Friday, October 30, 2009

FUCK YOU GAINVESVILLE DODGE DEALERSHIP

I'm pissed. Goddamn pissed.

Saturday morning, it's beautiful outside, and I'm about to play some tennis. I like playing tennis. Yeah, at first glance, tennis might seem like a pussy sport. Well, actually it is. But it's fun as hell.

So I get in my car, and try to shift out of park, AND THE GODDAMN SHIFTER WON'T MOVE.

WHAT THE FUCK.

I reef on this thing for like 3 minutes, breaking a sweat, I almost break the shifter off. Holy shit I'm pissed. The car started up just fine, it just won't shift out of park. The dude I'm playing tennis with knows a bit about cars, he'll probably know what's going on, and end up being something stupid. No biggie, I'll take heckyeahwoman's car, and come back, and follow whatever advice he gives me.

After playing for an hour and a half, and losing both sets (now I'm really pissed), I get back and am eager to give my car another try. He suggests jiggling the keys while jiggling the shifter. I try it.

It doesn't work.

Back to sweating and being pissed.

Fuck it, I'll have to have it towed to the dealership, and have them fix it. Whatever, it's an 07, and I have a 3 year/36,000 mile warranty. It's 2009, and I'm at 32k miles, so I should be good. Lol @ only putting on 16k miles on it in the 2.5 years I've owned it.

Calling the dealership, and explaining the situation, they tell me I'm good to go, and to call the Chrysler towing company, and they'll tow it. For free. Sweet.

I call Chrysler, and the dude gets my info, and says he'll have someone there in 45 mins. Great! Then he drops the bomb.

"How are you going to pay for this?"

What motherfucker? Pay for it? I'm under warranty you son of a bitch.

"Actually you're car was purchased on October 19, 2009, and today is the 24th. Your warranty expired 5 days ago".

5 motherfucking days ago? What the fuck, how much does it cost?

"75 dollars".

Holy shit. I had no choice, my car wouldn't go, I needed to get it fixed. Fuck it.

Upon calling the dealership back, he tells me he's sorry, and that because the warranty is up, it'll cost me $325 to get it fixed. All I could do is explain to him my situation, and ask him if he thinks that's the right thing to do, considering this is a common problem with my make and model of car. Dodging the question, he suggested I call Chrysler.

So I did.

And I still haven't heard back from those pieces of shit.

$365 bucks later, on Wednesday, I have my car back. And there were a couple little screws on the wheel well that I asked him to replace, and he didn't even do that. What a fucking dipshit. I never use names in this blog, but I almost did here. That guy is an asshole. A worthless piece of shit mongoloid looking asshole.

Well, at least I got to borrow heckyeahwoman's car for 2 days to take to work. The thing about her car is, is that it doesn't have tinted windows. I like my windows nice and tinted, for a couple reasons.

1. Unlimited nosepicking. In my car I can pick my nose whenever I damn well please, without worrying about whether or not the shithead next to me can see. Hot slut in the next car over? NOSEPICK. Soccermom in a minivan, next to me at the red light, begging for the dong? NOSEPICK. The only concern is when a car is approaching me, because my windshield isn't tinted, you can see right in from the front. But otherwise, we're good to go.

2. Fixing my hair. You're probably aware of my well documented trips to get haircuts. I like to fix my hair in the rear view mirror on the way to work each morning. You know, just give it a good once over before I enter the office. It ain't easy being handsome. I don't need some hillbilly in the truck over, eyeballing me while I admire my dirty brown locks, ya dig.

3. Generally just eyeballing bitches. It's so much easier to just stare at some chicks rack when they can't see you in the car. I can't tell you how many times I've rolled through downtown, and nearly crashed my car because I was gawking at some slut's ass or chest. Goddamn, I swear the next step is a fleshlight.

One last thing: FUCK YOU GAINESVILLE DODGE. FUCK YOU DODGE. FUCK YOU CHRYSLER.

Everybody have an awesome weekend, I'll be at The Fest, man!

Thursday, October 29, 2009

ugliest chick ever, other stuff

Every day for some reason, on my ride home from work, when I get into town, heading South on 6th St, about from the point at which I head right past the cop shop, until I get to SW 2nd Ave, I look at the person driving every car that's going the other way past me.

I don't know why.

It's a 2 lane road, and for those 2-3 blocks, it's like bumper to bumper traffic the entire time. I manage to look at every person I pass, assuming they don't have really dark tinted windows.

Like, I try not to make eye contact or anything, I just try to see who's driving. I guess I've always been a people watcher. Maybe I should keep my eyes on the road lol. Some would call it a glance, other's would call it a child molester's leer; I would call it eyeballing.

Let's see, the time I'm going to tell you about, I think was last Thursday, when a couple noteworthy things happened.

First, right as my light was about to turn green, to cross University, I see some chick in an older station wagon running the yellow light, to make a left turn. I managed to glance at her, and I don't know, but the first thing that popped into my head was, "that was the ugliest chick I've ever seen".

I can't really describe her, I know she had glasses, shorter blondish hair, and looked kind of nerdy. The more I think about it, she wasn't really that ugly. Maybe "homely" would be a better word.

Actually, she was kind of decent looking. Maybe it was her ugly car that gave me such a bad taste in my mouth. Well, the shitty beef jerky I was snacking on was what gave me the sour taste in mah mouf. It was probably just the total package that turned me off.

Upon coming back into reality from the ugly chick episode, my ears suddenly became in tune with what was playing on the car stereo.



It's true, I was INSANELY PUMPED UP, and it wasn't even HUMP DAY. After starting the day off ready to explode, then getting beat down by a day at work, I was back at FULL PUMP, totally unexpectedly.

My car was a little faster, the sun a little brighter, my arms a little bigger. I was so pumped that I didn't even realize that I was gripping the steering wheel so furiously; that I was squeezing the life right out of it.

Being so pumped up, I knew I had to get home and go on a bike ride. It was destiny. Got home, changed, coerced heckyeahwoman into going with me, and just like that, the 16 mile journey began. It's funny it's mostly bikers on the trail, and just like in a car, you usually stay on the right side of the trail, and pass on the left. It's polite to generally warn whoever you're about to pass by saying something, alerting them that you'll be passing them.

We come up on two slores, walking in the middle of the trail. Most people naturally hear a biker coming up behind them, and instinctively move over to the right of the trail. Not these boxes, they move to the left a little. To the left? Where I'm heading to pass you?

I damn near ran them over. Seriously, I let these skanks know we were comin' up behind them, and then they move right into our path. Squeezing my brakes, I nearly skid my head right into one of their boobs lol. Lol at almost running this twat over.

Then she has the nerve to give me a snippy, "choose a side". So I gave her a, "get killed, whore".

After blowing my them, we wound up having a nice little ride, without further incident. Then, on our way back home, we saw them again, walking to their car. Brazenly pointing them out to heckyeahwoman, I loudly tell her, "look, it's those whores I almost ran over before".

