I have been vomiting all day. All fucking day. I ran out of stuff in my stomach on the second barrage, so after a few hours of painful dry heaves, I decided to chug tap water and hurl it back into the toilet in order to puke up something. Whatever the fuck I did to myself, my stomach wanted me to know, in no uncertain and certainly painful terms, not to do it again.
Last night Ian and I were drinking, as is our custom, and we met this dude who was eerily familiar. Every other sentance that came out of his mouth started with, "My girlfriend....." The other half started with "It's like I was telling my girlfriend...." The more he talked about her, the more she sounded like Katie, this girl Ian hooked up with last week, turns out, it was the Katie he spoke of. We talked for about two hours about shit, the whole time knowing that this guy was in for some hurt pretty soon.
The uncomfortable-o-meter hit the red when he told us he wanted to walk home with us, since his house was near ours. He got a ride from Scoty from Scotland, instead.
I kept my mouth shut, for once, I don't know how. It's only a matter of time before Ian and I, well Ian mostly, have our first enemy in Las Vegas.
End Transmission
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Saturday, March 11, 2006
I won't stick any of you unless and until I can stick all of you.
Nothing to report today, personally, but something happened to a co-worker and her husband the other day that must be shared, I think you'll enjoy it as much as I did.
So this Lady, we'll call her Mary, and her husband, Stan, found themselves with a day off so they decided to do some long put off tasks. Stan, apparantly is a big guy, but he wears a size Large jacket. He had recieved not one but three size XL jackets over the years. What the hell was he going to do with three jackets that were the wrong size? Keep them in the closet, apparantly. Mary had been on him to take them back, but he had "just never got around to it." Stan is such a lazy guy, that Mary sometimes thinks he wouldn't breathe without her continued reminders to do so. The jackets still had the tags on them, never been worn, so they took them to the local Dillard's to try and exchange them. Imagine their surprise when the clerk said "no problem," and allowed him to exchange them all! They were so appreciative of the man's eagerness to help that Stan also purchased a hat.
End Transmission.
So this Lady, we'll call her Mary, and her husband, Stan, found themselves with a day off so they decided to do some long put off tasks. Stan, apparantly is a big guy, but he wears a size Large jacket. He had recieved not one but three size XL jackets over the years. What the hell was he going to do with three jackets that were the wrong size? Keep them in the closet, apparantly. Mary had been on him to take them back, but he had "just never got around to it." Stan is such a lazy guy, that Mary sometimes thinks he wouldn't breathe without her continued reminders to do so. The jackets still had the tags on them, never been worn, so they took them to the local Dillard's to try and exchange them. Imagine their surprise when the clerk said "no problem," and allowed him to exchange them all! They were so appreciative of the man's eagerness to help that Stan also purchased a hat.
End Transmission.
Friday, March 10, 2006
Always writing against this truth...
I had some really good insights for the blog today, but due to (or perhaps in spite of) an explosive and wholly unexpected anal discharge, I was unable to focus enough to post them.
Plus nothing of note happened today. Though this weekend (Tuesday and Wednesday in this fucked up place) had some intersting events...
I desperately need clean underwear and T-Shirts, but I can't use any of the washers due to the fact that an obese Mexican lady has been ruling the laudramat with an iron burrito. She brought her laundry with a shopping cart, and it took multiple trips. I pleaded with her to allow me the use of just one washer, for just one load, enough resources to get me through the week.
There was, of course, a small language barrier that led to some interesting Sherades-esque interplay. I thought showing her the skid marks would do the trick. It only served to infuriate her more.
End Transmission.
Plus nothing of note happened today. Though this weekend (Tuesday and Wednesday in this fucked up place) had some intersting events...
I desperately need clean underwear and T-Shirts, but I can't use any of the washers due to the fact that an obese Mexican lady has been ruling the laudramat with an iron burrito. She brought her laundry with a shopping cart, and it took multiple trips. I pleaded with her to allow me the use of just one washer, for just one load, enough resources to get me through the week.
There was, of course, a small language barrier that led to some interesting Sherades-esque interplay. I thought showing her the skid marks would do the trick. It only served to infuriate her more.
End Transmission.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Don't be a pussy all your life.
I just realized that this stupid blog thingy published chronologically, so this Part II of the "Day that made me think if there is a God, he's probably an asshole, and hates Me," will appear before part I. Well no matter.
Previously on DaubvonDaub:
We just found out that Tommy, George's child hood friend and partner of ten years on the NYPD, was taking money from an Iranian terrorist in order to facilitate the safe arrival of terrorists in to New York. Tommy thought it was just drugs from Cuba. Trying to set things right, Tommy went after his benefactor in order to bring him in. George followed him, but arrived too late. Tommy was already tied to a chair, drenched in gasoline, seconds from burning alive....with no backup, and nowhere to turn George must save his friend from certain death, without killing them both! We also found out that Tommy was fucking George's daughter. She is 12, and likes ponies.
