Saturday, July 30, 2011
Friday, July 29, 2011
Asshole Neighbors II - The Sleestak Chronicles
In yesterdays edition of cXaos I talked about my asshole neighbor across the street. Today I will describe the thing that lives next door to us. And just to keep things in perspective, our other neighbors, both proximal and distal range from uptight millionaires to speed freaks. What I'm trying to say is it takes all kinds - not all of the neighbors are assholes. But they are all fucked up in their own ways, myself included.
Now the disclaimer is out of the way, on to the Sleestak.
When we first moved here in Burbank, we moved into a neighborhood that has established residents. In other words, most of the people around us have been living in their homes for years.
There is a creature (a woman I think) who lives next to us that has NEVER spoken a fucking word to either my wife or myself. It's not due to a lack of trying, I tried. Once.
It was the first week we had moved into our house and she was in her driveway, in panties and a t-shirt. I didn't know if it was a dude who cross-dresses openly or a really ugly woman. Either way I wanted to be neighborly and introduce myself. Bad idea.
I walked up to the fence which separates our yards and said "hi". It looked at me and I got a look at it's face, which was unpleasant at best. It has more facial hair than I do, and less teeth. After a grimace and a few grunts it slithered away.
I thought perhaps it didn't speak English and chalked it up to a language barrier issue.
This Sleestak (as my wife nicknamed it) is constantly out in her yard placing cloudy Ziploc bags of water on her driveway. The purpose of this bizarre activity has yet to be determined by either of us.
The Sleestak doesn't have a garbage can - so I have no idea what it does with its' trash. It also dumps pans of water on her weeds in the front yard, as her yard looks like Yellowstone before Columbus hit America. I realized this was probably intentional after having to go into her driveway one day chasing a ball for one of my dogs.
The Sleestak is a fucking hoarder. There is at least 2 front windows of its' house that is covered from floor to ceiling with books, boxes and all sorts of shit that belongs in a fucking landfill. I had never seen anything like it, and had to know more.
I then went to the side of our house where our bedroom window faces the Sleestak's courtyard. Again I was fucking shocked to see another window with shit piled from floor to ceiling - there is no seeing inside of that hovel from any vantage point. A hovel with no functional windows is a lair.
The Sleestak has a courtyard between the detached garage and the hovel which, was filled up with boxes and books and magazines and shit. There is also another window that is blocked with the same type of shit. No wonder this thing doesn't need a trash can.
At this point, from my perspective I live next door to a mute, cross dressing, antisocial, hoarder. I went two for three on that assumption.
One morning, early - and I mean fucking 6am early, we are in bed sleeping when we are woken by something just outside our bedroom window (which we keep covered so we can sleep past 5am) screaming.
The screaming went something like this:
"You are a fucking bully, bully, bully, bully. bully - Goddamnit, Goddamnit, Goddamnit, Goddamnit".
This one sided conversation went on for what had to be a good 10 minutes, and continues until the voice faded around the back corner of our house. I had to know what the fuck was happening because obviously someone was in our 3 foot area between the house and the fence, or outside the Sleestak's lair. So I went out the back door.
The Sleestak is standing in a tank top (confirming that it is actually female - saggy, but female) screaming at her cat. I went back to tell the wife what I had just seen, and it was so unsettling I couldn't go back to sleep.
Great, we live next door to Rainman.
A few months back the Sleestak decided to have a tree trimmed in her backyard. We again were awoken at 7am, this time by the sound of a chainsaw and Spanish workers yelling at one another. This time the wife went out to handle the problem, as we had been out late the night before and were not going to wake up until we had to.
I followed because when the wife gets pissed off at someone other than me it's so worth watching.
We head out the front door and toward the fence and the wife is telling this 3 man Mexican crew that she is going to shove their chainsaw up their asses if they didn't cut the fucker off. The Sleestak was outside in her usual granny panties and dirty t-shirt - not saying a fucking word.
The Mexican workers didn't understand everything the wife was saying, and because neither of us speak Spanish the threats were falling on one set of stupid ears, and three sets of "I can't understand what you are fucking saying" ears.
The Sleestak slithered back into her hovel without saying shit. I told those fuckers that I was calling INS and the cops, in that order. All of the sudden the head guy speaks English - what a fucking surprise.
He said they were trimming the branches from one of the trees and the Sleestak was going to use the wood to burn in her fireplace. I was unaware that lairs had fireplaces, but whatever. The workers kept the chainsaws off until 8 (city ordinance) and proceeded to cut most of a large tree down.
I saw them cut the wood into 16" pieces and put it in the Sleestaks courtyard. A few days later the wood was no longer in the courtyard - as it had been replaced by boxes of shit.
I assume the Sleestak was worried someone would steal her fire wood and decided to make room in her lair for it.
I guess I just don't understand Sleestak priorities......
Now the disclaimer is out of the way, on to the Sleestak.
When we first moved here in Burbank, we moved into a neighborhood that has established residents. In other words, most of the people around us have been living in their homes for years.
There is a creature (a woman I think) who lives next to us that has NEVER spoken a fucking word to either my wife or myself. It's not due to a lack of trying, I tried. Once.