Nice little Thursday.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

HUMP DAY PUMP UP: THE FEST EDITION

Every year Gainesville has "The Fest". It's like 300 punk, hardcore, metal, and gay bluegrass bands that invade our town.

It's different than any other fest I've ever been to, not just because it's awesome, but because of the way it's set up. See, most of the downtown bars participate, so instead of some huge parking lot, arena, or crazy fest setting, its just like 8-12 or whatever bars that have shows all day. It's really pretty awesome, and my mind is boggled how someone could finagle something like this.

So to pump you up, we're gonna view some awesome videos of bands playing The Fest.

Check this video of Converge out. They're not playing this year, but it's from their 2002 performance, and a fight breaks out. Make sure to watch at 2:40, when the bassist swings his bass like an axe, at some punk's head. Fuck yeah SEEING MOTHERFUCKERS GET HIT WITH MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS PUMPS ME UP.



Another great song by an awesome band, Dear Landlord: "I Live in Hell". Such a catchy song, and for 40 hours each week, most of us do live in hell. Go ahead, listen to this awesome song, get pumped up for me when I see them live, and you're at home sitting around with your thumb up your ass again.

Whatever, I'll be at the bar at 3:30 in the afternoon on Saturday. Probably with my thumb up my ass too. MEN WITH THUMBS UP THEIR ASSES PUMPS YOU UP (not me though, sorry).



A Wilhelm Scream is awesome. Lol @ the retards in the audience. RETARDS IN THE AUDIENCE PUMP ME UP.



You know what's coming next: my analogy. MY ANALOGIES PUMP US ALL UP.

I want you to think all the way back to the first video - the one with the bass player swinging his guitar at some dude. Imagine the rest of your week is the bass guitar that you're playing. Without even thinking twice, raise that thing up high, like an axe, and swing it down with all of your might, right on some unsuspecting asshole. Feel the calm as the guitar just disintegrates into wooden shards, just like the remaining hours of the week. Don't stop there. Pick up the biggest, most jagged shard you can find, and jam it into the nearest person's neck. Right into their throat.

Finish that motherfucker off, and before you know it, the weekend is here.

I'd tell you to buy tickets and come hang, but they're all sold out, haha eat shit!




Oh wait, SUPER EXTRA BONUS PUMP BECAUSE I TOTALLY THOUGHT SCREECHING WEASEL WAS GOING TO PLAY THE FEST, AND THEY DIDN'T. I'M PISSED, BUT IT'S AN AWESOME SONG TO PUMP YOU UP.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

tests are hard

I moved to Gainesville with heckyeahwoman, so she could attend graduate school. Most of her fellow students in the program were nice enough to not call me a penisleach, and blacklist me from hanging out with them.

Notice I did say most lol.

Students have a lot of responsibility, especially graduate students. They have to study a lot, read tons of articles and journals and stuff, and give a bunch of presentations. That's the kind of stuff that makes us mortals cringe.

I've noticed that they take fewer tests than most students though. So that must mean that since they have fewer tests, the tests they do have to take, are probably real doozies.

Being a graduate student also means that you're more mature than regular college students. This means the professors trust you more. For them, that trust comes in the form of take home tests, among other things. The other day, heckyeahwoman was taking a take-home test on the couch, and I caught a glimpse of her answer sheet.

What I saw, I knew needed to have its' picture taken.













I think she got an A.

I don't even know how I came across this image, but I did, and that's all that matters.

Monday, October 26, 2009

great clips my ass

Friday afternoon, just leaving the office, things are lookin' up. IT'S THE WEEKEND! But my hairz is getting kind of shaggy, so I figured I'd swang on by Great Clips, and get a quick trim. Cuz you know, I gotz to be lookin' good for the weekend. Having big plans, we were gonna swing by some Octoberfest block-party celebration thing in Haile Plantation, the rich part of town.

Before I get into the haircut, I just want to elaborate on how much I hate rich yuppies, lol somehow I exempt myself from this hatred haha whatever. But anyway, I really hate 30-40 year old dads with polo shirts, moccasins, gay sunglasses around their necks, and probably a BMW in the garage. Yeah, your wife is hot, but she doesn't work, exercises all day, has fake boobs, most likely had a c-section, and is probably getting pounded by the gardener while you're at work.

So yeah, I hate those assholes.

BACK TO THE GODDAMN HAIRCUT.

I get into the Great Clips, give the chick my name, and wait a couple minutes till I'm up. Recognizing a couple of the stylists (lol, can you call anybody who works at Great Clips a stylist?), I notice the hot one, and some older lady. They've both cut my hair before, and done a fine job. Finally, I get called by the older lady; so I walk over and sit in her haircut station. After telling her that I just want a little trim, she seems to understand, as she starts cutting my hair.

The whole time she's cutting my hair, my attention is divided between keeping an eye on this broad to make sure she doesn't fuck my hair up, and watching this douchebag, in the hair-cutting station over, mack on the hot chick that's cutting his hair. This was the most awkward crap I've ever seen.

He's literally making fun of her for playing some musical instrument when she was in high school, while he tells her how much he likes sports, but doesn't play often because he "not very good". I heard a lot of awkward giggling, on her part. Like she was thinking, "you're trying to hit on me by making fun of me, you queef".

You could tell by his flirty tone, that he was genuinely trying to pull this chick. I can't remember the last time I tried to bang a chick by clumsily making fun of her. Oh yeah, it was in KINDERGARTEN YOU STUPID BASTARD, GET KILLED.

It was sad; flirting with chicks? Who does that? I'll just stick to my patented "point and pound" method. Simple, easy, proven. What more do you need. Yeah, I know I should of used a question mark, but it was really more of a statement than a question. My blog, my rules, fucko.

Either way, this chick was easily out of his league.

Hell she was probably out of my league too. Lol yeah right, ain't no bitch outta my league. Well actually, last time I dated a chick that was out of my league, I wound up pushing her onto the ground, and yelling at her to marry me. And by that I mean me getting on my knee, begging and pleading, and eventually offering to pay her to say yes. But whatever.

Holy crap we got sidetracked, I just wanted to tell a little story about a haircut, and now look where we are. OK, yeah, so I was splitting my attention between my actual haircut, and the hot chick getting macked on. Let's talk about the haircut a little bit more: so she's trimmin', cuttin', and clippin', and before I know it, she tells me she's done, as she tears the smock-apron thing off of me.