So, I get to work. Things seem to be nominal. A normal Sunday night/Monday morning. Bored to tears, hearing stories about the cute things people's children do, "He can't say 'noodles' so he calls everything 'sgetti!'" I laugh and feel warm inside, and a little sad that I will never know the joys of reering a child.
I notice on my peripheral radar that an enormous albino man (later I would find that he was simply a pale red head) has entered the casino, on what I have named the "Avoirdupois Chariot." You may call them a scooter, or some such, but you know what they are. They are a conveyance for people who have become incapable of bipedal locomotion, for any reason, be it age, or laziness. This guy happened to be tha largest non-aquatic mammal I have ever witnessed.
He also had the entire cast of the Flinstones tattooed on his legs, that were bare to the knee and could have easily been used to show an Imax film. He attempted to play black jack and I put him out of my mind, with a forklift! HA!
I work in a small, shitty casino, and there is not a lot of space. I came around a corner and saw this dude at one of the slot banks. He looked confused, like arnold Swzarzenager(sp) at a spelling bee, perhaps. I walked passed him, trying not to attract his substantial gaze.
I made it by him, and then I heard the one thing no slot attendant ever wants to hear.
"Sir! Excuse me sir!"
I walked a step.
"Sir!"
I walked another.
"Sir, Excuse me!"
I stopped and turned around. The bastard had been yelling the other direction, he hadn't even turned around. I walked up to the land-leviathan and managed my best "What can I do for you?" smile, that usually comes out as a "What the fuck do you want...asshole?" smirk.
"I would like to play one of theses slot machines, this one actually," he pointed at a machine with an arm bigger than a howitzer.
"Ok," I said, nodding my head.
Awkward silence.
"Do you want me to move the stools?" I asked helpfully, my arms spread in mock helpfulness.
"No, I need your help getting off my (I shit you not) rover."
He called it his ROVER! Like the thing we send to other planets to pick up scientific samples of alien shit.
"Your rover?" I said.
This is when I really notice that his "rover" loks like a tricycle under his immense bulk, and he is spilling over it in every possible place. He is absolutely wedged into this thing. So I told him what I tell any "guest" when they want me to do something unpleasent.
"I don't think so. I'm not allowed to do that."
"Why not?" he was almost petulant.
"Well, uh..if one of us were to get hurt..or if you fell on m...I'll call securtiy."
Which I did and promptly fled the scene. It took three security guy to get this guy onto a stool. He looked like a melting scoop of ice cream on top of a four legged toothpick.
Then he got bored and wanted to change machines. Though, i tried, I couldn't avoid him (the casino is very small) and he wanted to cash out. His machine ran out of coins, and I had to open it and look. He was so immense that opening the machine would be impossible, so I told him he needed to move. There was much protest and grunting, sweat and tears, but he finally got onto another stool, but he was so fucking big he was still in the way. I told him to hold on and ran.
It was my lunch so I left and the problem became someone else's.
Enter the homeless deaf guy.
Long Story Short...35 minutes later, I still don't know sign language, and now he's mad. But it was the end of my shift, so I told one of the philipenos that the guy needed some help. Revenge, since I can never tell waht he's saying either.
Another day in paradise. Scoreboard: Drunk Strippers-1 Crazy Drunks of every description and dissability- 109
End Transmission
Previously on DaubvonDaub:
We just found out that Tommy, George's child hood friend and partner of ten years on the NYPD, was taking money from an Iranian terrorist in order to facilitate the safe arrival of terrorists in to New York. Tommy thought it was just drugs from Cuba. Trying to set things right, Tommy went after his benefactor in order to bring him in. George followed him, but arrived too late. Tommy was already tied to a chair, drenched in gasoline, seconds from burning alive....with no backup, and nowhere to turn George must save his friend from certain death, without killing them both! We also found out that Tommy was fucking George's daughter. She is 12, and likes ponies.
So, I get to work. Things seem to be nominal. A normal Sunday night/Monday morning. Bored to tears, hearing stories about the cute things people's children do, "He can't say 'noodles' so he calls everything 'sgetti!'" I laugh and feel warm inside, and a little sad that I will never know the joys of reering a child.
I notice on my peripheral radar that an enormous albino man (later I would find that he was simply a pale red head) has entered the casino, on what I have named the "Avoirdupois Chariot." You may call them a scooter, or some such, but you know what they are. They are a conveyance for people who have become incapable of bipedal locomotion, for any reason, be it age, or laziness. This guy happened to be tha largest non-aquatic mammal I have ever witnessed.
He also had the entire cast of the Flinstones tattooed on his legs, that were bare to the knee and could have easily been used to show an Imax film. He attempted to play black jack and I put him out of my mind, with a forklift! HA!
I work in a small, shitty casino, and there is not a lot of space. I came around a corner and saw this dude at one of the slot banks. He looked confused, like arnold Swzarzenager(sp) at a spelling bee, perhaps. I walked passed him, trying not to attract his substantial gaze.
