I don't know or care with who or where I fit in with at all...

Writin' fast and livin' slow...

Ok, I'm on the eve of my voyage to Australia where I hope to embarrass myself on chunk of land heretofore unexplored by the people of my tribe. Either cool stuff will happen, or I will make cool shit up, either way, this blog should experience a noticeable spike in excitement.

I am also 3 days away from turning 29. How did I get this old? Aside from the simple biology of the the progression, I feel like I'm still 13 years old, but with hair on my balls. Wait I had hair on my balls when I was 13...uh..maybe I feel more like a 9 year old? The point is I fell just as immature and useless now as I did 10 years ago.

I guess my point is, Ian bought me a really cool diving knife for my birthday, and you assholes got me nothing...so I guess I know who my real friend(s) are. Hopefully this will inspire some guilt and thus cause you all to scramble to get some last minute gift. Don't bother, just send money, that will suffice. No more naked pictures of yourself feeding your pets....wherever that trend came from, send it back (you know who you are)...it's just creepy.

So I work with this Mexican lady (one of many), and she's actually really awesome, but today she said something that got my panties in a bunch. Today was her birthday, she turned 42, and was really proud of the fact. Which is odd and pretty cool. SHe was excited to have lived so long, had such a full life, 4 healthy kids, all that crap. WHat fucked me up was the follow up statement.

"I have four beautiful children, a house, a husband, some people have only one child or none at all."

Only one child, or none at all. She actually pities such people. Does she realize I pity her for the exact antithesis of her point of view? Probably not, she would most likely find just as much frustration in trying to understand how I feel as I do trying to figure her out. This bothered me for a a few hours until I watched a black hooker knock the front teeth out of a white hooker and laugh in her face. I also saw the white hookers boob when, during the tussle, her top was removed.

It is hard to focus in Las Vegas, sometimes.

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Slowly Fading Fast.

Since these blogs are printed Chronologically, you might want to read the last post before this one in order to get part one of this story, in case that is too much work, here's a brief synopsis....

Previously, on Daub von Daub;
Theorizing that one could time-travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Daub von Daub led an elite group of scientists into the desert to develop a top secret project known as Quantum Leap. Pressured to prove his theories or lose funding, Dr. Daub von Daub prematurely stepped into the project accelerator... and vanished. He awoke to find himself in the past, suffering from partial amnesia and facing a mirror image that was not his own. Fortunately, contact with his own time was maintained through brainwave transmissions with Al, the project observer, who appeared in the form of a hologram that only Dr. Daub von Daub can see and hear. Trapped in the past, Dr. Daub von Daub finds himself leaping from life to life, putting things right that once went wrong and hoping each time that his next leap would be the leap home.

And now the conclusion....

Where was I...oh yeah the lesbian police officers.

So there we are, Chris and I talking on the curb, awaiting our Friend Brian's return with a car. Oh yeah, I guess I missed that point, Brian ran into us some time after the guy in the house threatened us, and before the pigs arrived. He said he would go get his car and come back for us, so we were just waiting for that to happen when the cop car showed up.

The lights come on, the spot light goes from me to Chris, and finally to Even, nonchalantly passed out in the gutter of the road a few feet away. The single light turns into three, as the cops pull out there flashlights. The "hot" one, shines her flashlight in my face and approaches, the bull dyke, stays at a safe distance, with her hand on her gun.

The flashlight moves from my face to Chris, then to Even.

"What's going on here?" the hot cop asks.

"Nothing, just waiting for our ride," I tell her.

"What's wrong with that guy?" she asked indicating Evan's lifeless form.

"He's drunk," I say.

"Why are his pants down around his ankles?" She asks.

Ehherrrrrrrt! His pants were down because he was fighting us the whole time we were carrying him, and he's super skinny so his pants just worked themselves off. Of course all I can think of to say is;

"They fell off," I go to get up to pull them up for him, when all Hell Breaks loose, both cops draw their guns and start yelling,

"Get back on the ground, hands where I can see them! (followed unintelligible screaming)"

"I was just...I was just gonna put his pants back on....ok I'm sitting back down."

