that society is as fucked up as it is - that, especially now-a-days, more people are mistrusting of those around them, and chivalry and kindness are on a decline - my random act of thoughtfulness was just enough of a spark to get them out of that void...and then they ask me to write down the amount of money I'd like to have in my bank account...and then they gave it to me...the real moral of that story is that I'm not financially stable, and a tad-bit selfish for wanting someone to hand me money I should be earning myself.
A near-death experience would be another interesting topic. I, sort of, had a near-death experience this year. Earlier this month, I contracted MRSA, a form of staph infection. Here is what I got off of Wikipedia about the nasty, little bugger I had:
MRSA infection is caused by Staphylococcus aureus bacteria — often called "staph." MRSA stands for methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus. It's a strain of staph that's resistant to the broad-spectrum antibiotics commonly used to treat it. MRSA can be fatal.
*I bolded the fatality of this condition.
Let's read on:
Most MRSA infections occur in hospitals or other health care settings, such as nursing homes and dialysis centers. It's known as health care-associated MRSA, or HA-MRSA. Older adults and people with weakened immune systems are at most risk of HA-MRSA. More recently, another type of MRSA has occurred among otherwise healthy people in the wider community. This form, community-associated MRSA, or CA-MRSA, is responsible for serious skin and soft tissue infections and for a serious form of pneumonia.
*I did not bold whatever is bolded in that paragraph; I cannot take credit for that.
**Does anybody else watch re-runs of Becker early in the mornings on the USA network? It's actually a funny show! Ted Danson plays Dr. John Becker, who operates a small practice in The Bronx (a place in New York City where a lot of people are murdered) and is constantly annoyed by his patients, co-workers, friends, and practically everything and everybody else in his world. As a result of his outspoken nature, Becker is inaccessible to most people that do not know him. He still knows people who like him because inside his rough exterior, is a kind-hearted man. (Courtesy of Wikipedia, though tweaked by Mr. Austin Smith)
I lost the page I was on explaining MRSA because I navigated away from it to look up information on Becker. Well any who, blah blah blah, more nonsense, skin-condition, could be fatal...and, take in to consideration that a person, like myself, who has a heart murmur, is more at risk due to the bacteria traveling down in to my heart, I had a good chance of death if I hadn't gone to the doctor at the time I did. What an interesting story! Not. I would've preferred telling a near-death experience-story which involved me, hanging off the side of a cliff from my car, and being rescued via helicopter, before a mining company blew out that portion of the mountain, for diamonds.
That's another thing the Croc-Hunter had going for him. You could invite that fucker to a party, and just being the Croc-Hunter, he'd be the most popular person there, but also, just imagine all the wicked stories he had! The guy had people eating out of his hand!
Pete: "I was eating a hot dog at the ball park, and choked on someone's wedding ring they were going to give their wife by hiding it in her food...the guy at the stand fucked it up, and got the weiners mixed up! Needless-to-say, we located the disgruntled couple who was supposed to have the hot dog I was inhaling; they just had their second child!"
Then, the Croc-Hunter steps up. "I was down in Belize, a part of South America, trying to reintroduce these little spider monkeys back in to their natural habitat, after they were malnourished, and had to be treated at a nearby reserve. As I helped little Ernesto in to the canopy - we named the monkeys to tell them apart; we also color-coordinated little collars that went around their necks..."
Pete: "I thought we were talking about near-death experiences; I almost died choking on a hot dog...not playing around with monkeys in a rainforest..." (snickering like an idiot, smart-alic bastard)
Croc-Hunter (unamused) "As I was saying, just as I helped little Ernesto in to the canopy, a ferocious Pit-Viper slunk down from a branch to nab the little bugger! I immediately withdrew the spider monkey from harm, but took a venomous strike right to my shoulder! I was rushed to a medical team on-hand, but at this moment, knew I was in trouble - the nearest village was more than sixteen kilometers..." (Pete walks off)
Many o'times I reference the Croc-Hunter Steve Irwin. He's deceased now, but, as far as interesting characters in the media and pop-culture, he was a gim! I, personally, found it insane that he did the things he did, but, as I've expressed before, he benefited the animal kingdom, and the guy was seriously, an animal himself. That dude loved life, literally, loved life; nature, animals, being among animals, eating with animals, driving around town with various animal-life in his Jeep...hanging with his posse of animal-experts and, most likely, a few crocodiles. I promise you, I won't bring Steve Irwin back up in any more future blog posts. Where can I go from here? I've discussed interesting topics, from life-threatening to my selfish want for someone to selflessly give me a shit-load of money, and the interesting tale that would be, to a person who lived their life in the wild.
I realize that a lot of people now-a-days would like to dry-hump Michael Phelps, the gold-medal-winning fish-boy, because he has transcended from star-athlete to phenomenon, but do you really think it's necessary to berate him with comments on his Facebook every half-second? It's gonna take that guy a millennium to read all those, if he ever does, and you know by now, sitting at his computer and reading your comments is not his first priority. I'd be absolutely burned-out if I was him! He's going to be overwhelmed. But that's celebrity for ya; his life has completely changed from here-on-out; well, not really changed. It was probably more of a change taking something he enjoyed casually, like swimming, to making it his career, then eventually accomplishing his goal of winning every swimming event he was in at the Beijing Olympics. But now, he's a celebrity, which means promotion, life in the limelight, and various reaction from fans. I don't know - I'd be worn thin, but that's just me. Maybe he's taking it in stride; I don't know the guy. I guess it would be fucking awesome to have millions-upon-millions-upon-millions of fans; let's just hope they don't scrutinize him too severe if he flubs up. I mean, THAT NEVER HAPPENS.
Celebrity, in itself, is an interesting topic. I wish I had more interesting things to talk about... I've talked about regulations for yourself, like mine for drinking several liters of water a day, and I used to have one for my blog. This is a clear sign that I have nothing interesting to say, or more evidence of my idiocy.
Friday, August 22, 2008
My Life
I'll just state this bluntly - I don't do much of anything with my life. This past week I've been working. That's it. Working a big ol' fat 40 hour week. It's really not too bad; no complaining there. To be honest, I don't have much to complain about. If I'm not working, I'm at home, being a lazy-shit, and I enjoy just lying around, preferably on a couch, and occasionally I'll pass out and wake up unbeknown to my surroundings. I'm a fucking sloth; not to say I don't get exercise. I jump in the pool from time-to-time and rigorously swim. I also enjoy a walk. Jesus, what am I doing? - writing a fucking profile for eHarmony?
Sometimes when I'm half-asleep down in my basement, on the couch, maybe with a piece of pizza just oozing on to my fat, bare stomach - no, that's never the case - I'll think to myself, 'I could make a lot of money as a competitive-eater.' Or, 'Maybe I should write a book'. Or, 'Eli Sunday should've left Daniel Plainview the fuck alone.' I actually thought that last one this morning. Tonight is sort of, up-in-the-air.
Sometimes when I'm half-asleep down in my basement, on the couch, maybe with a piece of pizza just oozing on to my fat, bare stomach - no, that's never the case - I'll think to myself, 'I could make a lot of money as a competitive-eater.' Or, 'Maybe I should write a book'. Or, 'Eli Sunday should've left Daniel Plainview the fuck alone.' I actually thought that last one this morning. Tonight is sort of, up-in-the-air.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
TMMT
There is a new movie coming out called "The Midnight Meat Train" - which, I don't know if you've read any Clive Barker, but it's supposedly based off his short story with roughly the same name. I just think that movie title is spectacular, considering there are numerous sexually explicit innuendo you could create using that title. Once the movie hits DVD, you would be able to say I have The Midnight Meat Train in my mouth, if you put the DVD cover...in your mouth! Other instances, you could tell a girl - "Now that you've seen The Midnight Meat Train the movie, would you like to see MY Midnight Meat Train...the dick?!"
Yes, we can all have a ball when talking about midnight meat trains, but one serious matter - know when it's appropriate. Strangers do not want to see your midnight meat train, in fact, you might receive a knee in yours if you're not careful. Sexual harassment is a VERY serious matter. As far as plot goes, I would say a meat train is NOT a train full, or made-up of steaks, bräts, tenderloins, cutlets...I WOULD say a meat train is a train of slaughter and mutilation of it's passengers. Think the movie Saw on a subway. Yep.
So, a bloody-thriller about a massacre-train that kills people, and not a killing locomotive; great! Way da go, Hollywood! The Midnight Meat Train is squirting blood - you should probably have a doctor look at that...though a killer locomotive might be interesting.
Have dialog in it like, "As long as we stay off the tracks, we stay alive!"
"Don't you tell me you're going to give up, and let a train run over you!"
Mexican-character: "That's one crazy, fucked-up train (cue "Crazy Train" by Ozzy Osbourne) no wonder they call these loco - motives!"