Yo, you ain't gonna let me look at your (soon to be discovered piss poor) haircut before you get me outta there? Uh-huh bitch, I'm eyeballing this shit before I go. Your tip depends on it. After checking out the haircut, I see probably the worst job of blending that has ever been attempted. My hair had lines in it like crazy. Bitch I ain't want a bowl cut, I ain't want shelves. It was like she took a razor to the bottom, and just cut a little bit off the top. And then was done. Without thinking, I bellowed out a booming:

"BITCH YOU GONNA LET ME LEAVE WIF MAH HAIRZ LOOKIN' LIKE THAT? ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS? BLEND THIS SHIT BEFORE I SHAVE YOUR FACE OFF WITH YOUR CLIPPERS"

I was confused, I've had this box cut my hair before, and she did a great job. Then she pulls this shit. Whatever, she took a second go at my head, and made it look great. Goddamn I'm handsome.

Friday, October 23, 2009

this happens way too often

Let's recap the events that occurred today. We'll start with lunch: I went to a local Mexican restaurant with a bunch of coworkers. Without a doubt, I love Mexican food. So tasty, so awesome. But could you imagine being a vegetarian at a Mexican eatery? They don't always stock meat substitutes, so you're going to have to get your protein some other way.

That other way my friends, is through spinach and beans. Don't get me wrong, I love spinach; and I love beans. But when I'm eating lunch on a work day, I don't know if eating a shit(heh heh) load of beans is the best idea. Especially with things the way they are, I need every second I can get, to work. And write blogs.

I can't let the ill effects of overindulging in, my girl, Mother Nature's magical fruit slow me down. And by slow me down, I mean scorch my bowels. Lucky for me, I'm not a vegetarian, so I ordered a chicken taco salad. As luck would have it, THE STUPID FUCKING WAITER DIPSHIT FUCKED UP THE ORDER, AND GAVE ME this other lady's FUCKING BEEF TACO SALAD AND GAVE her MY GODDAMN CHICKEN TACO SALAD. And then, of course, the meat was buried under all the greens and shit, so there was no way of knowing THAT THE WAITER FUCKED UP, BIGTIME. Also, this lady dumped a shitload of salsa all over her (my) chicken taco salad.

To make a long story short, we didn't switch back, and I happily ate the beef; it was really good.

OK, where was I going with this. Crap. Oh yeah, no matter what I eat at Mexican restaurants, vegetarian or not, I still get mad gas. You know today isn't any different. The whole drive back to the office, I thought I was going to shit myself. In fact, I swear I felt a warm droplet of sewer water leak down my leg.

Wouldn't you know, the minute I step foot in the office, the brutal urge to shit my brains out goes away. Good, I have too much work to do anyway. Now that doesn't mean I won't be farting like crazy the rest of the afternoon until I do unleash the bowel demons.

Fast forward to about 5:02 when I left the office, I was farting pretty furiously by then. Whatever, I didn't need to drop one (or a few), so I got home, changed, and went on an awesome bike ride with heckyeahwoman. It was great.

Upon returning home, and fixing myself a protein shake, it's usually a mad dash for the terlet, once I finish it. It's like, I can't get my clothes off fast enough. So finally, I get my underwear off, and right as I'm standing in front of the toilet, about to sit down, I rip a monstrous fart. Hearing Meow Meow cry a little bit, I knew that it was truly a beast of a fart.

But here's the thing. I was right in front of the toilet, and I farted. OK, I was in the bathroom, and I farted. That's where you're supposed to fart. But what I did next, was "pretty fucking stupid". As I turned around, on my descent onto the can, my face passed right through the fart I just laid.

Not only could I smell it, but I could feel it. A hot & humid Gainesville night in August, right there in my bathroom. At the end of October. That's the densest air I've ever felt, man.
















And I do this shit all the time. Yeah, I often find myself scrambling for the toilet, so haphazardly, that I fart with reckless abandon, and end up nearly melting my face off. I don't know if I've blogged about it before, or if I even want to go there, but one time I had to crap so furiously, that I-OK I guess I don't want to go there. Maybe I'll tell this story another time.

But I swear, once the protein shake enters my system, my body wants to purge. And purge hard. Aw, who am I kidding, once ANYTHING enters my system, my body wants to purge.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

the movie "waiting"

Maybe you remember this movie, maybe you don't. It's about some kids that wait tables. It's a comedy.

The reason for this blog is, maybe you remember, but the part where the character played by Justin Long gets a shitty tip is 10/10.

This may not mean much if you've never waited tables before, but he ended up getting a shitty tip from a couple of rednecks.

Ultimately he ends up telling the hick customer to 'keep the change' because obviously 'you need it more than I do'.

This movie came out in like 2005.

I actually had this very same experience (as a waiter, you shithead) in 2002. I had some shitdick leave me just over a dollar and a quarter for a tip. I don't give a fuck if you're just having a beer; but if you're gonna sit in my section, you're gonna give me a tip bigger than $1.25.

I counted the money, saw the travesty, and immediately headed out the door to follow this deadbeat. They were just leaving so I handed him his change, and told him that he 'needed it more than I did'.

It felt great! But the strangest thing was that he never said a thing to my boss. He must have been embarrassed.

What a shithead.

I've got some stories from the time I worked at the Applebee's in the hood. I worked with some cool ass people, but the clientele was so shitty. Maybe next week I'll tell you about this little shitface that wanted more buffalo sauce. Then he wanted more ranch. Then he wanted another napkin. Then he wanted another fork. Then he wanted more soda. Maybe I'll tell you about that another time.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

HUMP DAY PUMP UP: MY BROTHER'S IPOD EDITION

HAPPY HUMP DAY PUMP UP ERRBODY!

Y'all might've heard I was up Norf visiting some family last week. That meant I hung out with my brother. A lot.

IT WAS AWESOME. IT WAS ALSO AWESOME HANGING OUT WITH MY DAD AND STEP MOM.

YOU'RE GODDAMN RIGHT IT IS.

My brother and I spent almost 5 hours in the car together over the course of a couple days. Lucky for us, he had his ipod with him. Lucky for me, he introduced me to some new tunes I would never have heard.

Within minutes of entering the car, he busts his ipod out, and says, "oh hey, check this song out, it's gonna PUMP you UP, it's so catchy".

And then the following song came on. And newsflash, IT PUMPED US BOTH THE FUCK UP!



The line at 1:58 always has me a-ROFLin'.

So that song was awesome, and I was trying to drive, but it was tough, man. I was shaking, and my brother was fist pumping like crazy in the passenger seat. We needed to mellow out, yet still keep PUMPED UP for the long drive ahead.

Good thing for me, heckyeahbrudder kept the playlist POPPIN'.



Now I know what you're thinking, "Taylor Swift? Really?".

Well let me tell you a little something. That bitch fine. Lemme tell you a little something else. That song catchy.

It's true, it was just what we needed in this post PUMP apocalyptic car ride. IT'S A LOVE STORY BABY JUST SAY YEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSS

There were a couple other songs that kept us PUMPED UP, but you'll probably think they're lame. So let's get to the next PUMP UP, before we go.