At this point they calm down some,and the Bull Dyke walks over to Evan and starts trying to wake him up asking him questions, "Do you know these guys? Are you ok, what have they done to you?"

It is at this point that my alcohol addled wits finally do the math and realize what these two cops think is going on...

"Whoa! Hold it, we're just trying to get him home...his pants fell off while we were carrying him, we're not trying to rape him.."

"Sit down, now!" there is a gun in my face and I sit down.

"Do you know these guys?" Evan's questioning continues...and somehow he grabs onto some sort of coherence...

"Those guythss...yeah, I know them...they're fabulous!" Evan says and then goes back to sleep.

The cop looks up from Evan and asks us, "If you're trying to get him home, why are you just sitting here?"

"My friend is coming to get us with his car."

Meanwhile the other cop has gone to the house behind us to talk to the guy inside. She comes back out and asks us what happened. And this is where Chris and I's tactics in dealing with pigs differs. His dad was a cop, so he knows better than to lie, I just start lying out of habit.

"uh, what do you mean?" I said.

"This guy inside says you threatened him."

"Threatened? No, he said he was going to come out and kick our asses (which was technically true) and I told him that he was welcome to."

"He said you called him names."

"Names, like what?"

"He said you called him a pussy, and a motherfucker."

I start laughing. Like Butthead in health class. The cop just said it with such a dry expression, it was hilarious.

"What do you think is so funny?"

I stop laughing, suddenly serious.

"No, mam, I would uh never do that."

"Well he called us fearing you were going to beat him up."

What a pussy, I thought again.

This is when Chris pipes in, "Yeah we called him a pussy, he was telling us to be quiet and we're drunk, he threatened to come out here and fight us, and we told him to come try."

I started, "That's not how--"

I'm silenced by a flashlight in my face, "You sit down and be quiet, you're obviously full of shit, don't talk." I sit down and start wondering what the charges will be when I'm put in the slammer. Public intoxication. Threatening bodily harm. Uncooperative attitude. Attempted Sodomy of a redhead.

The two cops take our ID's and start talking on their radios and leave us to stew in our own thoughts. At this point, Brian returns with his car (he is pretty drunk too) and pulls over. One of the cops goes over and talks to him. Luckily his arrival corroborates our story and their fears of our molesting the skinny kid are alleviated.

The cops come back over to us, sitting on the curb, hand us our ID's.

"I want you to apologize to the man inside the house," the hot one says.

so I turn and yell, "I'm sorry you're such a pussy, dude!"

"no...hey...look at me, go to the door and apologize to him, or you're going to jail."

So I get up, escorted by the cop, to this assholes door. HE opens it, and what a surprise, he's a dreadlock hippie, my most hated enemy! He smells like a dog's butthole and he has a pot leaf tattoo on his arm.

"Hey man, I'm sorry I got so drunk and was being loud outside your house." I gave the cop a look that told her that was the best she was going to get.

"Ok dude, thanks," he told me. I turned and left, not waiting for my escort.

I returned to the curb, Chris and Brian were getting Evan into the car.

"The next time this happens, call a cab, and tell him to buy a belt," the short haired cop told me.

"He has a belt on , now, " I told her.

She did not think that was funny.

end transmission.

It's nearly Impossible, highly improbable, but not hopeless.

So, I have really been shitting the bed on this blog lately, and I apologize. My hate mail has tripled in the past two weeks, people demanding their money back and some even offering me money if I just stop ejaculating this crap on the tits of the internet.

Well, I refuse to cease. I know i must sometimes fight through the shit to get to the toilet paper. So here goes.