IF you pick this one up, Sci-fi Channel, I demand royalties! No one goes off the rails with my killer-train idea! No one.
How about some more dialog-ideas!
Person one: "How do you stop a killer-train?"
Person two: "...lots and lots of explosives?!"
Person three: "If only we could go back in time, we could be in 1877 during the Great Railroad Strike. All railways were shutdown because of the strike - though - we'd only have 45 days of rest from this demonic locomotive, because the strike was put down by local and state militias, as well as by federal troops 45 days later...in 1877."
A COUPLE IS MAKING OUT IN THEIR CAR, PARKED ON AN ABANDONED STRIP OF RAILROAD TRACKS.
Girl: "Johnny, are you sure we're safe parking in the middle of a railroad crossing?!"
Johnny: "This strip of track isn't used anymore - there's a tiny Christmas-pine growing in the middle of the tracks. That little pine would be crushed if a train were passing through here. It's fine, Cheryl!"
Cheryl: "Okay...I guess I'm paranoid..."
COUPLE STARTS MAKING OUT AGAIN. SUDDENLY, OFF IN THE DISTANCE, WE HEAR A TRAIN WHISTLE.
Cheryl: "No, Johnny, wait! I swear I heard a...train-whistle..."
Johnny: "Would you quit worrying about that, and make out with me?!?? It was probably someone just fooling around..." (THEY'RE IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE)
WE HEAR THE WHISTLE AGAIN, ONLY LOADER.
Cheryl: "You heard it that time, didn't you?"
Johnny: "You mean, the TRAIN-WHISTLE! (TRYING TO SCARE CHERYL) Come on! If I didn't know any better, I'd say that YOU were afraid of trains!"
Cheryl: "Stop it, Johnny! You know as well as I do that my family was involved with that freak train accident fifteen years ago where a runaway train jumped the tracks because kids were putting quarters on the tracks, trying to flatten them, and that train barrelled into the gazebo my family rented for our family reunion....I saw them die, Johnny...luckily for me, I had to go get more ice or I WOULD'VE DIED!!!"
Johnny: "They say that train was a mad-train - forged in the fires of hell! The devil himself drove that train...I've read the news-reels, Cheryl...there wasn't supposed to be a train arriving in to the depot at 11:30, the time that train jumped the tracks and smashed your whole family...no train was supposed to come in to depot. My father worked the lines - NO TRAIN WAS SUPPOSED TO COME IN TO DEPOT..."
TRAIN-WHISTLE IS LOUDER, AND THIS TIME, A FAINT LIGHT CAN BE SEEN DOWN THE TRAIN-TRACKS.
Johnny: "Shit! A train is coming! What should we do?!"
Cheryl: "I thought you said there wouldn't be a train!"
Johnny: "Oh no! The car won't start!" ---and so on.
I'm done rambling for now. Have you enjoyed my insight?
Yes, we can all have a ball when talking about midnight meat trains, but one serious matter - know when it's appropriate. Strangers do not want to see your midnight meat train, in fact, you might receive a knee in yours if you're not careful. Sexual harassment is a VERY serious matter. As far as plot goes, I would say a meat train is NOT a train full, or made-up of steaks, bräts, tenderloins, cutlets...I WOULD say a meat train is a train of slaughter and mutilation of it's passengers. Think the movie Saw on a subway. Yep.
So, a bloody-thriller about a massacre-train that kills people, and not a killing locomotive; great! Way da go, Hollywood! The Midnight Meat Train is squirting blood - you should probably have a doctor look at that...though a killer locomotive might be interesting.
Have dialog in it like, "As long as we stay off the tracks, we stay alive!"
"Don't you tell me you're going to give up, and let a train run over you!"
Mexican-character: "That's one crazy, fucked-up train (cue "Crazy Train" by Ozzy Osbourne) no wonder they call these loco - motives!"
IF you pick this one up, Sci-fi Channel, I demand royalties! No one goes off the rails with my killer-train idea! No one.
How about some more dialog-ideas!
Person one: "How do you stop a killer-train?"
Person two: "...lots and lots of explosives?!"
Person three: "If only we could go back in time, we could be in 1877 during the Great Railroad Strike. All railways were shutdown because of the strike - though - we'd only have 45 days of rest from this demonic locomotive, because the strike was put down by local and state militias, as well as by federal troops 45 days later...in 1877."
A COUPLE IS MAKING OUT IN THEIR CAR, PARKED ON AN ABANDONED STRIP OF RAILROAD TRACKS.
Girl: "Johnny, are you sure we're safe parking in the middle of a railroad crossing?!"
Johnny: "This strip of track isn't used anymore - there's a tiny Christmas-pine growing in the middle of the tracks. That little pine would be crushed if a train were passing through here. It's fine, Cheryl!"
Cheryl: "Okay...I guess I'm paranoid..."
COUPLE STARTS MAKING OUT AGAIN. SUDDENLY, OFF IN THE DISTANCE, WE HEAR A TRAIN WHISTLE.
Cheryl: "No, Johnny, wait! I swear I heard a...train-whistle..."
Johnny: "Would you quit worrying about that, and make out with me?!?? It was probably someone just fooling around..." (THEY'RE IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE)
WE HEAR THE WHISTLE AGAIN, ONLY LOADER.
Cheryl: "You heard it that time, didn't you?"
Johnny: "You mean, the TRAIN-WHISTLE! (TRYING TO SCARE CHERYL) Come on! If I didn't know any better, I'd say that YOU were afraid of trains!"
Cheryl: "Stop it, Johnny! You know as well as I do that my family was involved with that freak train accident fifteen years ago where a runaway train jumped the tracks because kids were putting quarters on the tracks, trying to flatten them, and that train barrelled into the gazebo my family rented for our family reunion....I saw them die, Johnny...luckily for me, I had to go get more ice or I WOULD'VE DIED!!!"
Johnny: "They say that train was a mad-train - forged in the fires of hell! The devil himself drove that train...I've read the news-reels, Cheryl...there wasn't supposed to be a train arriving in to the depot at 11:30, the time that train jumped the tracks and smashed your whole family...no train was supposed to come in to depot. My father worked the lines - NO TRAIN WAS SUPPOSED TO COME IN TO DEPOT..."
TRAIN-WHISTLE IS LOUDER, AND THIS TIME, A FAINT LIGHT CAN BE SEEN DOWN THE TRAIN-TRACKS.
Johnny: "Shit! A train is coming! What should we do?!"
Cheryl: "I thought you said there wouldn't be a train!"
Johnny: "Oh no! The car won't start!" ---and so on.
I'm done rambling for now. Have you enjoyed my insight?
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Moderate Comments, Super Powers Revealed, and Effective Housing for Birds in Letters
It has been quite a few weeks since I checked my Blogger. To my surprise, once I got finished signing in, Blogger informed me that I had two, what they like to call, "Moderate Comments".
I'll get back to that topic in a few, right now, I'm going to tell a-bit-of back-story, if-you-will.
Three months ago, or more, I signed in to Blogger to edit my settings, and noticed a few minute details were not checked that needed "checked" - literal "checking" as in, checking a box to the left of something to make it active. Are you following; I know, I word things a bit differently, and a lot of times, I get side-tracked. Right now, is an example of being side-tracked. Any who, let's recap - I signed in to my Blogger initially to edit my settings, and I think, at the time, I also created a new post. Upon checking my Blogger settings, a few settings I wanted literally-checked as in checking a box to the left to make that feature active, were unchecked and thus, inactive.
So I checked them.
In response, my blog was now visible to the general public, which was why I rarely got comments back on my posts - I was invisible. By the way, just in case you were curious, if I had superhuman powers, I would love invisibility or perhaps what The Green Lantern has going for him - a ring or relic of some sorts with powers that come from another planet. Why invisibility? - and no, it's not for anything perverted; get your minds out of the gutter! I would like to be like the Batman, and sneak up on scumbags, and bash them in the head with some blunt object; that's how I would fight crime; they'd call me Nowhere Guy, or The Phantom, or Larry, but hopefully not, The Coward.
As for why I'd want to steal The Green Lantern's powers, it's quite simple - the dude can create force-fields with his ring. Let's say something is out of reach; you just nab it with the force-field you create around the object, and then hover to your fingertips. Why not super strength or invulnerability, you might have asked, or if you had not asked, are probably wondering what happened to the topic of changing my settings in Blogger - in time, my dear...
So why not super strength or invulnerability - well, The Green Lantern can create force-fields that can withstand any force known to mankind, thus, you pretty much already have invulnerability covered, unless your reaction time is a bit off. And super strength is covered as well - ol' GL has a pretty reliable ring that can, once again, create force fields around objects, which can be lifted, and these objects can range from heavy-to-super heavy, and no shape-specifications. If I could be an invisible GL, I'd have it made.