I mentioned above that it was awesome hanging out with my Dad and step mom. Well unfortunately, my step mom had to work the days I was in town. It's not like people can just take the rest of the week off from work for no reason. Wait, I did. But whatever. So I chilled out with my dad, and we played a whole lot of my new favorite game, Skipbo!




















LOOK AT HOW MUCH FUN THIS LOOKS LIKE!




















The week is just about half over; and that's a fact. You ever played Skipbo before? Well we're gonna approach the rest of this week like a half-over game of Skipbo, where your dad is kicking your ass and it's REALLY PISSING YOU OFF, AND YOU'RE GETTING VISIBLY UPSET AND FINALLY WHEN HE GETS ANOTHER POINT, YOU JUST CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE AND YOU FREAK THE FUCK OUT AND THROW YOUR HANDFUL OF CARDS RIGHT AT YOUR DAD AND THEN HE FREAKS OUT CAUSE WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU THROW THE CARDS AT YOUR DAD AND HE DISOWNS YOU AND NOW YOU'VE GOT NOWHERE TO GO, CAUSE HE THREW YOU OUT OF THE HOUSE AND YOUR STUCK UP NORjesus what the hell is going on here?

GET PUMPED UP VAG-HAVERS

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

first time at church in ages

I recently attended a funeral. This meant I would have to go inside a church for like the first time in years. Jesus Christ, it had been at least a decade since I can remember being in a church. I was with my brother, so you know you're gonna get some good old fashioned blasphemous wackiness.

It was great to see a bunch of my family that I had either never met before, or hadn't seen in ages. I would have preferred it to be under different circumstances though.

Anyway, it was a Catholic service, so they do the communion thing. So the pastor busts out this huge ass wafer of communion, and starts breaking it up. I love communion, but I don't want a chunk that's been fingered by this unclean bastard. Not only did he not wash his hands before handling something I may potentially nomnomnom on, but I watched him dip his hands into the holy water (lol!), that other people dipped their hands into. That's not sanitary, dawg.

So anyway, the pastor and 2 of his cronies take the communion first: It was him, and 2 other people up on the altar, right next to the tabernacle thing. I'm not too sure who the other 2 people were, or what role they played. Though the lady did speak briefly, and the dude did hand the pastor some crazy smoke dispenser thing. We'll get to the smoke dispenser thing later.

So the pastor hands the dude some communion, he takes it; and it's repeated again for the lady. Up next is the BLOOD OF CHRIST. Pastor McPastorson pours some blood into a silver goblet, and hands it to the dude to sip on. After the dude takes a tug, the pastor wipes it off, and hands it to the lady. I couldn't have predicted what would happen next.

The lady receives the goblet from the pastor, and she takes a healthy tug off this thing. Reaching for it back from the lady, the pastor is ready to get his wine back. The lady had other ideas. After about a split second of handing it back to the pastor, she has second thoughts, and quickly pulls it back and takes ANOTHER TUG.

DID THAT JUST HAPPEN?

She just took another monster tug, lowers it down from her lips for a breather, and then takes ANOTHER FUCKING TUG. She had the goblet literally upside down as she got every last drop of CHRIST'S BLOOD. Goddamn, shawty can drank.

With a bewildered look on his face, the pastor snatched the empty goblet back from the lady.

Now it was our turn to get communion. My brother and I were in the first row, and were first up to get communion. Neither of us are religious, and we weren't sure if we were supposed to get it, or if that would be rude. I ain't trying to offend people at a funeral, man. So the pastor motions to us to go up, the people in the rows behind us are already up and forming a line, waiting on us. My brother and I are looking at each other, wondering if we're supposed to go. He motions to the people behind us to go, the pastor motions at us again. My brother motions at the people behind us again, they motion for us to go.

Finally, I whisper to my brother, "goddamnit, just go". So he mutters, "christ", and gets up. Of course, he gets one of the nice pre-cut, unmanhandled wafers, and he eats that shit like woah. I get one of the gross manhandled ones, and I put it in my pocket.

We both approach the wine-lady, and give her a nod as we bypass the blood, and creep back to our seats. I ain't drinking from the community goblet, bruh.

Going back to the dude with the smoke dispenser thing. It's like a coconut sized metal contraption with a chain attached to it. Dude hands it to the pastor, and the metal coconut sized thing is smoking. I had never seen something like that before. Also worth noting is the huge, gold plated bible that was just hanging out on the podium. With a gleam in his eye, the Pastor grabs this monstrous thing, and lifts it high above his head, like an hockey player would hoist up the stanley cup.

Seriously this thing was pimped the fo out. I could see it chillin' in a rap video. You could tell the pastor was proud of it.

RIP *****, she was the sweetest lady ever.


HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HECKYEAHMOM! You're the best mom ever!

check back later for today's new post!

Monday, October 19, 2009

the starbucks man-hoverer

I had just flown into town, and finally arrived back home later on Saturday night. It felt good to be back home, for sure. Had a nice little chilled out night. With my good friend whiskey.

Waking up earlier than I would have liked on Sunday morning, I had to eliminate. Really bad. Words can't describe the euphoric state I found myself in, as I sat on the terlet, and abused the porcelain. Pure ecstasy, friends.

Ok, so while I was duking, and heckyeahwoman was sleeping, I thought it would be nice to walk down to the coffee shop, and grab a VENTI AMERICANO for her. You know, cause I'm a good guy and shit.

Unfortunately, when I emerged from the toilet-cave, she was already up, and had just started brewing some coffee of her own. Informing her of my now spoiled plans, I see a smile spreading across her face as she reaches from across the living room and turns her coffeemaker OFF.

I take that as a sign that she would rather have a VENTI AMERICANO, so I put on some clothes, and head down there.

Entering the Starbucks, I see a longer-than-desired line forming. I WAS PISSED. While I waited, I browsed the counter full of tasty looking pastries. I wound up purchasing a pumpkin cream cheese muffin thing, but more on that later. Well, maybe not more on that.

As I was just standing there eyeballing the pastries, I really paid no attention to the dude in front of me. And than all of a sudden, I realized that I wasn't cognizant at all of my, or the dude's, personal space.

I came to, and I was literally hovering over this dude.















I wonder if he noticed. It should be noted that the dude was not really a leprechaun. I don't know, I just thought it would be cool, if I spiced things up a bit. I also thought it would be cool if I threw in a comma where it didn't really belong in the previous sentence.

But seriously, how weird is that?

After I realized what was going on, I adjusted my personal space accordingly. Then it occurred to me, I looked around at the rest of the line, and I wonder if anyone else noticed this insanity. Everybody had an appropriate amount of space between them, and the next person. Except for me.

I have no idea how long I hovered, or if the dude had any idea. What about the broad behind me? Did she notice? Did she think I was some creepy dude-hoverer?

To add insult to injury, when it was the dude's turn to order, I detected a British accent. Not sure if his country of origin has anything to do with my hovering, but still.

I ordered 2 VENTI AMERICANOS and the pastry thing, and shamefully walked home.