I made it by him, and then I heard the one thing no slot attendant ever wants to hear.
"Sir! Excuse me sir!"
I walked a step.
"Sir!"
I walked another.
"Sir, Excuse me!"
I stopped and turned around. The bastard had been yelling the other direction, he hadn't even turned around. I walked up to the land-leviathan and managed my best "What can I do for you?" smile, that usually comes out as a "What the fuck do you want...asshole?" smirk.
"I would like to play one of theses slot machines, this one actually," he pointed at a machine with an arm bigger than a howitzer.
"Ok," I said, nodding my head.
Awkward silence.
"Do you want me to move the stools?" I asked helpfully, my arms spread in mock helpfulness.
"No, I need your help getting off my (I shit you not) rover."
He called it his ROVER! Like the thing we send to other planets to pick up scientific samples of alien shit.
"Your rover?" I said.
This is when I really notice that his "rover" loks like a tricycle under his immense bulk, and he is spilling over it in every possible place. He is absolutely wedged into this thing. So I told him what I tell any "guest" when they want me to do something unpleasent.
"I don't think so. I'm not allowed to do that."
"Why not?" he was almost petulant.
"Well, uh..if one of us were to get hurt..or if you fell on m...I'll call securtiy."
Which I did and promptly fled the scene. It took three security guy to get this guy onto a stool. He looked like a melting scoop of ice cream on top of a four legged toothpick.
Then he got bored and wanted to change machines. Though, i tried, I couldn't avoid him (the casino is very small) and he wanted to cash out. His machine ran out of coins, and I had to open it and look. He was so immense that opening the machine would be impossible, so I told him he needed to move. There was much protest and grunting, sweat and tears, but he finally got onto another stool, but he was so fucking big he was still in the way. I told him to hold on and ran.
It was my lunch so I left and the problem became someone else's.
Enter the homeless deaf guy.
Long Story Short...35 minutes later, I still don't know sign language, and now he's mad. But it was the end of my shift, so I told one of the philipenos that the guy needed some help. Revenge, since I can never tell waht he's saying either.
Another day in paradise. Scoreboard: Drunk Strippers-1 Crazy Drunks of every description and dissability- 109
End Transmission
The Asylum of the Grave.
Well, where to fucking start. Indeed the past 10 hours have been full of oddities, almost as if an omnipotent power is fucking with me. That's right the past night has made me doubt my stalwart atheism! I even used an exclamation point! Twice! Well, now three times.
Chronological order seems appropriate, though it may not build to a climax. Sort of like cumming and then getting a boner afterward, losing the erection and then having sex. Something like that.
The Daub-Mobile has a leak somewhere in it's cooling system, a "radiator" I beleive it is called. I have to fill it with water every time I drive it, lest it overheat and leave me stranded, forcing me to take it up the ass from drunk frat guys in the back of a Hummer Limo, just to get to work. This may also lead to me being sold into the international sex-slave trade, but I digress.
It is aprroximately 12:30am, I am in my monkey suit, white collared shirt, Ill-fitting vest (apparantly anyone as tall as me must also be fat so they had a team of crazy, loud, asian ladies try to alter it. They needed a fucking step ladder to take the measurements...that's another rant), and cheap polyester black dress pants. I have the hood of my car open and I'm pouring water out of an old vodka bottle into my "radiator." I have three such bottles, sitting on the curb.
Who should come upon me, but a dark stranger.
"That's a waste of good drinking vodka, man," the stranger tells me.
Now, before I go on, I must emphasis the fact that it's pitch black dark outside, and this guy must have had some ninja training, cause he moved without a sound, despite his obvios homelessness.
After I arrest my heartrate somewhat, I look at him incredulously, and say waht anyone might say, "What?" I ask.
"Why...in the hell...are you pourin' Vodka into your car, dude?"
This is when he vomits on the grass behind me. It is the worst smelling puke I have ever encountered. The smell hit me on my next breath and I almost tossed my breakfast. THe first bottle emptied and I grabbed the second, wanting to leave but, with my task as yet unfinished, was unable.
The guy finished wretching out the rotten eggs he had for dinner (marinated in diaharrea surely, man I just realized I don't know how to spell ...liquid shit), and he stood up. THe violence of his episode made me think he had gone to his knees, but he had mearly bent over slightly. He wiped his mouth, and proceeded with or conversation.
Second bottle...half empty....
"Wow, dude, are you alright?" I asked, clearly uninterested in the answer, but I had know idea what to do.
"Whh...why are you wasting that vodka...ka...vodka. You're car can't get drunk, caaaaan it?"
Bottle empty, exit strategy approved, proceed to escapr point bravo.
I reached up, closed the hood, and then picked up the third bottle, full of water.
"You want this, man, my car...has had enough, I guess," I said.
The man lit up, "Suuure, I'll take it..."
I threw the bottle a little behind the bum and darted for my door. The last I saw of him was in my headlights to the soundtrack of the Bad Astonaut song, "Single." He was smiling and holding the bottle aloft, giving me the thumbs up.