By switching my Blogger settings, I can now receive comments, and last month (May) I had two that Blogger had informed me of. I read them, and enjoyed them. Thank you for leaving comments, I sincerely appreciate them! Even ones criticizing my stuff - really, I do appreciate any feedback. I primarily still sign in and write to this blog because I want an outlet for my views, and, consequently, a lot of my views are what GQ call, "Taboo," or at least that's the "cool" reference-term that I've coined my subject. Some people say controversial, others immature, or sacrilegious (I don't know how to spell that word because I refuse any organized churches; and if I spelled it right, I would never have known) really, call it what you will, I have every right to say what I think, be it outrageous, what-have-you. If you argue right, you're never wrong.
What-have-you: you've probably noticed this phrase, or conjunction of words in many of my posts, if you are an avid reader, which I don't think I have. What-have-you is a conjunction of words I use a lot in every day lingo, and most notably, in my writing. It means "whatever," but it's not, yet, as cliched as "whatever". It's one of my many phrases. I don't use the word taboo that often, mainly because when I was eight-years-old, when I was looking for an old, recorded 'Shamu'-performance at Sea World, I picked out of my dad's secret-stash of video tapes, a pornographic video entitled "Taboo" that I thought said 'Shamu' because my dad's hand-writing is so shitty, and now, since then, Taboo has scarred me for life off chocolate pudding, swings - I'm terrified of swings, anything "swinging" from a ceiling or two poles...and muzzles - I DEFINITELY hate muzzles now because of my dad's sick, perverse collection of pornography...I'm fucking with ya; that whole Taboo thing was a joke.
I don't use the word Taboo because of the double O's at the end of it. Really, I don't like the look of the word - you've got 'T', which is up-and-down, but then a bulbous lower cased 'A' and the straight-and-narrow 'T' before it; then after 'A', you've got a lower cased 'B' which resembles a skinny, anorexic person with a big ass; that's just disproportionate. Finally, just when you think the word is uncharacteristically subjective, two O's bring up the rear...it's a very fat word.
I remember, as a kid - one of the many stupid things I generally did, things that really don't make sense to anyone else, but me - was, whenever I saw a store-front sign, and they were usually big-blocky-looking-letters, I'd count how many of the letters on the sign that could house a bird's nest. It all started when I first went to a 'Target' store in Wichita; it was one of the very first one's built in the area. Typical layout for the store; beige, sort-of "Earthy" flesh-toned foundation, with big, red letters for the store-name, 'Target'. But what interested me the most, was that some sort of birds, maybe robins, had nested in the letters, so there were nests in the letters 'A', 'G', and 'E' - two nests for the letter 'G', being lower cased with two "loops". So I thought of my name, and how many robin's nests could fit within it. Then, I started doing that for every word I saw; again, a stupid thing I did as a small child. If you think about it, birds could nest in four letters of the word 'Taboo'. Now, of course, a bird could nest in all five letters, if Taboo were lower cased-taboo; the birds able to nest, securely, on both sides of the straight t, where it is crossed, and the loop-tail at the end. I even had rules for this thing, whatever you wanna call it - call it insanity, it doesn't matter, we all do little corky-things as children. The rules were as so - birds can only nest in letters that have a roof to them, and can secure the nests. Example: the letter 'S' has two nooks a bird's nest could rest in, the top portion of the 'S', and bottom loop, and obviously, you don't have to take in to consideration if the letter were lower cased or upper cased. Both nooks have what I refer to as a "roof" - the top of the 'S' is the roof of the top portion, and the middle of the 'S' the roof to the bottom. Pretty easy, right? God, I hope you're paying attention - I know this is weird. With the lower cased letter 't', a bird could not house on where the 't' is crossed because that portion of the letter has no roof; the only place a bird could nest in that letter would be the tail-end. An upper cased 'T' is unhousable by birds, unless you count the little corners at the bottom; I excluded the upper cased 'T' from formidable housing for birds. If birds had invented a support-system for themselves, that could be made of spit and twigs, then an upper cased 'T' would work. That technology must be in the pre-or-post-production-stages, and hopefully, cross your fingers, birds will unveil that sometime in the near or distant future. So, if there were one redeemable quality to the word taboo, it is that it can be made into a bird housing complex because of all the round letters. That has to be the single most applicable commodity the word taboo has going for it in this society. I fucking hate the word!
Legal-pads, in my opinion - and let's look at that set of words for a sec. In my opinion, meaning, to me, my thought on this subject, my view, stance, point, in my opinion, legal-pads are the balls! I love 'em! As a journalist, the legal-pad was like the God of Paper; more so then the spiral notepad, that, on one hand, is multifaceted and oh-so convenient, the legal-pad is a beast - this long, lined, yellow bastard, and usually a more sturdier writing surface than anything else, had pack it in! One sheet, alone, is almost enough for a full interview, if you have left your digital voice recorder in your car, or, at home; where it's not on you. Any-sized-legal-pads are in a sense, the greatest innovation in paper-science. Is there a science of paper? We should have paper-scientists, perfecting the paper industry, creating paper so light and durable, it's virtually invisible and invincible at the same time, like an invisible Green Lantern, with phenomenal reflexes; a spidey-sense, if-you-will. If-you-will, and what-have-you; two-in-the-same.
I, actually - the glue, holding together the paper on a legal-pad, which is genius, by-the-way...I like to pull that off once it extends over the paper-portion of the pad. I do that quite frequently; my boss, on the other hand, hates it when I do that because it makes a mess. Really, it's good hygiene for the legal-pad, and, to be honest, these paper-scientists should be working on a product that automatically eliminates the overhang of glue on paper-pads. It seems like the field of science in the paper industry is just lazy anymore...
I'll get back to that topic in a few, right now, I'm going to tell a-bit-of back-story, if-you-will.
Three months ago, or more, I signed in to Blogger to edit my settings, and noticed a few minute details were not checked that needed "checked" - literal "checking" as in, checking a box to the left of something to make it active. Are you following; I know, I word things a bit differently, and a lot of times, I get side-tracked. Right now, is an example of being side-tracked. Any who, let's recap - I signed in to my Blogger initially to edit my settings, and I think, at the time, I also created a new post. Upon checking my Blogger settings, a few settings I wanted literally-checked as in checking a box to the left to make that feature active, were unchecked and thus, inactive.
So I checked them.
In response, my blog was now visible to the general public, which was why I rarely got comments back on my posts - I was invisible. By the way, just in case you were curious, if I had superhuman powers, I would love invisibility or perhaps what The Green Lantern has going for him - a ring or relic of some sorts with powers that come from another planet. Why invisibility? - and no, it's not for anything perverted; get your minds out of the gutter! I would like to be like the Batman, and sneak up on scumbags, and bash them in the head with some blunt object; that's how I would fight crime; they'd call me Nowhere Guy, or The Phantom, or Larry, but hopefully not, The Coward.
As for why I'd want to steal The Green Lantern's powers, it's quite simple - the dude can create force-fields with his ring. Let's say something is out of reach; you just nab it with the force-field you create around the object, and then hover to your fingertips. Why not super strength or invulnerability, you might have asked, or if you had not asked, are probably wondering what happened to the topic of changing my settings in Blogger - in time, my dear...
So why not super strength or invulnerability - well, The Green Lantern can create force-fields that can withstand any force known to mankind, thus, you pretty much already have invulnerability covered, unless your reaction time is a bit off. And super strength is covered as well - ol' GL has a pretty reliable ring that can, once again, create force fields around objects, which can be lifted, and these objects can range from heavy-to-super heavy, and no shape-specifications. If I could be an invisible GL, I'd have it made.
By switching my Blogger settings, I can now receive comments, and last month (May) I had two that Blogger had informed me of. I read them, and enjoyed them. Thank you for leaving comments, I sincerely appreciate them! Even ones criticizing my stuff - really, I do appreciate any feedback. I primarily still sign in and write to this blog because I want an outlet for my views, and, consequently, a lot of my views are what GQ call, "Taboo," or at least that's the "cool" reference-term that I've coined my subject. Some people say controversial, others immature, or sacrilegious (I don't know how to spell that word because I refuse any organized churches; and if I spelled it right, I would never have known) really, call it what you will, I have every right to say what I think, be it outrageous, what-have-you. If you argue right, you're never wrong.
What-have-you: you've probably noticed this phrase, or conjunction of words in many of my posts, if you are an avid reader, which I don't think I have. What-have-you is a conjunction of words I use a lot in every day lingo, and most notably, in my writing. It means "whatever," but it's not, yet, as cliched as "whatever". It's one of my many phrases. I don't use the word taboo that often, mainly because when I was eight-years-old, when I was looking for an old, recorded 'Shamu'-performance at Sea World, I picked out of my dad's secret-stash of video tapes, a pornographic video entitled "Taboo" that I thought said 'Shamu' because my dad's hand-writing is so shitty, and now, since then, Taboo has scarred me for life off chocolate pudding, swings - I'm terrified of swings, anything "swinging" from a ceiling or two poles...and muzzles - I DEFINITELY hate muzzles now because of my dad's sick, perverse collection of pornography...I'm fucking with ya; that whole Taboo thing was a joke.
