Quitting drinking fucking sucks

Yes, it does. It sucks beyond any Dyson on the god damn planet. Yeah, no shit. A vaccuum should suck with no loss of suction. Only problem is, your stupid yellow abortion functions as well as a game of Twister at a retirement home. Get a new fucking accent, queer.

Xbox 360 is out now. Don't see what all the hooplah is about. Slightly better graphics, if you have the display to support them, and more online game play. You know what? If you insist on playing video games, at least have enough self-respect to have friends to play with, together, in the same room. Link that shit together. Chan Wun from Nagano doesn't care about you. You won't get together this weekend and go on a double date. Stop wasting your time. Follow this little advice and you might find that hunt for the mystical "vagina" will go a little better.

Hey!!!!

I quit drinking. Yep. I did. The point of this blog will change quite a bit. And no, I haven't become a liquor hater or anything, but from a sober stand-point, I'm sure all of my previous stories will include more clarity. Stay tuned, and stay gay, Waldo-faggots.

Craptastic...

Well, without the wonders of bloggerbot working for pictures, I must paint something nice for you. I have recentley moved to a very nice neighborhood. One that is very much out of my price range. But thank god for creative financing.

Anyway, as I came home from work the other day, I noticed that there was some kind of care package on my porch. As I opened it, it appeared that junk e-mail has infiltrated the suburbs without the use of the internet. See, by receiving this gift, I was instructed by the letter to make 2 (two, idiots) copies of this little gift bag, to give to other neighbors, all the while displaying a cute little "Boo!" sign in my window, thus displaying the fact that I have received the treats.

So I found myself in a dilemma. If I chose to receive the gift, and not follow the rules, chances are that the queen bitch in the neighborhood would find me out, and make my life hell. If I did, I waste money that I could spend on booze on stupid gift bags/shit. I get no credit this way.

Make no mistake. I do not give gifts for the so-called-"joy of giving". I do it to receive thank you's, or gifts in return. Selfish? C'mon, let's just call it what it is. HONEST.


Fudge a gift, and fuck 'Booing' other neighbors. (that's the petname for chainmailing other people in the community.)



Fucking somebody get me another pic server besides bloggerbot, cuz the crap ain't working. Or better yet, e-mail me, or whatever, and tell me what the fuck happened to my shit. Happy fucking holidays or whatever...

If I could be any "Super Hero"...

Wow, this question can have ITT dorm dwellers going on for days. But the answer is quite simple. No, it's not Superman; for reasons Mallrats clearly explains. Now, of course, it's all a matter of personal preference. Some like the hugely strong or fast dudes, or combinations within.

Really, it's Blade. Get the Wesley Snipes idea out of your mind. Not that he doesn't do the role justice, but c'mon; I'm white. I can't pretend to be Wes in my dreams if I still feel uncomfortable driving through Venice on my way to Manhatten Beach.

Ok, let's get down to the details. However, let's not get shit twisted. I'm not a comic book freak. I don't know every super zero that exists on paper. I'm simply making my suggestion based on the fact that a day-walking vampire is the coolest motherfucker ever to exist.

Checklist:
stupid fast
immortal
fucking daywalker
libido like a child molestor (minus the children)
party with kris kristofferson
bullets fly by you
silver only hurts a little
silly crazy weapons
um, fucking ninja sword?
white teeth
big dick (so i hear)
sweet ass car
and many, many more


Ok, so the only bad thing is having to take some stupid ass serum to keep you from sucking blood from a mortal, big whoop. I'd forgoe the serum, since real blood makes me stronger, and just suck on drunkards, so I could get a buzz going on too.

Another checklist:

Superman: gay, and too strong
Hulk: not a hero, just gay, and too strong
Flash: horrible in bed
Punisher, Batman: only human
Fantastic Four: Flaming Faggots
X-men: wolverine gets a pass, the rest like the ass
Spiderman: Photographers are usually gay
Green Lantern: Black and gay

Dave Mathews Band

Went and saw 'em last night. The sound quality was great. Best sounding show I've ever been to. Not to mention that Dave & Co. played real well. However, I could have just stayed at home and watched their Central Park concert on DVD. But I've been wanting to see them live at least once.


Got plenty drunk & ripped up, and laid out on the lawn for a bit, people watching and enjoying the music. By the time we left, I quickly realized that I was in no condition to drive. Adam and I decided it would be cool to just chill in the parking lot while the masses fought for position out of the lot. We ended up decided to yell out the windows like scalpers that we had backstage passes to go meet Dave. Of course we were out of minds fucked up, so I'm sure we weren't real convincing, but I haven't laughed that hard at all the people driving by asking questions about these tickets we supposedly had.