Then I got to work. My anal virginity intact, though curious.
To be Continued.....
End Transmission.
Chronological order seems appropriate, though it may not build to a climax. Sort of like cumming and then getting a boner afterward, losing the erection and then having sex. Something like that.
The Daub-Mobile has a leak somewhere in it's cooling system, a "radiator" I beleive it is called. I have to fill it with water every time I drive it, lest it overheat and leave me stranded, forcing me to take it up the ass from drunk frat guys in the back of a Hummer Limo, just to get to work. This may also lead to me being sold into the international sex-slave trade, but I digress.
It is aprroximately 12:30am, I am in my monkey suit, white collared shirt, Ill-fitting vest (apparantly anyone as tall as me must also be fat so they had a team of crazy, loud, asian ladies try to alter it. They needed a fucking step ladder to take the measurements...that's another rant), and cheap polyester black dress pants. I have the hood of my car open and I'm pouring water out of an old vodka bottle into my "radiator." I have three such bottles, sitting on the curb.
Who should come upon me, but a dark stranger.
"That's a waste of good drinking vodka, man," the stranger tells me.
Now, before I go on, I must emphasis the fact that it's pitch black dark outside, and this guy must have had some ninja training, cause he moved without a sound, despite his obvios homelessness.
After I arrest my heartrate somewhat, I look at him incredulously, and say waht anyone might say, "What?" I ask.
"Why...in the hell...are you pourin' Vodka into your car, dude?"
This is when he vomits on the grass behind me. It is the worst smelling puke I have ever encountered. The smell hit me on my next breath and I almost tossed my breakfast. THe first bottle emptied and I grabbed the second, wanting to leave but, with my task as yet unfinished, was unable.
The guy finished wretching out the rotten eggs he had for dinner (marinated in diaharrea surely, man I just realized I don't know how to spell ...liquid shit), and he stood up. THe violence of his episode made me think he had gone to his knees, but he had mearly bent over slightly. He wiped his mouth, and proceeded with or conversation.
Second bottle...half empty....
"Wow, dude, are you alright?" I asked, clearly uninterested in the answer, but I had know idea what to do.
"Whh...why are you wasting that vodka...ka...vodka. You're car can't get drunk, caaaaan it?"
Bottle empty, exit strategy approved, proceed to escapr point bravo.
I reached up, closed the hood, and then picked up the third bottle, full of water.
"You want this, man, my car...has had enough, I guess," I said.
The man lit up, "Suuure, I'll take it..."
I threw the bottle a little behind the bum and darted for my door. The last I saw of him was in my headlights to the soundtrack of the Bad Astonaut song, "Single." He was smiling and holding the bottle aloft, giving me the thumbs up.
Then I got to work. My anal virginity intact, though curious.
To be Continued.....
End Transmission.
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Don't let it be said I am deaf to the voices in my head.
I have recieved numerous emails detailing how boring my life is, and that no one wants to read about my shaving debacles, or how often I do or do not score with the ladies (the latter obviously less exciting than the later, though more numerous). No one cares how much I can bench press, or how drunk I can get. I was not aware of it but 15% of my blogs include pregnancy in some form. Sorry.
I hear you. I feel like none of you have given me the chance I rightly deserve. This is my first blog, and I'm doing my best. In the future I will have guest bloggers, scientists and politicians, even a celebrity or two. Maybe that will hold your interest, or maybe it won't. Each blog will come with a gram of coke and a bottle of whiskey! Two big tittied strippers for each of you. I haven't forgotten you ladies, you can have two...pectorially endowed strippers....but keep their wangs small, I want to remain the biggest dick on this blog.
End Transmission.
I hear you. I feel like none of you have given me the chance I rightly deserve. This is my first blog, and I'm doing my best. In the future I will have guest bloggers, scientists and politicians, even a celebrity or two. Maybe that will hold your interest, or maybe it won't. Each blog will come with a gram of coke and a bottle of whiskey! Two big tittied strippers for each of you. I haven't forgotten you ladies, you can have two...pectorially endowed strippers....but keep their wangs small, I want to remain the biggest dick on this blog.
End Transmission.
Some girls are hot when they are pregnant.
A 20-year-old man in Ocoee, Fla., was charged with murder after he confessed to pouring gasoline over his ex-girlfriend and then setting her on fire because she may have been pregnant, police told Local 6 News.
I remember when you just punched the girl in the stomach, or pushed her down the stairs, what the fuck is with kids these days?! My girlfriend might be pregenant. My stupid religion (or hers, or both) says no abortions, I don't want the kid...what to do...?....hmmm.....not too many options, don't want the kid, duct tape, gasoline...a plan is forming....got it! I'll set myself on fire in order to avoid the consequences of my actions. No...that won't work.
It's gonna be hard for this guy to get laid again, I think. Personal ads won't be very useful:
S(I can't tell what race he is by the picture)M seeks girl to spend time with, possible LTR.