I don't use the word Taboo because of the double O's at the end of it. Really, I don't like the look of the word - you've got 'T', which is up-and-down, but then a bulbous lower cased 'A' and the straight-and-narrow 'T' before it; then after 'A', you've got a lower cased 'B' which resembles a skinny, anorexic person with a big ass; that's just disproportionate. Finally, just when you think the word is uncharacteristically subjective, two O's bring up the rear...it's a very fat word.
I remember, as a kid - one of the many stupid things I generally did, things that really don't make sense to anyone else, but me - was, whenever I saw a store-front sign, and they were usually big-blocky-looking-letters, I'd count how many of the letters on the sign that could house a bird's nest. It all started when I first went to a 'Target' store in Wichita; it was one of the very first one's built in the area. Typical layout for the store; beige, sort-of "Earthy" flesh-toned foundation, with big, red letters for the store-name, 'Target'. But what interested me the most, was that some sort of birds, maybe robins, had nested in the letters, so there were nests in the letters 'A', 'G', and 'E' - two nests for the letter 'G', being lower cased with two "loops". So I thought of my name, and how many robin's nests could fit within it. Then, I started doing that for every word I saw; again, a stupid thing I did as a small child. If you think about it, birds could nest in four letters of the word 'Taboo'. Now, of course, a bird could nest in all five letters, if Taboo were lower cased-taboo; the birds able to nest, securely, on both sides of the straight t, where it is crossed, and the loop-tail at the end. I even had rules for this thing, whatever you wanna call it - call it insanity, it doesn't matter, we all do little corky-things as children. The rules were as so - birds can only nest in letters that have a roof to them, and can secure the nests. Example: the letter 'S' has two nooks a bird's nest could rest in, the top portion of the 'S', and bottom loop, and obviously, you don't have to take in to consideration if the letter were lower cased or upper cased. Both nooks have what I refer to as a "roof" - the top of the 'S' is the roof of the top portion, and the middle of the 'S' the roof to the bottom. Pretty easy, right? God, I hope you're paying attention - I know this is weird. With the lower cased letter 't', a bird could not house on where the 't' is crossed because that portion of the letter has no roof; the only place a bird could nest in that letter would be the tail-end. An upper cased 'T' is unhousable by birds, unless you count the little corners at the bottom; I excluded the upper cased 'T' from formidable housing for birds. If birds had invented a support-system for themselves, that could be made of spit and twigs, then an upper cased 'T' would work. That technology must be in the pre-or-post-production-stages, and hopefully, cross your fingers, birds will unveil that sometime in the near or distant future. So, if there were one redeemable quality to the word taboo, it is that it can be made into a bird housing complex because of all the round letters. That has to be the single most applicable commodity the word taboo has going for it in this society. I fucking hate the word!
Legal-pads, in my opinion - and let's look at that set of words for a sec. In my opinion, meaning, to me, my thought on this subject, my view, stance, point, in my opinion, legal-pads are the balls! I love 'em! As a journalist, the legal-pad was like the God of Paper; more so then the spiral notepad, that, on one hand, is multifaceted and oh-so convenient, the legal-pad is a beast - this long, lined, yellow bastard, and usually a more sturdier writing surface than anything else, had pack it in! One sheet, alone, is almost enough for a full interview, if you have left your digital voice recorder in your car, or, at home; where it's not on you. Any-sized-legal-pads are in a sense, the greatest innovation in paper-science. Is there a science of paper? We should have paper-scientists, perfecting the paper industry, creating paper so light and durable, it's virtually invisible and invincible at the same time, like an invisible Green Lantern, with phenomenal reflexes; a spidey-sense, if-you-will. If-you-will, and what-have-you; two-in-the-same.
I, actually - the glue, holding together the paper on a legal-pad, which is genius, by-the-way...I like to pull that off once it extends over the paper-portion of the pad. I do that quite frequently; my boss, on the other hand, hates it when I do that because it makes a mess. Really, it's good hygiene for the legal-pad, and, to be honest, these paper-scientists should be working on a product that automatically eliminates the overhang of glue on paper-pads. It seems like the field of science in the paper industry is just lazy anymore...
Thursday, May 15, 2008
I Need to Stop Staying Up Past Three in the Morning
Sometimes – out of sheer laziness – and a when I’m feeling a bit sluggish and foolish, I’ll determine what I will do later on or at that moment only if I hear certain words in episodes of “Scrubs”.
“Scrubs,” as a lot of us know, is an American television sitcom on NBC about doctors, mainly centralizing around these three; Dr. “J.D.” John Dorian, played by actor Zach Braff, Dr. Chris Turk, played by actor Donald Faison, and Dr. Elliott Reed, played by actress Sarah Chaulk. It was and still is executively produced by Bill Lawrence. He created the show as well. He also, previous to Scrubs, created, executively produced, and wrote for the little, well known gem-of-a-show called Spin City. I won’t go any further; everyone knows Scrubs; I just made an ass of myself with that introduction, damn’it! It’s as bad as the introductions before every movie on TCM, with that white-as-fuck haired geriatric who just stands in front of, like, a fireplace with a picture of him and his mastiff in a winged lounge chair, complete with a bookcase that would tip over if you pushed it. And, as he stands in front of this faked set, he’s holding a drink. He drinks while at work. That’s probably what he’s paid; fine scotch and a meal, that homeless cunt! He probably started laying out a cot in the corner of the sound stage, a week after he started doing those stupid segments. It takes an hour and a half of poking him and swatting him on the back with a switch, as he turns in his intoxicated stupor, grunting and moaning, finally waking with a start, and a few minutes of him groaning, and then outright yelling, “WHERE THE HELL AM I, YOU FUCKING CROUTS?! WHERE’VE YOU KEPPIN’ ME???” Then, utter nonsense. Every day gets worse in his retched life. Alzheimer’s always wins! “I’m gonna fight you Alzheimer’s!” “I think not,” replies a distant, distorted voice. “Did you say something? Where the HELL am I?”
A television show determines my life! Not really. Let me give you all an example; the five that read these little rants of mine, which are now back-logged on my Facebook. Austin Smith…look him up sometime. Or, keep tuning into my blog. HOORAY!!!
Here’s my example of what I’m talking about with the Scrubs thing. Bare with me – just a bit longer, ‘kay? I want to show you an example because visuals usually help, unless that visual were of the principal and the oldest teacher at your old high school having sex, smeared with mayonnaise. I don’t see how that helps anyone. So, how about that example? I was lounging on the sofa in front of my computer screen, watching Scrubs, and Turk and J.D. were talking about watching the movie Judge Dredd for the 99th time. And I thought to myself, “Judge Dredd was a pretty ridiculous movie, but not as bad as Robocop.”
Robocop is an American action film done in the 1980’s about a Detroit cop in the not-so-distant future, who, while tracking arms dealers, gets killed on the job, and, I might add, a pretty violent-way; not the only violent thing that occurs in that movie, either. It’s pretty violent. But that was the ‘80’s; pretty much everything was sex and violence. Any who, scientists resurrect him; kind of like the Six Million Dollar Man, only with a bulky, shiny metal suit. Stronger than Titanium, that son of a bitch was. And he carried a huge fucking gun that’s off-the-charts – like five-times the power of Harry Callahan’s (Dirty Harry, Magnum Force, Sudden Impact, The Enforcer, and The Dead Pool) Dirty Harry Callahan’s .44, and that shit blows holes in people’s bodies. The Robocop’s gun, if shot at a person, will leave behind parts; maybe half of two arms, the shins and feet; balls, pecker, the abdomen that houses all vital organs, excluding the powerhouse brain; all gone. Think of a robot-Harry Callahan without the smart ass remarks and blinding white-rage. So old Tin Man returns to the streets to hunt down those arms dealer fuckers who shot him-to-death, point blank, with pump-action rifles; he does indeed find them! And they get it, Callahan-style – one of them even gets splashed with a little toxic waste, and it deforms him where he looks like a plastic Army Man if you were to microwave him, and that bastard is lumbering around, until he gets hit by a car, and explodes. I said there would be violence!
I believe Robocop is a far-superior work of awesome shit than Stallone’s Judge Dredd, and my description has helped reinforce that opinion within my brain. So obviously, with Robocop on the brain, I thought, “Maybe I should watch Robocop,” since I own that masterpiece on DVD. But laziness and the herb got the better of my inhibitions, and there was no way I was getting up from the comfort of my couch. Unless – and here is the important part – before the end of the episode, I were to hear these words in succession, but not right after the other; “Murphy” – the name of an incompetent doctor on the show Scrubs, as well as the last name of the Robocop, when he was human – “gun,” and “robot” or “cop”. I was off by one word; robot or cop, I know, I could have picked a better third-word, like “arson”.
