It's not funny anymore

Why the fuck does Hollywood insist that playing off racial stereotypes in films is funny? That shit stopped being funny when Richard Pryor stopped making movies. Well, slightly before that. Seriously, the whole, "white guy hanging out with a black guy pretending he doesn't fit in" is fucking stale.

And how exactly is it fucking socially acceptable for the Wayans to dress up white? Female-white at that? Sure, rich white girls are a burden to society, but what the fuck? How is that funny? Instead of shelling out your money to rent that, why not go to your nearest Gucci store and yell bitch at every female that walks out of there? Trust me, there's much more comedy in that.

This is something Serg from beer and rap kinda touched on, but he was talking about the fools who dress up for fun and halloween like that. I'm talking to the fucking jews in L.A.. STOP. I fucking hate Steve Martin for making "Bringing down the House". Queen Latifah can eat the crust of my taint. Oh, Jackie Chan, you should have stopped at "Rush Hour". Though to be fair, Chris Tucker should have stopped before he made "Money Talks". This shit all should have stopped with "48 hours". That was the apex.

Hey, Chris Rock (an avid reader, no doubt), what the fuck? You're a funny little man on stage, but no sane person can pretend that your anything on screen. "Bad Company" had to be a misprint. You and Anthony Hopkins? Come on. I should slap the both of you. I'll just continue under the impression you were both drinking heavily when that gem of a script landed in your lap. Oh, and you're also guilty for not-funny white-black comedy with "Head of State". Watching you pretend to get old white people to 'get funky' isn't comedy gold. It's the corn in my crap.

I could go on for days, but I have to go dress up as a pimp, crawl into my escalade with 24's, and listen to the new Snoop.

Oops!

I fucked up yesterday at work. I don't mean I mistakingly called the boss an asshole. Or that I filled the red color ink with blue. It's not like I even got a speeding ticket in the work van. No, I couldn't get off that easy. Instead, I drilled through a water pipe. In an existing home. While the home owners were there. They make millions. They watched water spray across their entire living room. They watched me yell like a submarine captain, "Shut off the main valve!! DO IT NOW!!"

I suck.


But really, how the fuck was I supposed to know it was there? Stud finders don't work for shit, so I'm not to trust a copper-finder, if they exist. It took the plumber a half hour to fix, and it cost $300. I'm in the wrong field of work, lemme tell you.

It all worked out in the end, though I still feel like a horse's ass. But that's not so different from normal.

Jared fucking Fogel

I've kept my mouth shut during the internet's obsession with slamming Jared from Subway. But now that the fad has faded, I just have one thing to say...

So what? He lost a lot of weight, but he's stayed the same since he's become famous. So, in reality, he's advertising that, in the long run, eating Subway sandwiches makes you become a pasty white male with bitch tits. He's not still losing weight, that's certain. I haven't seen him hold up a size 38 pair of levi's, bragging about his current 36's. What the fuck man-boobs? Lemme see a six pack, and I'll shut up.

By the way, go rent Super Size me if you haven't seen it. Terrific film, and I'm starving now. God damn Ronald Mcdonald.

What a disgusting day...

I was heading to a job after a healthy Del Taco lunch when I took a drag off my cigarette. No big deal, except that it triggered my gag reflex, and I quickly had to vomit. You know when you have to throw up (and you're sober), you've only got a few precious seconds to find something to spew in. My only option was a Home Depot plastic bag. I grabbed it, while driving with one shaking knee (in the fast lane) and opened it, spilling my guts into it. I continue to have to vomit into the bag, while driving with no hands, trying to look at the road, for the next few minutes, while I try to manuver to the side of the road. Since there was no place to pullover, immediately, I eventually found myself in a professional building's parking lot, finishing off.

Since I'm in a company rig, there's no way I can dump the bag, uptight rich assholes would call me in, for sure. No trash can around. Fuck. So I wrap it in another plastic bag. So I finish the job, all the while my vomit sack is sitting in the work van. On the drive home; again, with no trash cans around, I get stuck in bumper to bumper traffic...with a sack of vomit right beside me. Disgusting, but funny.

Da boat

So I spent this weekend at Lake Shasta with some friends getting fucking tanked. Well...I was, anyway. Yeah...