Must use birth control, or be inflammable. Must like italian food. No fatties.
And the kicker....she wasn't even remotely pregnant, the coroner found out after she was burned alive, to death.
Remember to take your pills ladies, make him wear a rubber, and don't follow him out to a romantic. secluded, make out spot without checking the trunk for incindiaries and duct tape.
For the full Story:
http://www.local6.com/news/7634418/detail.html
End Transmission.
I remember when you just punched the girl in the stomach, or pushed her down the stairs, what the fuck is with kids these days?! My girlfriend might be pregenant. My stupid religion (or hers, or both) says no abortions, I don't want the kid...what to do...?....hmmm.....not too many options, don't want the kid, duct tape, gasoline...a plan is forming....got it! I'll set myself on fire in order to avoid the consequences of my actions. No...that won't work.
It's gonna be hard for this guy to get laid again, I think. Personal ads won't be very useful:
S(I can't tell what race he is by the picture)M seeks girl to spend time with, possible LTR.
Must use birth control, or be inflammable. Must like italian food. No fatties.
And the kicker....she wasn't even remotely pregnant, the coroner found out after she was burned alive, to death.
Remember to take your pills ladies, make him wear a rubber, and don't follow him out to a romantic. secluded, make out spot without checking the trunk for incindiaries and duct tape.
For the full Story:
http://www.local6.com/news/7634418/detail.html
End Transmission.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Searching for a Former Clarity
Wow. What a night, and on a tuesday, or wednesday..I don't know working a graveyard shift warps your sense of time. Anyway, my and Ian met some girls, at thijs punk bar called the "emergency room." Hit it off, they are, of course, 23ish. My target demographic. They loved me, and we're going out drinkin' tommarrow. Blonde girls from CA...? I touched her boob. She was living with /dating/ some loser who could smell how much his girl liked someone else almost instantly, though, he was unable to pry himself away from his poker to do anything. Well, that is untill he madea drunk foo of himself...
We'lll see.
Sam is coming into town tonight...Ian's psyched so am i, I haven't seen her for a while. Hopefully that wll lead to me writing something more interesting than the usual bullshit.
End Transmission.
We'lll see.
Sam is coming into town tonight...Ian's psyched so am i, I haven't seen her for a while. Hopefully that wll lead to me writing something more interesting than the usual bullshit.
End Transmission.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
You Look Like I Could Use Another Drink.
Wow. The new yellowcard album, "Lights and Sounds." So what if it was produced by Joey Cape (of LAgwagon and Bad Astronaut fame), which was actually the only reason I gave it a shot. I feel like that old man who hates everything new. I think Joey actually produced their previous album, too.. but it sucked, this one, though, really good.
Not as good as anything that a band called Against ME! ever put out. It's like nothing I've ever heard. So much fucking passion and talent and such a novel sound, and forget about them live, fuck, I hope they get what they deserve. The best band in a decade. No shit. I know I am prone to superlatives, but this time I mean it. "Reinventing Axl Rose" is a great album, start to finish, and my non sexual crush continues...
That's how I know they are good, they're coming with the alkaline trio next month. Should be awesome.
Wait this blog is supposed to be about me...today I went to work and haven't slept in 30 hours and I'm going to a punk rock bar Down the street, where the girls are jerks and the guys are jerks...and you're gay if you like lagwagon.
I guess I am gay.
End Transmission.
Not as good as anything that a band called Against ME! ever put out. It's like nothing I've ever heard. So much fucking passion and talent and such a novel sound, and forget about them live, fuck, I hope they get what they deserve. The best band in a decade. No shit. I know I am prone to superlatives, but this time I mean it. "Reinventing Axl Rose" is a great album, start to finish, and my non sexual crush continues...
That's how I know they are good, they're coming with the alkaline trio next month. Should be awesome.
Wait this blog is supposed to be about me...today I went to work and haven't slept in 30 hours and I'm going to a punk rock bar Down the street, where the girls are jerks and the guys are jerks...and you're gay if you like lagwagon.
I guess I am gay.
End Transmission.
I saved a girl from being raped last night....
yeah, it was really intense, actually I just stopped following her.
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Fogive me, for running off to fight....
Some of you might remember my short lived petition to try to get the world to stop saying bless you everytime you sneeze. Aside from being really annoying, (and the cumpulsory, thank you in response sucks too, just try and not say it, you will make an enemy for life) it is outdated. People used to think that a demon or the devil or some shit was being expelled from your body, so under that educated assumption, the "bless you" would seem approprate.
We know better now.
A sneeze is you propelling germs and snot at over one zillion miles an hour. That's almost the speed of light! This sends the germs into the air subsequently into everyone around you via their dirty mouth and nasal holes (and maybe via the anus depending on the sneezer/sneezee positioning at the time). I wanted everyone to say, "Damn You," when someone sneezed, but it never caught on.