I continued to watch Scrubs, which led to me remembering that I had not written a blog in quite a while, and then a light went off in my head, and I realized that that random impulse to judge my actions by what was said, in succession, not back-to-back, BUT most certainly, in sort of a random order, in the dialogue of a Scrubs episode, was enough rubbish to fill a post. I’m telling you right now, a lot of these posts are conceived like the one you just read; a thought will slip in my head at a pretty random time, and I’ll roll with it, crafting it into something legible and slightly comprehensible.
My parents went to Washington and brought me back an Irish tin whistle. It’s a bit childish, but it comes with some sheet music – one of the pieces of sheet music is Scarborough Fair by Simon & Garfunkel, and when I play it, it sounds like something that would be played at a Renaissance Fair, and I’ll be honest, Renaissance Fairs are interesting. I dig ‘em! You can carry a sword on you at a Renaissance Fair and not look like a lunatic, or get arrested. They sell hand-crafted weaponry at Renaissance Fairs. Dressing up is optional; I might be open to dressing up if I could create such a great disguise, it fools everyone, and I’m unrecognizable. Or, if I could have in my possession smoke pellets, that I would throw on the ground, and then while my pursuers are dazed and blinded by dyed smoke that smells like burnt hair, I “blend in” to the crowd, and I’m never seen again. They’d call me Shadow or Rogue. Yes, I quite enjoy Rogue…with a straight, Spaniard-style moustache and goatee.
“Scrubs,” as a lot of us know, is an American television sitcom on NBC about doctors, mainly centralizing around these three; Dr. “J.D.” John Dorian, played by actor Zach Braff, Dr. Chris Turk, played by actor Donald Faison, and Dr. Elliott Reed, played by actress Sarah Chaulk. It was and still is executively produced by Bill Lawrence. He created the show as well. He also, previous to Scrubs, created, executively produced, and wrote for the little, well known gem-of-a-show called Spin City. I won’t go any further; everyone knows Scrubs; I just made an ass of myself with that introduction, damn’it! It’s as bad as the introductions before every movie on TCM, with that white-as-fuck haired geriatric who just stands in front of, like, a fireplace with a picture of him and his mastiff in a winged lounge chair, complete with a bookcase that would tip over if you pushed it. And, as he stands in front of this faked set, he’s holding a drink. He drinks while at work. That’s probably what he’s paid; fine scotch and a meal, that homeless cunt! He probably started laying out a cot in the corner of the sound stage, a week after he started doing those stupid segments. It takes an hour and a half of poking him and swatting him on the back with a switch, as he turns in his intoxicated stupor, grunting and moaning, finally waking with a start, and a few minutes of him groaning, and then outright yelling, “WHERE THE HELL AM I, YOU FUCKING CROUTS?! WHERE’VE YOU KEPPIN’ ME???” Then, utter nonsense. Every day gets worse in his retched life. Alzheimer’s always wins! “I’m gonna fight you Alzheimer’s!” “I think not,” replies a distant, distorted voice. “Did you say something? Where the HELL am I?”
A television show determines my life! Not really. Let me give you all an example; the five that read these little rants of mine, which are now back-logged on my Facebook. Austin Smith…look him up sometime. Or, keep tuning into my blog. HOORAY!!!
Here’s my example of what I’m talking about with the Scrubs thing. Bare with me – just a bit longer, ‘kay? I want to show you an example because visuals usually help, unless that visual were of the principal and the oldest teacher at your old high school having sex, smeared with mayonnaise. I don’t see how that helps anyone. So, how about that example? I was lounging on the sofa in front of my computer screen, watching Scrubs, and Turk and J.D. were talking about watching the movie Judge Dredd for the 99th time. And I thought to myself, “Judge Dredd was a pretty ridiculous movie, but not as bad as Robocop.”
Robocop is an American action film done in the 1980’s about a Detroit cop in the not-so-distant future, who, while tracking arms dealers, gets killed on the job, and, I might add, a pretty violent-way; not the only violent thing that occurs in that movie, either. It’s pretty violent. But that was the ‘80’s; pretty much everything was sex and violence. Any who, scientists resurrect him; kind of like the Six Million Dollar Man, only with a bulky, shiny metal suit. Stronger than Titanium, that son of a bitch was. And he carried a huge fucking gun that’s off-the-charts – like five-times the power of Harry Callahan’s (Dirty Harry, Magnum Force, Sudden Impact, The Enforcer, and The Dead Pool) Dirty Harry Callahan’s .44, and that shit blows holes in people’s bodies. The Robocop’s gun, if shot at a person, will leave behind parts; maybe half of two arms, the shins and feet; balls, pecker, the abdomen that houses all vital organs, excluding the powerhouse brain; all gone. Think of a robot-Harry Callahan without the smart ass remarks and blinding white-rage. So old Tin Man returns to the streets to hunt down those arms dealer fuckers who shot him-to-death, point blank, with pump-action rifles; he does indeed find them! And they get it, Callahan-style – one of them even gets splashed with a little toxic waste, and it deforms him where he looks like a plastic Army Man if you were to microwave him, and that bastard is lumbering around, until he gets hit by a car, and explodes. I said there would be violence!
I believe Robocop is a far-superior work of awesome shit than Stallone’s Judge Dredd, and my description has helped reinforce that opinion within my brain. So obviously, with Robocop on the brain, I thought, “Maybe I should watch Robocop,” since I own that masterpiece on DVD. But laziness and the herb got the better of my inhibitions, and there was no way I was getting up from the comfort of my couch. Unless – and here is the important part – before the end of the episode, I were to hear these words in succession, but not right after the other; “Murphy” – the name of an incompetent doctor on the show Scrubs, as well as the last name of the Robocop, when he was human – “gun,” and “robot” or “cop”. I was off by one word; robot or cop, I know, I could have picked a better third-word, like “arson”.
I continued to watch Scrubs, which led to me remembering that I had not written a blog in quite a while, and then a light went off in my head, and I realized that that random impulse to judge my actions by what was said, in succession, not back-to-back, BUT most certainly, in sort of a random order, in the dialogue of a Scrubs episode, was enough rubbish to fill a post. I’m telling you right now, a lot of these posts are conceived like the one you just read; a thought will slip in my head at a pretty random time, and I’ll roll with it, crafting it into something legible and slightly comprehensible.
My parents went to Washington and brought me back an Irish tin whistle. It’s a bit childish, but it comes with some sheet music – one of the pieces of sheet music is Scarborough Fair by Simon & Garfunkel, and when I play it, it sounds like something that would be played at a Renaissance Fair, and I’ll be honest, Renaissance Fairs are interesting. I dig ‘em! You can carry a sword on you at a Renaissance Fair and not look like a lunatic, or get arrested. They sell hand-crafted weaponry at Renaissance Fairs. Dressing up is optional; I might be open to dressing up if I could create such a great disguise, it fools everyone, and I’m unrecognizable. Or, if I could have in my possession smoke pellets, that I would throw on the ground, and then while my pursuers are dazed and blinded by dyed smoke that smells like burnt hair, I “blend in” to the crowd, and I’m never seen again. They’d call me Shadow or Rogue. Yes, I quite enjoy Rogue…with a straight, Spaniard-style moustache and goatee.
Saturday, March 08, 2008
Near-Anniversary Blog
I have been blogging on here for, going-on, two years now. One word: impressive. For my Facebook readers, this sentence will not have made any sense whatsoever. Psst: I feed my blog to my Facebook. My blog has been around for a long time - the first mile-mark in a race that never ends. Speaking of which, this running thing, I'm not in to it, though, I can see how it could be therapeutic. You just run until you can't breathe anymore, and are exhausted, then you rest or, I guess, first you better stretch-it-out. Like doing a warm-up before an exercise, you've gotta do what I like to call a cool-down, and no, I'm not talking about shovelling a scoop of ice down your boxer shorts on to your penis; no, my friend, I'm talking about "stretching-it-out". As you have probably already noticed, I don't run, I rarely exercise, so I am not-on-top of the whole lingo used.
A "cool-down," according to my elementary gym teacher, is used to relax your muscles so they don't tighten-up. The last thing I want to think about lounging after a good run that I don't take is a charlie-horse because I didn't "cool-down". Warm-up, cool-down; make sense? It better! It sucks for the people who don't heed the endless warnings and precautions of the elementary gym teacher because the person is A.) fatter than you are B.) they drink heavily in their office before, during, and after class, or C.) are really a certified English-instructor who was forced by the school board to take over gym class after the other teacher/girls' basketball coach was fired for having sex with students. Let's take a look at this thought.