Finally a fat girl came up and asked what we were yelling about, and inquired about the tickets. We told her she was fat and that Dave was easily frightened in the presence of big game. We laughed harder as she stormed off.

Yup, I have a penis

It's official, I do have a penis. I thought it was important to share this with you all. See, all my life I thought I had a third arm between my legs. It wasn't abnormal for me to use this appendage to pick up dropped change, or small children.

However, when I got my first erection, I noticed that my pants would constrict the raising of my arm/penis, and I would inadvertantly lift one leg with the erection, thus causing me to lose my balance, and lay on my back with one slightly thicker leg up in the air. This was most embarassing, being like a turtle.

I went to the Dr., and the Dr. said, "Boy it'd take a whale just to give you head." (I spit hot fire)

He told me I'd never be normal like this. After a few hundred pictures he and some biker/nurse took of me, recommended I have an operation to make me more of the "norm".

And I do feel much better now. I feel like I fit in. But sometimes it's so damn hard to type on this little keyboard using these new metal shoes nailed on to my hands and feet.













This post is in rememberance of the brave soul who lost his life trying to get his freak on with a damn horse in Washington.

The smallest Vagina

So it's official. Mr. Drunk-in-the-trunk is having a baby girl. Found out on the ultrasound today. For those of you who haven't witnessed an ultrasound of your own child, it's quite weird. It's like some freaked out H.R. Geiger dream. Tons of bones, skeletal figures, coming in and out of focus is a black and white cocoon-like fleshy mess. Then, BAM! You get to see a cute little footprint, no bigger than the tip of your pinky.

Must celebrate...

Softball

My company recently decided to start a Softball team to play in a LOW-KEY Co-ed leauge. Our first game was last night. We found out about the game the night before last.

Thankfully, the majority of our company's team is a bunch of young overweight people, who felt like reliving the glory days of baseball. (myself included) So we show up at the field, with no uniforms, three balls, one bat, and some carpet remnants to use for bases.

The other team is wearing matching uniforms, and warming up briskly in the Cali sun. After throwing the ball for five minutes and getting really stupid damn hot, I began to cut the carpet to regulation size. Meanwhile the other team is shagging balls and looking pretty fucking good.

Long story short, we felt like the bad news bears for the first part. I was the pitcher, and having one hell of a time lofting the ball in the air like some horseshoe playin' granny, and trying not to hit these overweight secretaries. But as play resumed, we started kicking SERIOUS ass. Boyband ass. Then the other team starts crying like a fatass Oprah about all these bullshit rules, and how we're being "too competitive". Probably because I was charging home and had to jump over a Volkswagen of a woman in order not to collide with her and risk shattering my bones.

Six Flags II

So this past weekend, my sister came up from Oregon with my nephew and we decided to go to the local Six Flags with the kids. I'm not sure why we decided this would be such a good idea, but we did.

Granted, I had a good time for the most part, but it's rather difficult with two kids and your wife being pregnant. It's funny to go there and watch people leave with that look of just being fucked in the ass with a big rubber dick. Sooo much money wasted. $8 beers, $50 meals for two, the likes of that. We thought we were being thrifty shoppers by pretending my son was 2, and presenting BOGO tickets for the adults. Still cost us over a C-note just to get into the gate. That's not even including parking.

There is one great thing about going to theme parks. You always leave feeling way better about yourself. Just like Jeff Foxworthy talks about going to the State Fair, the same theory applies here. No matter how fugly you are, there are always more people out there that are worse looking than you are.

It's bad enough dealing with the incredible attitude swings with a pregnant blonde, but two kids that are pissed off at not being tall enough to ride the rides makes shit even worse.

The only redeeming part of the trip was this cute little stupid chick in the butterfly exhibit. I'm walking behind her, and she's got this tattoo of a butterfly on the back of her neck. Now, we're told when we enter the exhibit not to touch any of the butterfly's if they land on you 'cuz they're federally protected. (but most of our rights aren't...weird)

I go up and whisper in her ear, "Sorry miss, I don't mean to alarm you, but you have a butterfly on the back of your neck."

Her eyes widen at this and she starts stammering before she realizes her stupidity. Her boyfriend was laughing hysterically while I calmly walked away smiling.

Things like that make me feel smrat.

He has risen...

Thank the good Lord, my laptop is back in full functioning order. It's freakin' great. I'll be working on a few updates tonight, and we can finally get back to the drunken fun.

The Revelry

People, my bud from work is the drummer for this band and I highly suggest you give them a listen. I went to a show they were at last night, along with Drowning Adam and the Mad Caddies. It was two tons of fun. It's been awhile since I've actually gone to any local shows...or bars for that matter. It's probably because I usually end up passed out in a corner, or a bathroom for that matter.