Friday, October 16, 2009

encounter with a douchebag

I hate to have to do this again, but this kind of stuff needs to be documented.

It was a beautiful evening; and I just had a nice dinner with heckyeahwoman. At McAllister's Deli, lol. On my way home, I hit a stoplight. Not just any stoplight, but a stoplight that for a short second, would stop not only traffic, but time as well.

In slow motion, this red jeep pulls up. The doors are all off, and some queef is sitting there all douchebag'ed out.

Messy fauxhawk - check

Board shorts - check

Shit-eating grin - check

Fucking flip-flops - probably check, but I wasn't looking at his douchebag feet though, weirdo

Shitty rubberband wrist bracelet things that penisleeches wear - check

I had my windows down, the moon roof wide open, and E-Town blasting; then this turdcutter looks over at me, and gives me the "what's up brah" nod.

What could I do? I had to think quick. The best I could come up with was shooting him the "I'm going to fucking kill you" sneer/head nod combination.

This guy, being well versed in the douchebag vernacular, immediately silently replies with a head bob-shake thing, which he meant to mean: "just chillin' brah". Knowing better, and being able to see through this apparent douchebaggery, "I'm a toolbox, and I know it", is what I got out of his little head shake thing.

God, this guy drinks from the toilet.

While his reply was indeed silent, it wasn't truly silent. He may not have made a sound, but every ounce of his being, his entire aura, just completely screams, "There is no good reason for me to be alive".

While that may be true, this light is about ready to turn green, and we're about to go our separate ways. I wanted to leave him with something. Something that will hopefully help him change his ratboy ways.

I had no choice but to give him the "you're the biggest FUCKING DOUCHEBAG I have ever seen, and I hope you crash your jeep into an airplane, and die" fist pump.

You know, I really need to start carrying my camera with me EVERYWHERE I GO.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

RIP Michael Jackson

I can't believe I managed to not comment on Michael Jackson dying, way way way back in June. Dude, everybody was dying back then. Those were the good old days, man. I wish that shit woulda continued like 3-4 billion more times. Another thing that I also can't believe is that I'm doing a RIP post - even though he died like 3 months ago or something. Or doing a RIP post at all. Whatever, that's not the point. The point is that Michael Jackson passed away. Obviously, his contribution to "pop (what-some-people-call) culture" is undeniable.

I believe it was the New York Times that first reported that Mich-what the fuck was I doing reading the New York Times? What a piece of shit. Next think you know I'll start watching Keith Olbermann. What a humiliating way to kill brain cells. I'd rather be a meth-head than watch that clown.

YOU FUCKING RETARD.

But seriously, Michael Jackson, RIP, kid-toucher.

I guess RIP Farrah Fawcett, Ed McMahon, and Billy Mays too. Since I never gave them their proper post-humous shout out.

What a brutal week for people dying that was. I mean, people die every day, probably close to the rate at which deuces are dropped.

You know, if I really think about it, none of these recently deceased "celebrities" really enriched my life that much. OK, Michael Jackson made the song "Smooth Criminal", and there was an awesome cover by a horrible band". No lie, that song pumped me up.

And one time I almost ordered some Oxi Clean. But then I didn't.

Speaking of other things I almost did, and then didn't do...here is failed blog post idea #27: "discrimination day". I was going to make it a series, most likely once a week, of picking out a different minority, singling them out, and making fun of them.

Sounds kind of cool, right? But check this out:

I was going to skip the usual race, color, & creed thing, cause that's pretty played out. That's right, we're going to eschew traditional discrimination, and go for something a little more unique, and unfortunate.

You know, the more I think about it, just about every day on my blog is discrimination day. I rip on liberals, hipsters, bitches with fake fingernails; and I always rip on FAT PEOPLE. Basically, if you have a huge rack, and it isn't as close to my face as possible, I hate you. Or if you don't have a huge rack at all, I hate you.

So go ahead, go to that job interview this morning. And then when you first meet the goofball you'd potentially be working for, offer up a disgusted chuckle and let him (or her) know, "yeah right, I'm not working for some goon with psoriasis!" as you turn around and leave.

Discrimination at it's finest!

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

HUMP DAY PUMP UP: NINJA TURTLES

Remember when you were a kid? You remember the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? Man, I had all the toys (thanks mom & dad!).














Between my brother and I, we had so many of their toys. If I had pictures of our entire collection, that would be a HUMP DAY PUMP UP by itself. Sadly, I have no such pictures.

But I do have this awesome video coming up. Definitely worth the 2:20 you'll have to invest in it. Serious lols at about 1:01, with the shot of the little kids, and then he yells "YOU FUCKIN BASTARDS".

Yelling and cursing at little kids ALWAYS PUMPS ME UP.:



The above video was the first one to hit the interwebz, so of course the minute that was posted, a bunch of other dipshits made their own. The name of the song in the next one is HAMMER SMASHED FACE.

I don't know how you can more HUMP DAY PUMPED UP than that. HAMMER SMASHED FACE, so brutal. Truly the essence of getting PUMPED UP. Imagine getting your face smashed by a hammer. Whatever, you're probably not going to watch this one, but here it is anyway.



Maybe you're not much of a fan of Cannibal Corpse by way of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, but hopefully you can appreciate this next video.

It all starts with a hungry turtle, and an unsuspecting pigeon. Watch as Mother Nature works her magic.



NOM NOM NOM that turtle was hungry!

Today friends, you are the turtle, and the rest of this shit & piss filled week is the pigeon. Go ahead and brutally murder and eat it. Or if you're anything like me, you can just take a passive approach, and let nature take it's course by sitting in your office and jacking off all day. Either way, GET PUMPED UP.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

tuesday fuck you: fake fingernails

I bet you can tell what this post is going to be about lol. If you don't know, let me give you an idea: it's about fake fingernails, and how much I hate them.



So tacky. Holy shit, that looks disgusting

I don't know, but I can't imagine being so unhappy with my fingernails, that I'd want to get different ones. Fake tits? Yeah, I can see a chick wanting to get new ones. In fact, I encourage most chicks to go ahead and git'em done. I love fake boobs. I love big boobs. I just love boobs.

But fingernails? Are your fingers, and their respective nails, so unsightly that you need new ones? Have you ever gotten a manicure? Try that once. Maybe just try clipping them once in a while.

Or if you're above the age of 23, and contemplating getting fake nails, try a huge dose of suicide. That'll fix ya* right up.

Damn girl, you went and ruined a perfectly decent set of fingers with that crap. That's what I call a fake ass ho.





















Like, it's bad enough when a chick gets like normal fake nails, but when they try to pull shit like the above picture, then I start getting really pissed. Like pissed enough where I don't want to eat. Or where I start projectile vomiting, holy shit LOOK AT THAT BITCHES' HANDS THAT'S FUCKING DISGUSTING.