A.) the teacher is fatter than you are - I remember in elementary school, having to run a mile for some state-approved bullshit. Here's what I'm trying to say: what we used to have to do, since forever, at my elementary school, was run a mile every year; once a year to prove that our school was actually doing gym-stuff/anything productive during the physical education (P.E.) period, and not just letting us throw thick, rubber balls at each other, or tying up/whipping other classmates (who don't even have to be in the class; if they were pacing outside the gymnasium, they were whipped) with the jump ropes. We were also too cheap at my school to provide a "paved" black-top track for us to run around; ours was gravel/dirt which equals, very uncomfortable to run on. Sometimes, you would land your footing wrong on a pot-hole, and twist your ankle; it was not pleasant, to say the least. And the person firing-you-up/trying-to-fire-you-up/pissing-you-off-while-you-run-and-they-sit-on-their-fat-ass-and-watch-you-run was this big, behemoth of a woman, who I would imagine, collected testicles from men she encountered. "Pick up the pace, Austin!" Yeah, I'd like to pick-you-up and throw you off a cliff...though I'm not licensed to rent a folk-lift, fat ass! Jesus, to this day, I'd like to challenge my old gym teacher to a foot race. And I'd beat her. Then, I'd stretch-it-out, sit my ass down, and yell, "Pick up the pace, ..." I forgot my gym teacher's name...
I'll skip letter B's explanation, because we all know janitors and gym teachers alike enjoy heavy drinking/sex with each other...no need to go into all the mess...or is there? A janitor/gym teacher orgy! I hereby will invest all I have to film that, and market it as the next porn-craze.
C.) the gym teacher is really a certified English-instructor who was forced by the school board to take over gym class after the other teacher/girls' basketball coach was fired for having sex with students. Never happened at any of the schools I attended, though it has happened many-a-times at schools across America. Closest thing I've encountered with that was having an English teacher, who was really a physical educator/football coach who got caught trying to scam the magnificent pharmacists at Walgreen's, for medication. He also was fired a week before that, from our high school, for acting like a drunkard at one of our home football games. Turned out, he was higher than a mother fucker...
Logically, you should never trust the desperate gym teacher, right? Or should you not trust the janitor? I know my janitor in high school was all about the pussy...and huffing cleaning supplies... As far as movies go, the janitor/gym teacher is either a bad ass or the first one to suspect something is a little off. Two movies, for an example, are 'The Faculty' and 'Disturbing Behavior'. In 'Disturbing Behavior', it is the janitor who helps take-down the company responsible for brainwashing the students. I believe he ends up driving his truck full of explosives in to a crowd of brainwashed students, killing them all, except maybe two, or one...for those of you who have never seen the film, the janitor helps take down the company responsible for brainwashing the entire school of students - basically, brainwashed to be academic scholars, but it really turns them into suicidal/homicidal maniacs - and it's the janitor who drives a truck full of explosives into a crowd of these fuckers to take them out, with explosions, and fire, and a golden, singing, sword...
As for 'The Faculty', even though the gym teacher/coach was a bad guy, he was a bad ass, and, as far as actors go, he's got a real bad ass-look about him.
Actor Robert Patrick
Look at that magnificent bastard! Did somebody surprise him at a kegger and take his picture? That guy looks trashed! The picture is not showing this, but that tuxedo he's wearing is most likely sleeveless. That's what you get for over-dressing for a Tobey Keith concert. Just look at that mug! All worn and rough - it's like, when the doctors delivered him as a baby, they broke a beer bottle over his face to make him cry instead of smacking him on the ass. Was his mother's breast milk grain alcohol? - MY GOD! If or when he dies, he could donate his leathery head to the NFL.
I find myself a little obsessed with this actor, mainly because I have referenced the T-1000 bot (Liquid-metal Man) from Terminator 2 in a few of my posts...and he played that character in the movie. Him as a football coach; I see it in him! Guy looks like he chain smokes and sleeps on his face a lot, good qualities to have when applying for a gym teacher-position. I've lost this train of thought, if I had one to start with. Typing and having Blogger fuck up on me for the past 2-hours has killed this post. Way da go, Blogger, I hope a rattlesnake bites you in the throat! As for my one reader, 'cool-down' after rigorous exercise; charlie-horses hurt like a son of a bitch!
A "cool-down," according to my elementary gym teacher, is used to relax your muscles so they don't tighten-up. The last thing I want to think about lounging after a good run that I don't take is a charlie-horse because I didn't "cool-down". Warm-up, cool-down; make sense? It better! It sucks for the people who don't heed the endless warnings and precautions of the elementary gym teacher because the person is A.) fatter than you are B.) they drink heavily in their office before, during, and after class, or C.) are really a certified English-instructor who was forced by the school board to take over gym class after the other teacher/girls' basketball coach was fired for having sex with students. Let's take a look at this thought.
A.) the teacher is fatter than you are - I remember in elementary school, having to run a mile for some state-approved bullshit. Here's what I'm trying to say: what we used to have to do, since forever, at my elementary school, was run a mile every year; once a year to prove that our school was actually doing gym-stuff/anything productive during the physical education (P.E.) period, and not just letting us throw thick, rubber balls at each other, or tying up/whipping other classmates (who don't even have to be in the class; if they were pacing outside the gymnasium, they were whipped) with the jump ropes. We were also too cheap at my school to provide a "paved" black-top track for us to run around; ours was gravel/dirt which equals, very uncomfortable to run on. Sometimes, you would land your footing wrong on a pot-hole, and twist your ankle; it was not pleasant, to say the least. And the person firing-you-up/trying-to-fire-you-up/pissing-you-off-while-you-run-and-they-sit-on-their-fat-ass-and-watch-you-run was this big, behemoth of a woman, who I would imagine, collected testicles from men she encountered. "Pick up the pace, Austin!" Yeah, I'd like to pick-you-up and throw you off a cliff...though I'm not licensed to rent a folk-lift, fat ass! Jesus, to this day, I'd like to challenge my old gym teacher to a foot race. And I'd beat her. Then, I'd stretch-it-out, sit my ass down, and yell, "Pick up the pace, ..." I forgot my gym teacher's name...
I'll skip letter B's explanation, because we all know janitors and gym teachers alike enjoy heavy drinking/sex with each other...no need to go into all the mess...or is there? A janitor/gym teacher orgy! I hereby will invest all I have to film that, and market it as the next porn-craze.
C.) the gym teacher is really a certified English-instructor who was forced by the school board to take over gym class after the other teacher/girls' basketball coach was fired for having sex with students. Never happened at any of the schools I attended, though it has happened many-a-times at schools across America. Closest thing I've encountered with that was having an English teacher, who was really a physical educator/football coach who got caught trying to scam the magnificent pharmacists at Walgreen's, for medication. He also was fired a week before that, from our high school, for acting like a drunkard at one of our home football games. Turned out, he was higher than a mother fucker...
Logically, you should never trust the desperate gym teacher, right? Or should you not trust the janitor? I know my janitor in high school was all about the pussy...and huffing cleaning supplies... As far as movies go, the janitor/gym teacher is either a bad ass or the first one to suspect something is a little off. Two movies, for an example, are 'The Faculty' and 'Disturbing Behavior'. In 'Disturbing Behavior', it is the janitor who helps take-down the company responsible for brainwashing the students. I believe he ends up driving his truck full of explosives in to a crowd of brainwashed students, killing them all, except maybe two, or one...for those of you who have never seen the film, the janitor helps take down the company responsible for brainwashing the entire school of students - basically, brainwashed to be academic scholars, but it really turns them into suicidal/homicidal maniacs - and it's the janitor who drives a truck full of explosives into a crowd of these fuckers to take them out, with explosions, and fire, and a golden, singing, sword...
As for 'The Faculty', even though the gym teacher/coach was a bad guy, he was a bad ass, and, as far as actors go, he's got a real bad ass-look about him.
Actor Robert PatrickLook at that magnificent bastard! Did somebody surprise him at a kegger and take his picture? That guy looks trashed! The picture is not showing this, but that tuxedo he's wearing is most likely sleeveless. That's what you get for over-dressing for a Tobey Keith concert. Just look at that mug! All worn and rough - it's like, when the doctors delivered him as a baby, they broke a beer bottle over his face to make him cry instead of smacking him on the ass. Was his mother's breast milk grain alcohol? - MY GOD! If or when he dies, he could donate his leathery head to the NFL.
I find myself a little obsessed with this actor, mainly because I have referenced the T-1000 bot (Liquid-metal Man) from Terminator 2 in a few of my posts...and he played that character in the movie. Him as a football coach; I see it in him! Guy looks like he chain smokes and sleeps on his face a lot, good qualities to have when applying for a gym teacher-position. I've lost this train of thought, if I had one to start with. Typing and having Blogger fuck up on me for the past 2-hours has killed this post. Way da go, Blogger, I hope a rattlesnake bites you in the throat! As for my one reader, 'cool-down' after rigorous exercise; charlie-horses hurt like a son of a bitch!