Anwho, this fucking homeless guy (who smelled like cheese, and nutsack, and a little bit like a creamcicle, and had puke on his sweatshirt) sneezed right on an old lady today. I could see the boogers land on her shirt. She still said "bless you" before she got up and left.
"Damn You," would have been more appropriate, I think.
End Transmission.
We know better now.
A sneeze is you propelling germs and snot at over one zillion miles an hour. That's almost the speed of light! This sends the germs into the air subsequently into everyone around you via their dirty mouth and nasal holes (and maybe via the anus depending on the sneezer/sneezee positioning at the time). I wanted everyone to say, "Damn You," when someone sneezed, but it never caught on.
Anwho, this fucking homeless guy (who smelled like cheese, and nutsack, and a little bit like a creamcicle, and had puke on his sweatshirt) sneezed right on an old lady today. I could see the boogers land on her shirt. She still said "bless you" before she got up and left.
"Damn You," would have been more appropriate, I think.
End Transmission.
Friday, February 24, 2006
I have an ingrown hair directly on my Adam's Apple.
The Adam's apple or the "laryngeal prominence" is that stupid little, well you all should know what it is by now, It's the best way to know a transvestite, before you fuck her(him). ANyway, mine now sticks out half an inch farther than normal, and It hurts when I talk and/or wear a tie.
I have an ingrown hair (IGH) on my fucking laryngeal prominence. And it sucks. I have curly hair, and when you shave every day, like I must now that I am a coporate whore, sucking the cock of Corporate Policy, people with curly hair get IGH's. For those of you who have never had one of these, well, it's basically when a hair breaks the skin, but the decides to just grow back in on itself. This causes a big festering sore that hurts like a mutherfucker. Usually, you can lance it, get the hair out and get on with your life with only a small red blemish to mark its passage. But when it's on your face, the hair is usually too small to get to, so you just have to wait until it rots into puss, pops like a zit and then leaves a red mark for a few days. This process has been known to take up to two weeks.
The bright side is that it doesn't look as bad as it feels. Most of the time it's just a colorless lump, that only you can feel, because it feels like there's a piece of hot charcoal shoved under your skin. To you it is like there's a golf ball attatched to your face, but really, it is barely raised above the skin.
Unless you start fucking with it.
Then it turns red and angry and it swells. But unfortunately, fucking with it is the only way to quicken the festering process, because you have to break the hair off from the folicle to get it to stop growing and getting worse.
In conclusion, shaving is bullshit, and fuck MGM/Grand for making me do it. Fuck God as well for inventing hair with such an abvious flaw in the first place.
End Transmission.
I have an ingrown hair (IGH) on my fucking laryngeal prominence. And it sucks. I have curly hair, and when you shave every day, like I must now that I am a coporate whore, sucking the cock of Corporate Policy, people with curly hair get IGH's. For those of you who have never had one of these, well, it's basically when a hair breaks the skin, but the decides to just grow back in on itself. This causes a big festering sore that hurts like a mutherfucker. Usually, you can lance it, get the hair out and get on with your life with only a small red blemish to mark its passage. But when it's on your face, the hair is usually too small to get to, so you just have to wait until it rots into puss, pops like a zit and then leaves a red mark for a few days. This process has been known to take up to two weeks.
The bright side is that it doesn't look as bad as it feels. Most of the time it's just a colorless lump, that only you can feel, because it feels like there's a piece of hot charcoal shoved under your skin. To you it is like there's a golf ball attatched to your face, but really, it is barely raised above the skin.
Unless you start fucking with it.
Then it turns red and angry and it swells. But unfortunately, fucking with it is the only way to quicken the festering process, because you have to break the hair off from the folicle to get it to stop growing and getting worse.
In conclusion, shaving is bullshit, and fuck MGM/Grand for making me do it. Fuck God as well for inventing hair with such an abvious flaw in the first place.
End Transmission.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Time waits for no man!
I really have nothing to say. Not today. Too hungover, though a lot of excitement led to this state. Maybe later, but truth be told, all may have been lost on the altar of drinking and off duty strippers. Such sacrifices are sometimes necessary.
End Transmission.
End Transmission.
Monday, February 20, 2006
Like figure skating, like asphyxiating....
They can't all be gems. Well, why not? They just can't be. I got in trouble at work today because some pregnant girl "overheard" (I say she stuck her fucking nose and ears were they did not belong) me telling a co-workier that pregnancy is the worst STD you can acquire.
Now, I can understand why she might not agree with me. People with herepes don't think herpes is the worst thing that could happen. They say, "At least I don't have aids."
Aside from that, when did we all descide that derision of opinion meant hostile or offensive intent? You like carrots, I hate them. Should I get fired for hating something you like? Why is my opinion of carrots any of your business? I say, "I hate carrots." You say, "I like them." Difference of opinion. So why am I a jerk for hating carrots? I just don't share your love for carrots, why are we fighting all of a sudden? Why is you opinion so threatened by mine?