Odd little story here, real quick: one time I was at Publix, at like 7:17 in the morning, and the (probably) 17 year old kid bagging my groceries had fake nails. It was a he. Talk about weird looking lol, not every day do you see some kid with fake nails. I was going to tell him that his fake nails look pretty fucked up, and that he's a weirdo. But I didn't.

At the heck yeah, man household, we have a very strict NO FAKE NAILS policy. Won't even let 'em in the crib, man.

With that, on this beautiful Tuesday, I would like to say FUCK YOU, fake fingernails.



*Aside from fake nails, I REALLY FUCKING HATE IT when people use "ya". Like "love ya", "miss ya", "what are ya doing?", etc. I don't know why, but I just FUCKING HATE THAT. I'm sorry for using it above. To be fair though, I AM the type of asshole that still uses "lol" as a form of punctuation. So I don't know what's really worse lol

Monday, October 12, 2009

as much blood as possible

Most of you have probably already heard the glorious news, I proposed to heckyeahwoman, and she said "HOLY SHIT THAT ROCK IS HUGE", followed up by a, "yeah, I guess". She's a lucky woman/I'm a lucky dude.

What we did next, was probably what any loving couple would do: we went to the first shitty bar we could find, and had an ice cold brew to celebrate. It gets worse.

We were in the town where we went to college, where we first met. I worked at this awesome restaurant, where they served a tasty, little Friday night fish fry. God it was so good. Our plan was to hit this spot for dinner, and then hit some of the bars we used to frequent back in the day.

Oh, and we did.

Surprisingly, a few people I worked there with, over 5 years ago, still worked there. So we got our table and bumped into a couple of my former co-workers, and of course they noticed the rock. And by noticed, I mean they were blinded. Blinded to the point where they're suing me for irreparable eye (god)damage. They offered their congratulations, and were generally happy for us, which was nice.

Then it occurred to me: all the tables around us probably thought we were doing a celebratory dinner there lol. Really tasty restaurant, but not the type of place you'd bring a lady to celebrate an engagement lol. Though I do have to give kudos to ***** for taking the awesomeness up a couple notches. The place looked great.

So you're probably wondering what that potentially brutal title could have to do with an occasion as wondrous as telling a chick to marry you. Let me fill you in.

We'd been shopping for rings for a while now, and all of a sudden she came across this one. I was beyond pumped to find one that she had to have. There was just one question I need answered before I could go ahead and procure this fine piece of jewelry:

Is this a blood diamond?

Until we started ring shopping, I had no idea what the fuck a goddamn blood diamond was, or what that shit even meant. I honestly thought it was just some red-hued diamond or something. Could be pretty, who knows. And no, I didn't watch the movie with Leonardo DiCraprio.

Naturally, I looked a little bit more into it, and thought yeah, it would mean a lot if I bought her a really nice ring. But wouldn't it be really special if somebody gave the ultimate sacrifice, just for the symbol of our love? How would she know I really loved her if I didn't give her a token of our love, that somebody had to pay for, with their life?

These are questions you need to ponder before you jump into any engagement or marriage.

So there I am, at the counter, ready to pay for this rock, and bust; and I remember to ask the older lady I was buying it from, the question:

"Is this a blood diamond?", I ask.

Before she can answer, I blurt out in excitement, "please tell me there's more blood on this diamond than on my turds".

The look of shock, horror, and disgust, on her face was priceless. "Here, just take your ring, and get the hell out of here", as she shoved the box in my face, and threw the receipt at me.

I took that as a no, it's not a blood diamond.

Whatever, it still looks pretty awesome.

Friday, October 9, 2009

heck yeah man tackles religion, day 2

Thank you for checking out day 2, of heck yeah man tackles religion. Today, I have for you a touching little anecdote. It tells the story of a lunatic, and a sane (good looking, muscular) man, and their interaction, one fateful day.

Check this out: there's this dude from the gym, he's a little batshit crazy, and he was going off on some McCain-Palin spiel; and while I agreed with his sentiment that Obama was a poor choice, I couldn't help but think that McCain & Palin were just as horrible. So he's going off on this bullshit about well, I don't even remember anymore, but it was bullshit. Believe me, I know bullshit. When it's at the gym.

And you know it wouldn't be a proper neoconservative lecture with out bringing up 'da Lord, man. So he goes there. A guy I barely know, starts talking about Chesus, and before he can get much out, he kind of pauses, and almost has a little internal epiphany, as he looks at me, and asks, "Are you a believer".

Sensing the brutal verbal beatdown I could lay down on him not only for trying to preach to me at the gym, but also for his neoconservative nonsense, I diffuse the situation by simply replying, "You better BELIEVE I'm about to do a million pull-ups till my FUCKING LATS EXPLODE WHATS UP".

Surprisingly privy to my attempted diffusation (great George Bushian word, diffusation?) of the sitchu, he zeroes in on my faith, "No, no, are you a Christian?"

It's time to get blunt with this joker, "Well, I'm like a Christian, just minus the Christ part", I reply.

Watching the look of shock on his face as he just realizes to himself that the guy who he thought was once a nice guy at the gym, is now a soulless bastard HEATHEN OF THE DEVIL, was priceless. So he inquires, "if you don't mind me asking, why don't you believe?"

And before I can even say anything about getting more jacked and tan than any Jesus of Nazareth could ever hope to be, he (now angrier and sweatier) cuts me off with this gem: "You know, the laws of physics and science all prove that there is a God".

I was left speechless; well not entirely, as we soon find out. Shaking my head, and then briefly looking him in the eye right before I walk over to the pull-up bar, I mutter, "Goddamn".

I tried to get the last word in with a little blasphemy. Cause as we all know, a little blasphemy never killed anyone. Well, unless you're fucking around in the Middle East!

Have a great weekend, and don't let the crazies at the gym get you down!

Thursday, October 8, 2009

heck yeah man tackles religion, day 1

Thank you for tuning in today, for this 2 part series, entitled: "heck yeah man tackles religion". Today we're going to touch on what it means to be a modern Christian.

Ok, that's not entirely true, you're just going to read a few of my retarded thoughts that remotely involve religion. I honestly just wanted to have a serious sounding title, that would come across as hard hitting, and professional.

Then I came up with the idea of a two part series. To be honest, tomorrow's post is a lot better; I just had to fill up today's post with something, and I thought these odds and ends would be a perfect Day 1.

Let me tell you about a type of person that drives me nuts: The Loudmouth Atheist.

You're not a Christian.

How do I know this?

You let everybody know, at every available opportunity. Every chance there is, that even remotely involves religion, you bring up the fact that you don't believe in God.

I just don't really want to hear about it, whether you do or not. I'm more interested in macking on sluts and eating pizza, and you're more interested in being loud and obnoxious.

But yo, if I were a gamblin' man, after examining the scientific evidence below, I may have to put a little money down on my boi, JC, lurkin' just 'round the corner:

















Goddamn! Right?