I woke up around 4:45am saturday morning, and got the wife and kid in the car. I felt like a kid on Christmas morn. We pack up and head out, arriving at Bailey cove right around 9:30. I basically shoo the wife and kid off and open up my bag of liquid personality. Bam! A fifth of So-Co is gone by 12:30, and I start acting like a drunken cheerleader yelling for my friends to do flips and shit while riding behind the boat.

In retrospect, I should have been more supportive of their efforts. Because before I knew it, it was my turn to get behind the boat. Thank god I had some liquid courage. I start off on the knee-board, since I was too drunk to balance. No problems getting up, doing spins, but when I tried to clear the wake, I ate shit. Repeatedly. I still taste the fucking lake when I spit up a fatty phlem wad.

So we get off the boat at some time, and dresss in our fancies to go to Dry Creek Station, where we were met with 5 dollar long-island iced tea, and $15 dollar all-you-can-eat ribs. Though I opted for the prime rib & prawns, the conversation was nill due to extreme hunger.

I have a habit (not really bad) of really getting to know whoever is serving me food. Especially when I'm drunk.

"What's your name?" I ask.
"(name removed due to excessive alcohol intake)" she replied.
"Good, I hate getting my food from someone I don't know. "

She smile a bit oddly, and walked away with our orders. As soon as she rounds the corner, I realize that I forgot her name already.

"What's your name?" I ask.
She tells me again, and I respond with "Good, I hate getting my food from somone I don't know."

I did the same thing with the bartender, a fat, homely girl who was pleased to be treated so kindly by the sexy me and my sexxy boyz. This resulted in us receiving cheap drinks, to excess. She was going off on how she was such a nice girl, who rarely parties, etc. It was only later that I found out she has a breathalyzer attached to her car, and is on house arrest for her 3rd DUII. This was funny. So was me begging her to let me blow on her device, "just for fun". I'm sure I woulda hit .20 by that point.

So we hang around waiting for a few more guys in out party to arrive in Redding. Kareoke starts, and that's when I shine my best. Not becuase I can sing particularly well, but becuase I heckle with the best of them. I kept shouting sexual advances to a group of 10-ish year old girls who I guess are like this little bar's pride and joy. (Thus explaining the prescence of severe minors in a bar) Most people, I'm guessing their families, were not so amused.

I was asked to leave (mostly by my old boss, I think) after screaming out, "YOU SUCK!" to some dude singing some country bullshit song. I would have shown them all how it's done, but I was too drunk to read the song list. Too many numbers and whatnot. Their loss.

All this resulted in me waking up at 1:30am monday morning UNABLE TO WALK. Hypokalimia or some shit like that. My legs were cramped to all hell, and there was nothing I could do about it. All day at the emergency room led to me getting doped up with some cool pills to take home. I guess I just can't get drunk like a normal person anymore.

Six Flags

Man,

I went to Six Flags Marine World in Vallejo on Sunday. It was awesome. Perfect time of year to avoid crowds. Towards the evening, after 6, there was like NO ONE in line for the coasters. If we didn't have our son with us, we could have ridden Medusa (pure sickness) all night long. I got to see dolphins doing cute little tricks, a whale doing cute little tricks, and baby tigers, which were cuter than a pile of babies and puppies licking each other.

I did get to see a group of adult retards who were let loose of their home for the day. This one guy, dressed to impress with a stylish black helmet, was drooling while sitting near a palm tree. He kept looking at me, then to the empty space next to him. Kinda creepy, very little cuteness.

I made my friend, who was hopped up on Dramamine go on some true coasters. I thought he was going to pass out. I've never seen a full grown male so afraid of anything in my life. Alas, he survived, and stepped one step closer to manhood. Good boy, good boy.

Now that I know what time of year to go, and that it's only like an hour from my casa, I'm gonna get some season passes for next year. It'd be nice to just say, "Hell, I'm bored, let's drive a little bit and ride a coast, drink an $8 dollar beer, and come home". Be back in three hours, with a bit more adrenaline in your system.

That's the only bad thing about theme parks. I saw so many dads walking out of gift shops looking like they just visited the proctologist. They RAPE you there. It's not bad enough you have to pay 49 bucks admission, 10 bucks for parking, and 8 dollars for a beer (bill gates couldn't get drunk there), but they insist on charging 20 bones for a fucking disposable camera. I thought the food was cheap, 'till I noticed that the sandwich price was just the sandwich. Another 3 bucks was needed for fries, and another 3.75 for a soda. Damn. Oh well, I'm finna roll in there with my son's stroller packed full of goodies next year.