Thursday, February 21, 2008
(blank post)
I haven't written on here for awhile now. Sucks when you don't have anything to write. Am I that uninteresting to not be able to think of something to write? You know, sometimes when conversing with friends I haven't seen in a long, long time, I'll be asked what I've been up to since the break, and I have come to realize, I don't do anything. Well, I take that back...I hang out with a lot of people over the week, but we usually just sit around, or we go out to eat and talk, and sometimes we play video games, so it is not like I'm not busy, or popular around people, it's just - this town is really a bummer. There is really nothing to do in Hutchinson, Kansas and people at this point might be saying, find something to do. This town is boring, there's nothing to do.
Sure, we have a club, in fact, a few, and bars - well, I take that back - we have more bars than we have clubs. What else is there to do in a Hutchinson bar besides drinking? I've seen people sing; they flock around the karaoke machine, and slowly kill us all with badly harmonized lyrics to classic love songs from the 80's and 90's, everyone takes a sharp object and inserts it into their ears, others commit suicide with the help of an extension cord. Some people dance: yeah, get hammered drunk and then just stand swaying to the music. A few minutes later you're dizzy, sweating out the booze, and now are desperate for a seat. On occasion, you get the person who thinks dancing means you jump up-and-down in a crowd of people. These people tend to throw up almost immediately. What about the people who think they are dancing, then crowd-surf only to be dropped on their heads as more and more of the people lose interest in the activity, and abandoned to keep a person hoisted up in the air? Or the fired-up people who come to the bar already high, start drinking, are notoriously known to be an "angry drunk" and then begin starting trouble, maybe a fight has broken out, or they are yelling out swear words and being a menace, and now they stand outside trying to persuade the so-called "bouncer" to let them in, if they promise to behave? No, I don't like that. And bouncer is the wrong description for this person. Door-man. Door-person. Door-people. Gatekeeper. Is there a key-master?
I don't go to the clubs here, or, I guess, anywhere, considering I've only been to two clubs in my life, and they were both located here. Let's see, you limit-out the clubs in town, oh, and the bars because a lot of them are gross-looking and I'm not too fond of the whole mickey-in-your-drink, wake-up-in-a-stranger's-cellar, after-a night-of-rape-type person. Of course, you've got the movie theatre, and we even have a bowling alley for entertainment. We used to have a baller mini-golf course until they stopped taking care of it, then it closed. We have coffee shops, but they're all mediocre; I could drink coffee in my house and have the same experience, that's if I drank coffee - I don't. So I can say self-sufficiently that I don't do anything. And I've already realized that's pretty sad.
I never have anything to say when I meet new people, and I hate that! I'm a first-impression kind of guy - you have to excel at that first introduction. Basically, this rant has come to serve my inadequacy, or a reference to my drab existence. I'm not going to further discuss myself, wasting a good post, so I decided, spur of the moment-type deal, to finish this post off with a few random thoughts of mine, as well as a post I only saved as a draft, apparently, and never actually posted. So here we go.
Jesus Would Make a Killing Selling Car Insurance
Yes, I said it! If you were involved in a car accident, let's say, totalling your car completely, if Jesus was your car insurance claim, wouldn't a simple apology fix everything? Jesus would snap his fingers, and (wah-la!) new car. Jesus would also offer huge savings, as opposed to other insurance claimers; one rate, accidental forgiveness, absolutely no price spikes. You get in an accident, you would not have to worry about paying more to be insured; Jesus would proclaim, "I am not here for personal gain. I'm only here to give you honest and trusting coverage on your new and older model vehicle."
Pretty much, if Jesus worked from home, he'd probably make a killing in any profession. Just imagine Jesus having a backyard burger establishment, Jesus wearing a "Kiss-the-Cook" apron, grilling in an authentic, back-porch atmosphere, complete with a mini-golf course for the kids and adults who are kids-at-heart.
I just recently found this post, labeled as a draft on my dashboard, read through it, and thought, hey, what a clever example of a person thinking abstractly. At the time, it was another witty way for me to express a point, but now, I'm at a loss as to where I initially was taking the thought. I mean, was I going to approach the topic of insurance fraud, mainly in the automotive industry, or was I simply ranting about how successful Jesus could be living today, with his special abilities and all-that-jazz...who knows...personally, I'd like to see Jesus as a rapper. I don't remember if I've done this yet or not...
Random Thoughts
I'm sick of seeing the fat guy from Borat without a shirt or fully nude. It bothers me. Does that guy not own clothes? Where did they find that guy? Does he work for meatball subs? I feel bad for his body, and other vital organs sustaining his fat ass; his heart must look like a mini basketball stuffed with ricotta cheese! People are probably saying, "But Austin, you're fat." This guy is bigger than me. I can say these kind of things - I compare it to some black people using the N-word.
Harrison Ford a.k.a Indiana Jones looks like a girl now that he has a tiny diamond earring. I can seriously see Harrison Ford, after breaking Calista Flockhart's pelvis when they engaged in sex, going to the bathroom and looking in the mirror, saying, "I've still got it," then thinking to himself, "I should get a earring because I nailed a skeleton!" He decides, "I don't want a hoop, I could do without a loop, or a bulky, diamond-studded earlobe, with a platinum chain to swoop..." I don't know why Indiana Jones now thinks and talks like Dr. Seuss...don't really care actually, now to continue with my thought. So him and his girlfriend/wife Calista walk out in to public, and people are screaming, "That's Harrison Ford! Indy!!! COVER YOUR HEART!" Some douche bags pipe in, one imitating Chewbacca, the other saying, "Easy Chewy..." while someone else is pointing, "It's Han Solo...with Ally McBeal..." and all that other nonsense. Harrison gets his left ear pierced, and decides to go with the creepy-neighbor-who is-always-watching-you-intently-when-your-washing-your-car look. Or maybe the gay-antique-jewelery-shop-owner look. Or the I'm-hip-with-the-times-for-being-66-years-of-age look. Or how about the I-know-with-an-earring-I'll-look-like-a-pirate, but-I-can't-decide-whether-or-not-to-be-a-pirate-or-a-princess-or-a-pirate-princess! I'll-buy-this-tiny-stud-for-my-ear, look-I'm-a-pirate-princess! look??? I think I lost it with that one... It's hard to speculate what he was thinking, but it looks awful; get rid of it!
(the end)
Sure, we have a club, in fact, a few, and bars - well, I take that back - we have more bars than we have clubs. What else is there to do in a Hutchinson bar besides drinking? I've seen people sing; they flock around the karaoke machine, and slowly kill us all with badly harmonized lyrics to classic love songs from the 80's and 90's, everyone takes a sharp object and inserts it into their ears, others commit suicide with the help of an extension cord. Some people dance: yeah, get hammered drunk and then just stand swaying to the music. A few minutes later you're dizzy, sweating out the booze, and now are desperate for a seat. On occasion, you get the person who thinks dancing means you jump up-and-down in a crowd of people. These people tend to throw up almost immediately. What about the people who think they are dancing, then crowd-surf only to be dropped on their heads as more and more of the people lose interest in the activity, and abandoned to keep a person hoisted up in the air? Or the fired-up people who come to the bar already high, start drinking, are notoriously known to be an "angry drunk" and then begin starting trouble, maybe a fight has broken out, or they are yelling out swear words and being a menace, and now they stand outside trying to persuade the so-called "bouncer" to let them in, if they promise to behave? No, I don't like that. And bouncer is the wrong description for this person. Door-man. Door-person. Door-people. Gatekeeper. Is there a key-master?
I don't go to the clubs here, or, I guess, anywhere, considering I've only been to two clubs in my life, and they were both located here. Let's see, you limit-out the clubs in town, oh, and the bars because a lot of them are gross-looking and I'm not too fond of the whole mickey-in-your-drink, wake-up-in-a-stranger's-cellar, after-a night-of-rape-type person. Of course, you've got the movie theatre, and we even have a bowling alley for entertainment. We used to have a baller mini-golf course until they stopped taking care of it, then it closed. We have coffee shops, but they're all mediocre; I could drink coffee in my house and have the same experience, that's if I drank coffee - I don't. So I can say self-sufficiently that I don't do anything. And I've already realized that's pretty sad.
I never have anything to say when I meet new people, and I hate that! I'm a first-impression kind of guy - you have to excel at that first introduction. Basically, this rant has come to serve my inadequacy, or a reference to my drab existence. I'm not going to further discuss myself, wasting a good post, so I decided, spur of the moment-type deal, to finish this post off with a few random thoughts of mine, as well as a post I only saved as a draft, apparently, and never actually posted. So here we go.