Seriously, I'll be around atheists that always talk about being atheists, like I mentioned above, and I feel a little bit more like FREAKING OUT AND SPRAYING HOLY WATER EVERYWHERE.















Doesn't that look like good, wholesome fun?

Then I'll be around crazy biblethumpers, and I just about start screaming "YOU KEEP SWALLOWING YOUR BODY AND BLOOD OF CHRIST OR WHATEVER EVERY SUNDAY, WHILE I NOMNOMNOM ON BURRITOS AND BUBBLEGUM FLAVORED ICE CREAM".


















Thanks to that pic, I'm ROCK HARD RIGHT NOW.

Holy crap, I don't know why, but I love LOVE bubblegum flavored ice cream. You think a mere mortal could have created something this tasty? I'm not entirely sure about that.

Dude seriously though, you're not 18 anymore. It's clear you love being an atheist. Whatever. How about if you focus your love on something that will help us both out:





















...like hot chicks on the toilet, ferk yeah!

Let me put it this way, Dirty Harry may or may not be a biblethumper, but he would still look at you like you're a retard.

Right before he blows your head cleeeaaan offff.

And praying. What's the deal with praying!?!?! That shit never works. Christ, I haven't prayed in like a decade, because that shit never gets me what I need. I've prayed harder, and more furiously than most, and stil nothing. What do I gotta do to make my prayers come true?

I've prayed a crapload of times for a bunch of motherfuckers to die. NO GODDAMN DEATHS.

I've prayed countless times for it to rain titties on me. NO TITTIES.

I've prayed to never have to work again. I'M STILL FUCKING WORKING.

I've prayed a billion times to be able to become invisible, to fly like superman, and to shoot lasers out of my fingers. I CAN'T DO ANY OF THAT SHIT YET.

My analysis: praying fucking sucks.

Come back tomorrow for an awesome story from my gym.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

HUMP DAY PUMP UP: PICTURE PUMP UP

You've almost wrapped up the half-way point of this shitty week. You're almost there. Worry not! There's a light at the end of the tunnel!

I've just uploaded a shitload of pictures on the computer from a long ass time ago, up until this past weekend. AND THESE PICTURES ARE GOING TO PUMP YOU THE FUCK UP.

More good news: you don't have to endure any awesome music videos of awesome bands.

Let's get on with the PUMP.

We went on vacation to Amelia Island about a month ago, and it was awesome. Well, except one thing. Tell me what's wrong with this picture:
















That's right, we were livin' dangerously, without a smoke detector! That PUMPS ME UP! For 3 whole nights, we could have potentially died from smoke inhalation, OR GETTING MELTED IN A HUGE BRUTAL FIRE. Cause we wouldn't have been able to just crawl out of bed and walk the 5 feet in the tiny ass room, to the door. LIVIN' ON THE EDGE PUMPS ME UP!

Still looking through my recently uploaded photos, I realized that I have friends! Yes, these people in the pic below are not actors! I did NOT have to pay them to hang out, or get their picture taken with me.

See those smiles? Those are real, genuine smiles that only come out during the best of times.
















LOOK HOW MUCH FUN WE'RE HAVING! HAVING FUN PUMPS ME UP.

Look below, there's 2 dudes having a shot at the bar. At a wedding. That's right, I'm buying the groom a shot at his wedding! That's my good friend, ****, who married the wonderful, *****.
















Seeing them get married PUMPED not only me UP, but all the guests were beyond PUMPED as well. Also, drinking alcohol to excess PUMPS ME UP, that was awesome! Congratulations you two!

NOW FOR THE BIGGEST PUMP OF ALL

This is where heckyeahwoman and I stopped on this past Friday afternoon. I was so PUMPED to be there.


(it's the place where we first met, 8 years ago)













And this is what happened next, which is where we all get REALLY FUCKEN PUMPED UP:



(she said yes!)












And after that, I celebrated with an ice cold glass of FUCK YEAH TODAY WAS AWESOME:



Holy shit I'm so PUMPED right now













OK, heckyeahwoman celebrated too, only she had a tall glass of HOLY SHIT I HAD NO IDEA HOW AWESOME TODAY WAS GOING TO BE FUCK YEAH.






(gratuitous showing off of the ring included at no extra charge)









GET PUMPED UP, PUSSIES

PS - EAU CLAIRE GRADUATES, WHAT BAR ARE THE LAST 2 PICTURES FROM? ANSWER CORRECTLY AND GET A BONUS PUMP UP!

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

free kittens

The other day at work...lol don't you just love when I start a post of that way? You know, I start a lot of posts off that way, don't I?

Guilty as charged.

It's almost like if one would read my blog, without even knowing me, they'd probably think that work is a huge part of my life. Lol @ that thought.

OK, let's get to the meat of this post, shall we? The title is "free kittens"; obviously, if you're reading this far, you've most likely already read the title. Sorry, I'm rambling.

So the other day at work, this lady comes into my office and asks me if I want any kittens. I guess one of her cats just had a litter, and they had a couple to give away. As much as I'd love to have a couple kittens, we just can't do it, man.

We babysat a kitten a couple months ago for a couple hours. It was a cute little kitty, a little scared, and still pretty young. Really young. The minute our 3-legged retard cat saw this little kitten walking around, she hissed at it.

WHO THE FUCK HISSES AT A KITTEN? WHO HATES KITTENS?

So anyway, I politely declined her offer of a free kitten. But that got me thinking, what if I had said that I wanted one?

Would she do some sort of background check, or would she just give it to me, without any questions asked?

I'm thinking the latter. But she doesn't know me, she doesn't know anything about me. Some of my co-workers in my department know I like animals. What if I were a demented kitty-toucher?

Like when we rescued our cat, and I do mean rescued, she was literally going to get killed that week. This begs the question, what kind of sicko would kill an adorable, 3 legged mutant retard cat? That's pretty sick, man.

There should be laws banning most people from having pets. And from having kids.

Could you imagine someone offering free babies? Just a basket full of someone else's ugly little children. You know, I hope someone leaves a basket full of lions on your doorstep one day, and when you get home, they attack you, and rip you to pieces. Shoot, I'm going to leave a basket full of chainsaws at the bottom of your stairs, then I'm going to leave a bunch of marbles at the top of the stairs. When you trip and tumble down the stairs, you'll probably fall face-first onto a big ass pile of chainsaws. That would be pretty bad ass.

I hope someone leaves me a basket full of free titties. I don't know, but that would be pretty awesome.

Monday, October 5, 2009

last spanish class update

OK, I finally had my last Spanish class this past Tuesday. The first week, we started with about 10 people. On the sixth, and last, week, we had just two of us. Lol, two motherfuckin' people. This is a community education class at the FUCKING COMMUNITY COLLEGE, HOW THE FUCK CAN YOU DROP OUT?