However, last night I was able to pace myself at the bar, which is highly unusual. I was satisfied with only a buzz. Here's the buzzlist:

2 - Corona's
5 - 7 & 7's
1 - Gnarly ass Jaeger Bomb

Spanned out over the night, that combo worked pretty well. My brosef didn't manage too well after finding out that Sac-Town has some pretty incredible bud to be consumed. Anyways, the purpose of this quick little post is to get some of you goons to go check out The Revelry.

Don't Act Like You're Not Impressed...

Just got a little situation here I'm trying to walk off...



Shizer. This blog is almost dead. It's going to take a little spring cleaning to bring it back to life. However, I am needing the visual medium I once had. If someone out there has a program that they'd like to recommend for me to use for posting pictures on this bastard again, that would be the bee's knees.


Happy 4/20 to the felons out there, I'll be back soon.

Fuck the Tsunami

Sorry, I'm sure I'm not the first person to take this stance, but I really don't care. You live on/near a beach, it's your fault. So why the fuck are we so proud of these kabillionaire celebs donating their month's allowance for shoes to rebuild a shit-hole? Notice how it became like a competition between them who could donate the most? Fuck that and fuck Bono if he wins the fucking nobel peace prize. U2's album donated the 11 worst songs of last year. Thanks a lot pole smoker.

Why the fuck don't we feel sorry for Joe-Bob and Martha in Tornado Alley when their 3rd trailer in as many years is wiped out by a fucking tornado? Why didn't Linkin Park reach into their wallets after the last hurricane in Florida? I'll tell you why.

It's not cool to like America anymore.

So all you kids out there waiting for TRL to come on, listen close to what they tell you, it's the truth. Wear that "U.S.A. = NO WAY!" shirt that's sure to be on everyone's wishlist this fall. And while you're at it, take your fucking WASTE OF A LIFE TO THAT THIRD WORLD COUNTRY YOU ENVY SO MUCH AND FUCK A MONKEY.

While I'm at it, fuck those colored bracelets for causes. Lance's cancer thing was cool, but a fucking poofter color. But now they got blue for 'the' tsunami, green for the troops, pink for breast cancer and God knows what else. I got a new color for ya'll. 'Tye-dye' for all you old people who can't get past you olden days of floppy balls and hairy chicks.

Cops are Assholes

Read this article.

I want to hear your stories of the biggest asshole of a cop you ever ran into. I generally have good experiences with them. I've been pulled over on every drug I've ever done. The worst was acid. But the cop let me go. I was doing 52 in a 35, tripping on acid, for my FIRST TIME. I still don't know how I got away with that one.

I was in college and my friend Skeletor came down with some premium tabs. We dropped a few around 10:00pm and started our night. Somewhere along the line, we decided it would be a good idea to jack some kayaks and slide them down this big grassy slope by the track, since it was wet with sprinkler juice. So here we are, running across a well lit field, carrying a kayak, giggling like clay aiken. As soon as we approach the top of the hill, we hear a siren play across campus (or so we thought) and saw a cop roll out from the security office. They were real cops, not toy agents of University.

So we drop the kayak and haul ass to my truck. I'm freaked the fuck out by now. It's like 3am and we're zooming away from the college when the lights show up in the rear-view. I stop and light my cigarette. But I lit the filter. I try again, this time with success.

The cop asks me why I was driving so fast.

"I don't know,' I replied, eyes big as this guy's balls.
"Well, where you headed?""
"To the mountains to camp," I say.
"OK, drive safe, and slow down,'" he replies.

That was it. So we take off to the mountains and spend the rest of the night sitting on the hood of my truck, listening to Prety Hate Machine and marveling at what just happened. But when we returned the following morning, we caught some Z's in the lobby by my room, as to not wake up my pretentious roommate. Around 7am, some cops and the Dorm manager come up to us and ask to see my vehicle.

The stupid bitch manager thinks that we stole a yellow backpack the previous night, since we were reported as being out and about. (small college) So I take her to my truck, so them the inside and she has the balls to ask to look inside my backpack (green). I say no. She looks expectantly at the cops. They ask. I say, "No, I've cooperated enough this morning, and have done nothing wrong."

So they leave. Good thing, since I had over 30 hits of acid in that backpack and each hit can be charged as one count of manslaughter.

Pick a Winner

Today at work an electrician had a cliff-hanger in his nostril the size of a large raisin. Doesn't that affect the way you breathe? You can't sense it? Bottom line, just pick that shit, or buy a pocket mirror, you fucking ninny.