Maybe the girl thought I was belittling her status as a prego. I was, actually, but since when is a differing in opinion a grounds for dismissal. I didn't get fired, prolly only because my gay boss wants to fuck me, but still....
take your pill, wear a condom.
end transmission.
Now, I can understand why she might not agree with me. People with herepes don't think herpes is the worst thing that could happen. They say, "At least I don't have aids."
Aside from that, when did we all descide that derision of opinion meant hostile or offensive intent? You like carrots, I hate them. Should I get fired for hating something you like? Why is my opinion of carrots any of your business? I say, "I hate carrots." You say, "I like them." Difference of opinion. So why am I a jerk for hating carrots? I just don't share your love for carrots, why are we fighting all of a sudden? Why is you opinion so threatened by mine?
Maybe the girl thought I was belittling her status as a prego. I was, actually, but since when is a differing in opinion a grounds for dismissal. I didn't get fired, prolly only because my gay boss wants to fuck me, but still....
take your pill, wear a condom.
end transmission.
Friday, February 17, 2006
Is it racist to Hate someone for their race?
well, I popped my cherry. That's right, i got in my first Vegas car accident. The whole front end of my car is totaled, and I broke my left arm. That is not true. Actuially, I just crunched the shit out of some little mexican girl's taillight. My car sustained no damage. I think it was actually her fault, but I offered to pay. No cops or bullshit, we'll se how much she thinks it's worth, if she confronts me with the bill at all. Sometimes it pays to be big and scary, though as Daub Sansbeard it is hard to intimidate 5 foot nothing mexican ladies. No wait....
end transmission.
end transmission.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
I'm not drunk, you're drunk.
Well, today is one for the books...
Without the sweaty details, let's just say I begin the 14 day vigil of terror. Another girl has accepted my seed, and though I did all in my power to prevent it's taking root, I'm always a little scarred that my precautions were not enough. Life is a tenacious force, and though I trust science like a religion, nothing is 100%. I guess that two weeks is a stupid time limit for such an apprehension, but it is a realistic time for me to get over the fear that something bad happened. I can go to the doctor and assuage my fears that I have any kind of rust on the tools, but there's no test they can do (on me) that will tell me whether I got someone pregnant or not. I guess I don't trust Trojan as much as I could. Just gotta stay happy with statistics....Never hit a home run yet, don't really ever want to. But sometimes you swing, just right....and maybe some shitty kid thought it would be funny to poke holes in all the rubbers at the local gas station...I have to admit, I think I would take great pleasure in such a prank. So maybe If I knew that's what happened I might chuckle...
Anyway, She doesn't know enough about me to find me even if our multiple procreation attempts renedered a successful result. I'll get over it, surely.
Otherwise.
Against Me! Is the new best band ever. I hate to come late to that bandwagon, there are some that are more punk than me, to be sure, but...they are awesome.
End Transmission.
Without the sweaty details, let's just say I begin the 14 day vigil of terror. Another girl has accepted my seed, and though I did all in my power to prevent it's taking root, I'm always a little scarred that my precautions were not enough. Life is a tenacious force, and though I trust science like a religion, nothing is 100%. I guess that two weeks is a stupid time limit for such an apprehension, but it is a realistic time for me to get over the fear that something bad happened. I can go to the doctor and assuage my fears that I have any kind of rust on the tools, but there's no test they can do (on me) that will tell me whether I got someone pregnant or not. I guess I don't trust Trojan as much as I could. Just gotta stay happy with statistics....Never hit a home run yet, don't really ever want to. But sometimes you swing, just right....and maybe some shitty kid thought it would be funny to poke holes in all the rubbers at the local gas station...I have to admit, I think I would take great pleasure in such a prank. So maybe If I knew that's what happened I might chuckle...
Anyway, She doesn't know enough about me to find me even if our multiple procreation attempts renedered a successful result. I'll get over it, surely.
Otherwise.
Against Me! Is the new best band ever. I hate to come late to that bandwagon, there are some that are more punk than me, to be sure, but...they are awesome.
End Transmission.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Valentine's Day.
Today is a sad day for me. I know a lot of people must share my anger at the injustice of the Canadians beating the USA in the Olympic Curling Competition. We had them beat damnit! We have to hang our collective heads in shame for the next four years. No gold for curling, too bad guys, maybe next time.
Today at work two old dudes got in a fight over a 5 cent wheel of fortune slot machine. They dropped numerous F bombs at each other and had to be kicked out. They had to be pushing 70, it was a real hoot.
Not much else, I did find out that if you are obnoxiously nice to everyone they don't complain as much. Or at least not out loud. I think it's because they think you are mentally unhinged and potentially dangerous. Try it it's great. I kinda did the George Castanza thing from Sienfeld, you know where he does everything the opposite of what he would usually do. Except I just limit it to verbal interaction, and it's not technically the opposite, but the concept reamains the same.
Let's say some ass said to me, "I've been waiting here for 20 minutes, you guys should have those ticket things. I just want my money so I can get out of here."