HOW THE FUCK CAN THIS SHIT BE TOO HARD FOR YOU?

WHAT THE FUCK, ARE YOU FUCKING RETARDED? COMMUNITY EDUCATION?

COMMUNITY COLLEGE?

Jesus Christ people are retarded.

So whatever, it was just the teacher, some other dude, and myself. It was actually really nice having such a small class. I can't help it, but I usually seem to pick things up the fastest in the class. I mean, the teacher teaches it, I learn it, and I have the right answers. This is not rocket science. I KNOW HOW TO CONJUGATE A FUCKING VERB. Some people don't, I guess.

So yeah, the last class - things were going well, and it's a lot more fun with fewer people. Having been working on conjugating past-tense verbs a little bit from last week, and getting into it more this week, the other dude seems to be having some difficulty. I get it, it's a little tricky, and there's definitely some gray area. But what the hell?

The teacher TELLS YOU what tense it is. She TELLS YOU which conjugation to use. All you have to do is literally put two and two together.

Yet you don't.

So what does he do?

HE HAS A HUGE MELTDOWN.

Ok, it wasn't like a "huge" meltdown or anything, but he was clearly freaking out over the next 5-10 minutes. As we'd go through these exercises, I'd answer one (correctly), then I'd let him have a crack at the next one before I'd blurt out the answer. I'd keep giving him less and less time to answer, and he picked up on this, by sadly uttering, "I'M DUMB, I'LL NEVER LEARN THIS!"

Yeah dude, tell the teacher that you'll never learn what she's trying to teach.

"I'LL NEVER BE ABLE TO SPEAK SPANISH!"

No, not with that attitude, dickhead.

"I DON'T KNOW HOW YOU DO THIS!"

I don't either, but I have a hunch that it has something do with not being a retard. I swear, I thought he was about to tear up a little.

Maybe I'm missing something, I don't know. It's kind of funny; in class - like high school or college - I never really had any problems grasping concepts, and I usually picked things up quicker than most, but I kept right around a B average. And now look at me, I'm stuck in sales.

Jesus Christ, look at me. I'm a salesman. Lol @ getting some shitty advertising degree.

Anyway, back to class - after his little mini-meltdown, he chilled out, and we had a quite enjoyable little final class there. But what a bummer a two and a half hour night class is.

Friday, October 2, 2009

at my old job

I used to have a different job before I do what I do now. In fact, I used to have a couple jobs. But I'm going to tell you about the one directly before my current gig, yet right after my short stint at the Applebee's in the hood.

I was selling copiers. That was probably the most degrading job I've ever had. To be fair, the company was awesome, the owner, the GM, the guys I worked with were all really great, and I'd work with the bulk of them again, without thinking twice. It was just the cold calling part that I hated.

I FUCKING HATED IT. Holy shit did I hate it. It's so degrading walking into a business, and trying to sell them whatever the hell you're selling. Fuck.

But it was part of my job, and I did a lot of it. I guess I was pretty good at it. Well, I just didn't want to get fired.

The best was when I came across a big ass office building with just a shitload of offices in it. It was great. You could bust out a bunch of calls, and not have to deal with driving all over the place.

We all know what huge-ass office buildings have - bathrooms.

We all probably know how much I hate crapping anywhere other than my own terlet.

But for this job, I made an exception. Some days, it wasn't uncommon for me to poop multiple times. No kidding, I'd go to office buildings, find the crapper, and just sit there in the bathroom. Sometimes I'd drop one, sometimes not.

I'd sit there till I had to poop. Then I'd sit there and poop some more.

I'd make a few cold calls on one floor, disrespect their toilet, and get on with my day. The worst was when I'd cold call a business, and talk to somebody, and then I'd bump into that person in the bathroom again. Awkward.

Another awesome part about pooping, and that job: Heading right out from my office, I'd always pass this sweet gas station. It had a really nice bathroom. So I'd try to poop there as much as I could. I would light that thing up, man.

The bathroom was sweet, it had a stall, that had a sink in it. I love stalls like that. So easy to clean up the disaster there. Wipe my ass, get poop on my fingers, wash my hands, wipe my ass some more, finger pokes through toilet paper, get poop on my finger again, wash my hands, wipe my ass again.

And on, and on.

I could have literally spent hours in that bathroom, just shitting.

You know, I hate to say this, but aside from the money I made at that job, shitting was probably the best part of it. Well, that and the leaving early every Friday, at 2:30 or 3, with a couple of my coworkers, and going to Hooters to get drunk. That was pretty sweet too.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

we're done going green

2 weekends ago, we were at the Gator Football game, and holy crap it was hot.

Well, the game was pretty "meh" throughout the first half, and then all of a sudden it was halftime. Usually when we watch the game, it's at the bar, so we never pay any attention to the halftime show, if they even show it.

Well, being stuck at the stadium, we didn't have much choice other than to sit there and chill out. We would have gone to grab some food, but EVERYBODY is grabbing food at that time.

And I don't do waiting in lines, dawg.

So we're getting to the part where I get really pissed off here: The half-time show starts, and the marching band enters the field with a shitload of those recycling bin things. I don't know, they were carrying these recycling bins. Bear with me, it's like a week and a half later, and I don't even remember what pissed me off so much, but I do know that I hate recycling.

You bet I do.

I bet they were trying to raise awareness for going green. So you know what I did?

You wanna know what I did?

I started smoking cigarettes just so I could litter with the butts.

I traded in my gas guzzling dope ride, bought a hybrid, and then I drove it off a cliff just so nobody else could use it.

I stopped using money, and I stopped smoking pot every couple hours because they are both referred to as "green". And I hate all things green.

Speaking of all things green, and hating them, I had to cut out my eyes. Now I can't see, but I'm still hating pretty furiously.

I threw a snowball at a cat.

I saw some dude with a hummer, and I immediately bought him a full tank of gas, and told him to drive around like he didn't give a shit.

I collected thousands of pounds of plastic grocery bags, brought them to the recycling area, and right before I got them to the recycler, I threw them all over the place like crazy. It was quite a sight.

I started using hairspray again. Outside. Right under a bird's nest.

I went fishing, caught a salmon, punched it, and threw it back.

I went to the grocery store, bought a cart full of tasty food, walked it down to the homeless area, doused the food with gasoline, and lit it on fire. Then I laughed.

I ate so much meat that it grossed me out, so I became a vegetarian. Then I waited for a while, until I wasn't grossed out by meat anymore, and then went to a vegetarian restaurant with handfuls of beef jerky, and made it rain beef jerky like a rap video.

I went online to the EPA website, and I was about to donate $50, but at the last second, I canceled it, and donated it to Exxon-Valdez instead.

I started drinking more often. I mean, I tend to make poorer choices when I'm drunk, so I figure I'll be able to cause at least a little harm to the environment.

University of Florida marching band, this is all on you.