Since nothing super awesome has happened recently, I have decided to regale you with a tale of yesteryear, when I was younger, dumber and equally handsome. This tale is set in the late 1990's, a time before the internet, cell phones, or that little ring contraceptive device that no one told me about, until I encountered it in the field (that's another story for later, when the kids go to bed).

I was 21, or 22, i can't remember. I do remember that Evan had was just about to turn 21 that day. tomorrow was his birthday, and he imbibed a heroic dose of tequila. His plan was to get drunk, then go to the bars after midnight (when he would be officially 21), thus starting off his 21 year in the tradition of many a date raped sorority girl.

So things are going according to planned, Evan is shitfaced, running around giving pool pointers to everyone in the Foundry, often times taking the stick from unimpressed patrons and shooting for them, to varying degrees of success. I lost sight of him, running into some people. At some point, like a mother at the mall who has finally looked up from the shoe display to find her bastard brat missing, I realize Evan is gone. I grab my buddy Chris and we head out to look for him.

He's not in the bathroom, not on the street, not at any of the bars around...fuck. Well I decide that I need another drink to bolster my spirits and resolve my courage for the search mission ahead. Chris and I head to the Pub, which is on one side of a sort of outdoor mall, lined on both sides with shops and restaurants and such. There's all kinds of grass and trees in the middle, along with really ugly modern art.

We round the corner, and on a whim I ask the people sitting on the patio outside of the Pub and Old Chicago's, "Hey has anyone seen a tall, skinny redheaded kid, whose super drunk?"

Everyone, on both patios, as if driven by a single will, points behind me. I turn and see Even, facedown in the grass, legs twisted at impossible angles, dead to the world.

Operation get Evan home commences. He is 120 lbs of dead weight, we can barely get him upright and maneuver him a couple feet before he falls onto the ground and insists, "I'll be fine right here."

One of these episodes happened in the middle of a crosswalk, there's Evan laying in the middle of the street, and there we are trying to get him up, but he is petulant and uncooperative.

We struggle and work and finally get him off the main area and we find ourselves in the closed tents of the Boulder Creek Festival, closed tight in the dark. The past hour has worked the piss to the top of my bladder and I call for a pit stop. It is at this point that I open a tent flap, open my fly and fill the "kettle" they cook popcorn in with rented alcohol (if you ever go to this Boulder Creek Festival, no popcorn from the kettle, no one could scrub away ALL the pee)

Chris, who is a big ass guy, says "fuck it" and throws even over his shoulders as if Evan is weightless. We get about 100 feel when Evan starts tweaking Chris's nuts in some sort of misguided, drunken retaliation for his help. Neither of us can loosen his grip, so Chris just starts ramming Evan's head into a light post. Both men, locked in a mortal stalemate fight with a rage born of desperation, but I manage to get them pried apart and we once again halt to rest.

Chris will no longer have any part of Evan's ball grabbing fury, and we are still about 1/2 mile from home. I convince Chris to grab Eva's legs (only minimal ball gripping potential) and I grab his shoulders and we walk. He fights us every step, insisting he's going to puke, we drop him, and he falls asleep. Eventually we ignore his pleas and trudge onward.

We get to the residential area and pitch him in the gutter and catch our breath. Chris and I are both very drunk ourselves, and we were bullshitting, there on the side walk, when we hear a voice from a nearby house, it is 4AM;

"Hey fuck you guys, shut the fuck up!"

I am in no mood to be ordered around at this point, so I yell back, "Fuck you, go back to bed."

the reply, "I would love to, but I can't sleep with you two yelling outside my window, fucking shut up!"

"You either come out here and shut me up, or fucking deal with it!" I yelled back,

"I'm coming out there to fucking shut you up, asshole!"

A few seconds later a pissed off dude appears in the doorway, takes one look at me and Chris and goes right back inside.

"i'm going to call the cops!"

"Go ahead and do that you pussy!" I yelled.

And ten minutes later two Lesbian Boulder Cops arrived.

to be continued....

end transmission