My Fucking New Years

(diagram A)

Well, my new year was insane, as is most things that I end up doing. The idea was to drive down after work on the 30th and stay with the grammy for the weekend while enjoying various activities.

We arrive around 11:30pm and DrunkBastard and I proceed immediately to the hot tub. After grammy said we could have full access to her bar, which she rarely uses, we begin. Begin by finding a 20 year old bottle of Bushmill's Irish Whiskey. Bushmill's is good, but a FREE twenty year old unopened bottle is perfection.

Unfortunately, Open Bar + Hot Tub + Pool + DrunkBastard + Me = Being up 'till 4 am. And keeping everyone else in the house awake with our deep insightful notions on political domination of third world countries and the like. (We were informed of this at a later date. Around 4:05, I believe)

So after three hours of sleep, we awake to prepare for our visit to the Santa Anita Park, made famous for horse races, and the bullshit movie, "Seabiscuit." So we spent the day at the races, betting on various horses. I had the max winning bet, which was shit, considering I had no idea what I was doing. I won $49 off a $6 bet. Whoopity shit. It was pretty fun, besides paying $5 bucks for a fucking Miller.

Then we go back to the grammy's, get drunk again in the pool/spa. I found another treasure. A 15 year old bottle of Johnny Walker Black. T'was the night for whiskey, I s'pose.

So after midnight, and some kisses all around, we pack up our shit and drive down to Pasadena, to camp out on the street for the Rose Parade, which was scheduled to begin at 8:30am that morning. So we get there, get set up, and get to drinking. We had previously bet DrunkBastard that he could not would not hook up with a black girl on the streets of the parade. Well, as pimp and circumstance would have it, a couple of pretty attractive black girls had come and set up right next to us. DB wasted no time spitting drunk game. They were friendly, but not open for an Oreo with DB. I laughed while drinking continuious 32oz Big Gulps of rum 'n' coke.

Finally, after staying up all night, daybreak came. I new it was crunch time. I'll let you know how the above diagram works. I'm very good with drawing, so very little information should have to be provided for you. We were sitting where the red X is located. Lake street does not get closed for the Parade. It is kept open for emergency vehicles to rush old ladies getting trampled by excited japanese tourists taking photos.

So come daybreak, we're informed that no one is to cross the painted blue line on the street (see blue line on diagram A) This was a rule that was ignored for the better part of two hours, while the parade was being assembled. So, that left my family and the rest of the grumpy, sleepless motherfuckers on the street to yell at clueless morons that thought this,

"Hey, there's nobody sitting where this green circle is (see diagram A) why don't we stand here? It's not like all these thousands of people lined up on the street in their tents and sleeping bags have stayed here longer, it's a good view!!"

My mom became so angered and locally famous, that an L.A. Times reporter came and interviewed us about the situation. She was hot and I was still drunk, so of course I had the best excerpts.

Her: "What's going on here?"
Mom: "Well, we got here-
Me: "These stupid idiots think they can barge in here like we didn't think of it, and stand right in front of our view. Cops ain't helping, and I'm drunk."
Her: "Ok"

So I shut up after I realized with my wife and son still asleep behing me, and thousands of people on the street, I probably wasn't going to get laid.

So here's how it went. Parade, yeah, whatever, you might have saw it on T.V., it was cute and all that. But I had to spend the whole time yelling at japs, and clueless masturbators that they couldn't stand where they thought they had found Mecca. The cops finally got involved, which made me like a Junior Deputy. Which was fun, because I was drunk, but I could pass that off on sleep deprivation.

I'd tell fools in a secret service whisper, "Hey, dumbass, you can stand there, and I'll yell at you. But eventually, that officer over there is going to stop taking pictures of the flowered parade, and look over his shoulder. Then you're outta here."

There were so many key characters involved in this situation, it's hard to get them all in here without making a novel that nobody would buy. Though I'll post the article, if it's ever written by the hottie from the Times.

There was one dude, who's face I never saw, but voice I know by heart, who was a straight up champ. See, there's these crap festering vendors trying to sell cotton candy on a stick, and newspapers, and all that shit while the parade is going on. But they stand right in your way, while surveying the crows looking for a potential customer. So this red-headed dude is selling cotton candy, yelling his pitch, right in our fucking line of sight. The champ yells out, in perfect silence (between floats)

:"HEY WALDO!! GET THE FUCK OUTTA THE WAY!!"

Dude straight bolted outa that shit. Everybody cheered. That happened everytime somebody was ejected from our view. Loud eruptions of laughter and clapping. I had a few moments, but nothing trumped the damn Waldo comment.

2005 is going to be no different than last year, so keep sucking dick, people. L8