Jesus Would Make a Killing Selling Car Insurance
Yes, I said it! If you were involved in a car accident, let's say, totalling your car completely, if Jesus was your car insurance claim, wouldn't a simple apology fix everything? Jesus would snap his fingers, and (wah-la!) new car. Jesus would also offer huge savings, as opposed to other insurance claimers; one rate, accidental forgiveness, absolutely no price spikes. You get in an accident, you would not have to worry about paying more to be insured; Jesus would proclaim, "I am not here for personal gain. I'm only here to give you honest and trusting coverage on your new and older model vehicle."
Pretty much, if Jesus worked from home, he'd probably make a killing in any profession. Just imagine Jesus having a backyard burger establishment, Jesus wearing a "Kiss-the-Cook" apron, grilling in an authentic, back-porch atmosphere, complete with a mini-golf course for the kids and adults who are kids-at-heart.
I just recently found this post, labeled as a draft on my dashboard, read through it, and thought, hey, what a clever example of a person thinking abstractly. At the time, it was another witty way for me to express a point, but now, I'm at a loss as to where I initially was taking the thought. I mean, was I going to approach the topic of insurance fraud, mainly in the automotive industry, or was I simply ranting about how successful Jesus could be living today, with his special abilities and all-that-jazz...who knows...personally, I'd like to see Jesus as a rapper. I don't remember if I've done this yet or not...
Random Thoughts
I'm sick of seeing the fat guy from Borat without a shirt or fully nude. It bothers me. Does that guy not own clothes? Where did they find that guy? Does he work for meatball subs? I feel bad for his body, and other vital organs sustaining his fat ass; his heart must look like a mini basketball stuffed with ricotta cheese! People are probably saying, "But Austin, you're fat." This guy is bigger than me. I can say these kind of things - I compare it to some black people using the N-word.
Harrison Ford a.k.a Indiana Jones looks like a girl now that he has a tiny diamond earring. I can seriously see Harrison Ford, after breaking Calista Flockhart's pelvis when they engaged in sex, going to the bathroom and looking in the mirror, saying, "I've still got it," then thinking to himself, "I should get a earring because I nailed a skeleton!" He decides, "I don't want a hoop, I could do without a loop, or a bulky, diamond-studded earlobe, with a platinum chain to swoop..." I don't know why Indiana Jones now thinks and talks like Dr. Seuss...don't really care actually, now to continue with my thought. So him and his girlfriend/wife Calista walk out in to public, and people are screaming, "That's Harrison Ford! Indy!!! COVER YOUR HEART!" Some douche bags pipe in, one imitating Chewbacca, the other saying, "Easy Chewy..." while someone else is pointing, "It's Han Solo...with Ally McBeal..." and all that other nonsense. Harrison gets his left ear pierced, and decides to go with the creepy-neighbor-who is-always-watching-you-intently-when-your-washing-your-car look. Or maybe the gay-antique-jewelery-shop-owner look. Or the I'm-hip-with-the-times-for-being-66-years-of-age look. Or how about the I-know-with-an-earring-I'll-look-like-a-pirate, but-I-can't-decide-whether-or-not-to-be-a-pirate-or-a-princess-or-a-pirate-princess! I'll-buy-this-tiny-stud-for-my-ear, look-I'm-a-pirate-princess! look??? I think I lost it with that one... It's hard to speculate what he was thinking, but it looks awful; get rid of it!
(the end)
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Teeth
I have to admit, I browse the www.imdb.com quite a bit. The people behind that website know movies, and I love movies, so our love for movies is pretty orgasmic to say the least. While hunting down upcoming movie releases to my theatre and neighboring theaters, and all theaters nationwide, I happened to unearth a film that will be released in May, in France, called "Teeth". I don't appreciate the work of dentists. Something seems a little off when you go in for a root canal and end up having two done for the price of two, and the procedure is spread out in the coarse of about two months. That there is an example of a sentence full of two's. I guess I'm bitter. So a movie about teeth didn't strike my fancy, assuming that a movie entitled "Teeth" is in some way Hollywood's take on the dentistry world. However, I was thoroughly surprised to learn that the movie "Teeth" is about a teenage girl with a set of chompers in her vagina. Yes, that is right, this girl has what doctors and scholars alike call "Vaginal Dentata," or, vagina-teeth.
The film has been rated R for disturbing sequences involving sexuality and violence, language and some drug use. I have a sneaking suspicion that this girl's vagina is going to take a bite out of American audiences, and probably a nibble or two off any penis that it comes in contact with. Really, what the fuck?! I know you want to push the envelope and everything, but my god, why vagina-teeth? I don't want to see teeth in a vagina! Just because a vagina has lips doesn't necessarily mean it needs teeth! Why teeth? Why not a sandwich? Do you have to feed a vagina with teeth? Does it have it's own stomach? Here's a movie idea: how about a penis with a knife for the tip?! I could make millions!
I don't want to see teeth in a vagina! I feel like a little kid hiding under a blanket in his bed, with just my eyes sticking out from above the covers....staring at a vagina - which in all other scenarios would be a pretty fantastic thing - oh no! That vagina has vaginal dentata! I was warned by my mom never to play with a vagina with teeth. Maybe that vagina should make an appointment with the dentist to remove those teeth. Is there a dentist who specifically does vagina-work? Do you get one set of vagina-teeth, or is it like mouth-teeth where you have a baby-set and an adult-set? God, I would hate to be the tooth fairy in charge of picking up those teeth....
The movie is obviously based on an urban legend because I have another sneaking suspicion vagina-teeth don't exist. I've never seen a vagina with teeth. Why would I sit through a movie to see a girl with teeth in her vagina? WHY should ANYONE see a movie that features vagina-teeth?! From what I've read, this movie has some gore. I bet you most of that gore is brought on by a vagina with teeth. That's why you don't mess with nature or cloning or playing god, anything like that. Teeth in a vagina is god's way of saying, "Fine! Wanna be a creator, huh?! A hot-shot stem-cell researcher...TEETH IN A VAGINA! BOOM! Let's see if you enjoy sex now!"
Here is the actual synopsis for the movie "Teeth" - 'Still a stranger to her own body, a high school student discovers she has a physical advantage when she becomes the object of male violence.' I'm thinking there is a rape-scene in this movie, and a rape-scene that's turned on its heal by, yet again, more teeth in a vagina. I guess that is one positive of it all - that if a guy is such a slim-ball, son of a bitch to rape a woman, she should be well-equipped with vagina-teeth. The irony of it all! ...rape is bad. Moral of the story: you decide to get fresh, forcing yourself on a girl...you get THE TEETH!
The film has been rated R for disturbing sequences involving sexuality and violence, language and some drug use. I have a sneaking suspicion that this girl's vagina is going to take a bite out of American audiences, and probably a nibble or two off any penis that it comes in contact with. Really, what the fuck?! I know you want to push the envelope and everything, but my god, why vagina-teeth? I don't want to see teeth in a vagina! Just because a vagina has lips doesn't necessarily mean it needs teeth! Why teeth? Why not a sandwich? Do you have to feed a vagina with teeth? Does it have it's own stomach? Here's a movie idea: how about a penis with a knife for the tip?! I could make millions!
I don't want to see teeth in a vagina! I feel like a little kid hiding under a blanket in his bed, with just my eyes sticking out from above the covers....staring at a vagina - which in all other scenarios would be a pretty fantastic thing - oh no! That vagina has vaginal dentata! I was warned by my mom never to play with a vagina with teeth. Maybe that vagina should make an appointment with the dentist to remove those teeth. Is there a dentist who specifically does vagina-work? Do you get one set of vagina-teeth, or is it like mouth-teeth where you have a baby-set and an adult-set? God, I would hate to be the tooth fairy in charge of picking up those teeth....
The movie is obviously based on an urban legend because I have another sneaking suspicion vagina-teeth don't exist. I've never seen a vagina with teeth. Why would I sit through a movie to see a girl with teeth in her vagina? WHY should ANYONE see a movie that features vagina-teeth?! From what I've read, this movie has some gore. I bet you most of that gore is brought on by a vagina with teeth. That's why you don't mess with nature or cloning or playing god, anything like that. Teeth in a vagina is god's way of saying, "Fine! Wanna be a creator, huh?! A hot-shot stem-cell researcher...TEETH IN A VAGINA! BOOM! Let's see if you enjoy sex now!"
Here is the actual synopsis for the movie "Teeth" - 'Still a stranger to her own body, a high school student discovers she has a physical advantage when she becomes the object of male violence.' I'm thinking there is a rape-scene in this movie, and a rape-scene that's turned on its heal by, yet again, more teeth in a vagina. I guess that is one positive of it all - that if a guy is such a slim-ball, son of a bitch to rape a woman, she should be well-equipped with vagina-teeth. The irony of it all! ...rape is bad. Moral of the story: you decide to get fresh, forcing yourself on a girl...you get THE TEETH!
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