My immediate reaction would be to say, "Well, we don't have tickets and I know for fact you've only been waiting for five minutes, cause it says it right here on the computer. We're busy, you're not the only asshole in the world, you have to wait your turn."
Instead I say, "I really like that hat. Really cool hat man."
Also non sequiters work well, "You like rost beef sandwhiches? They make a dman good roast beef sandwhich at subway."
Keep them confused, and they can't be jerks. Being a jerk takes concentration, focus and determination. Also middle aged fat ladies like to here that their hair looks pretty, of that their husbands are stupid.
End Transmission.
Today at work two old dudes got in a fight over a 5 cent wheel of fortune slot machine. They dropped numerous F bombs at each other and had to be kicked out. They had to be pushing 70, it was a real hoot.
Not much else, I did find out that if you are obnoxiously nice to everyone they don't complain as much. Or at least not out loud. I think it's because they think you are mentally unhinged and potentially dangerous. Try it it's great. I kinda did the George Castanza thing from Sienfeld, you know where he does everything the opposite of what he would usually do. Except I just limit it to verbal interaction, and it's not technically the opposite, but the concept reamains the same.
Let's say some ass said to me, "I've been waiting here for 20 minutes, you guys should have those ticket things. I just want my money so I can get out of here."
My immediate reaction would be to say, "Well, we don't have tickets and I know for fact you've only been waiting for five minutes, cause it says it right here on the computer. We're busy, you're not the only asshole in the world, you have to wait your turn."
Instead I say, "I really like that hat. Really cool hat man."
Also non sequiters work well, "You like rost beef sandwhiches? They make a dman good roast beef sandwhich at subway."
Keep them confused, and they can't be jerks. Being a jerk takes concentration, focus and determination. Also middle aged fat ladies like to here that their hair looks pretty, of that their husbands are stupid.
End Transmission.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Discarded dreams..far too much time awake...
In an effort to write on this stupid thing everyday, here I am.
I buried a dream today. Well, not today literally, I've been piling dirt on it for years, now, but the sod has been lain, and the earth now looks unbroken. There is no headstone, and the funeral has put me into debt.
I finished reading a comic book yesterday called "wanted" by Mark Millar. Another badass scotish writer...maybe it's something in the water...who knows. Anywho, it's about a typical asshole, with a typically shitty life, his girl friend is cheating on him with his best friend, he eats the same lunch everyday, he hates his job, his life, but he's too much of a pussy to deal with it properly. He's too much of a pussy like we all are. Miserable, but unwilling to do what we want, what we need to do to escape. He gets lucky and finds out his dad was murdered and he has inherited his position in a super secret organization, though that is not the real point.
I've felt this way more than once, and identifying with the fantasy of being able to shoot all the assholes who have ever done you wrong with no consequences, is a close friend of mine. But I was intrigued to realize that I don't feel that way now. I am actually content. Well, mostly. It seems like a coward's solution to just leave all the things that made me miserable behind, turn tail and run, worked.
I live an absolutely zero bullshit existance. Sure I have a shitty job that pays shit, but other than that, no bullshit. I talk or do not talk to whomever I wish. I do what I want, with close to total anonymity. Even sex is first name only. Ok well maybe not zero bullshit, more simple, uncomplicated human relationships, as well as the complete freedomn of people having to take me at face value...no history.
end transmission.
I buried a dream today. Well, not today literally, I've been piling dirt on it for years, now, but the sod has been lain, and the earth now looks unbroken. There is no headstone, and the funeral has put me into debt.
I finished reading a comic book yesterday called "wanted" by Mark Millar. Another badass scotish writer...maybe it's something in the water...who knows. Anywho, it's about a typical asshole, with a typically shitty life, his girl friend is cheating on him with his best friend, he eats the same lunch everyday, he hates his job, his life, but he's too much of a pussy to deal with it properly. He's too much of a pussy like we all are. Miserable, but unwilling to do what we want, what we need to do to escape. He gets lucky and finds out his dad was murdered and he has inherited his position in a super secret organization, though that is not the real point.
I've felt this way more than once, and identifying with the fantasy of being able to shoot all the assholes who have ever done you wrong with no consequences, is a close friend of mine. But I was intrigued to realize that I don't feel that way now. I am actually content. Well, mostly. It seems like a coward's solution to just leave all the things that made me miserable behind, turn tail and run, worked.
I live an absolutely zero bullshit existance. Sure I have a shitty job that pays shit, but other than that, no bullshit. I talk or do not talk to whomever I wish. I do what I want, with close to total anonymity. Even sex is first name only. Ok well maybe not zero bullshit, more simple, uncomplicated human relationships, as well as the complete freedomn of people having to take me at face value...no history.
end transmission.
Saturday, February 11, 2006
How Come I'm So God Damned Stupid.
Every other fucker on this website has got pictures, even some mexican slut. I'm no idiot when it comes to computers, what the fuck? I have the gayest blog ever. They're all laughing at me. I'll show them. I'll show them all!
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