It was the first week we had moved into our house and she was in her driveway, in panties and a t-shirt. I didn't know if it was a dude who cross-dresses openly or a really ugly woman. Either way I wanted to be neighborly and introduce myself. Bad idea.
I walked up to the fence which separates our yards and said "hi". It looked at me and I got a look at it's face, which was unpleasant at best. It has more facial hair than I do, and less teeth. After a grimace and a few grunts it slithered away.
I thought perhaps it didn't speak English and chalked it up to a language barrier issue.
This Sleestak (as my wife nicknamed it) is constantly out in her yard placing cloudy Ziploc bags of water on her driveway. The purpose of this bizarre activity has yet to be determined by either of us.
The Sleestak doesn't have a garbage can - so I have no idea what it does with its' trash. It also dumps pans of water on her weeds in the front yard, as her yard looks like Yellowstone before Columbus hit America. I realized this was probably intentional after having to go into her driveway one day chasing a ball for one of my dogs.
The Sleestak is a fucking hoarder. There is at least 2 front windows of its' house that is covered from floor to ceiling with books, boxes and all sorts of shit that belongs in a fucking landfill. I had never seen anything like it, and had to know more.
I then went to the side of our house where our bedroom window faces the Sleestak's courtyard. Again I was fucking shocked to see another window with shit piled from floor to ceiling - there is no seeing inside of that hovel from any vantage point. A hovel with no functional windows is a lair.
The Sleestak has a courtyard between the detached garage and the hovel which, was filled up with boxes and books and magazines and shit. There is also another window that is blocked with the same type of shit. No wonder this thing doesn't need a trash can.
At this point, from my perspective I live next door to a mute, cross dressing, antisocial, hoarder. I went two for three on that assumption.
One morning, early - and I mean fucking 6am early, we are in bed sleeping when we are woken by something just outside our bedroom window (which we keep covered so we can sleep past 5am) screaming.
The screaming went something like this:
"You are a fucking bully, bully, bully, bully. bully - Goddamnit, Goddamnit, Goddamnit, Goddamnit".
This one sided conversation went on for what had to be a good 10 minutes, and continues until the voice faded around the back corner of our house. I had to know what the fuck was happening because obviously someone was in our 3 foot area between the house and the fence, or outside the Sleestak's lair. So I went out the back door.
The Sleestak is standing in a tank top (confirming that it is actually female - saggy, but female) screaming at her cat. I went back to tell the wife what I had just seen, and it was so unsettling I couldn't go back to sleep.
Great, we live next door to Rainman.
A few months back the Sleestak decided to have a tree trimmed in her backyard. We again were awoken at 7am, this time by the sound of a chainsaw and Spanish workers yelling at one another. This time the wife went out to handle the problem, as we had been out late the night before and were not going to wake up until we had to.
I followed because when the wife gets pissed off at someone other than me it's so worth watching.
We head out the front door and toward the fence and the wife is telling this 3 man Mexican crew that she is going to shove their chainsaw up their asses if they didn't cut the fucker off. The Sleestak was outside in her usual granny panties and dirty t-shirt - not saying a fucking word.
The Mexican workers didn't understand everything the wife was saying, and because neither of us speak Spanish the threats were falling on one set of stupid ears, and three sets of "I can't understand what you are fucking saying" ears.
The Sleestak slithered back into her hovel without saying shit. I told those fuckers that I was calling INS and the cops, in that order. All of the sudden the head guy speaks English - what a fucking surprise.
He said they were trimming the branches from one of the trees and the Sleestak was going to use the wood to burn in her fireplace. I was unaware that lairs had fireplaces, but whatever. The workers kept the chainsaws off until 8 (city ordinance) and proceeded to cut most of a large tree down.
I saw them cut the wood into 16" pieces and put it in the Sleestaks courtyard. A few days later the wood was no longer in the courtyard - as it had been replaced by boxes of shit.
I assume the Sleestak was worried someone would steal her fire wood and decided to make room in her lair for it.
I guess I just don't understand Sleestak priorities......
Thursday, July 28, 2011
My asshole neighbors
We live in a very cool part of Burbank, California where most residents are very active and friendly. Except our neighbors. Here is the lowdown on the strange, macabre, gross, stupid and outright fucking wrong.
Across the street is the LA County cop. He is a fucking asshole - why? Maybe he was held too much as a child. Maybe he wasn't held enough. Maybe he had a special uncle, who knows. But he is a 50 something, behemoth fucker with a bad attitude and a "punchdummy" that appears to be looking at us all the time in his front yard.
If you aren't familiar with Burbank, they sweep the streets EVERY week. Tuesday it is the west side of the street, Wednesday it is the east side. So no parking is allowed on the allotted sides of the street between 10am and noon on sweep days. The cocksucker cop is a car hoarder. In front of each house there is room for two cars and this piece of shit parks dead center - leaving room for only his car.
Then there is his wife, or what is now his ex-wife. She is the gossip queen of not only our street, but the whole fucking city of Burbank. She will fuck pretty much anything that moves and swears that the Animal Control staff trade her out "favors" when her dog gets out of line. The bitch works construction and is also 50 something - I'm going to go ahead and guess the Animal Control staff would rather mount their inmates in the back of their stupid vans twice before they would consider putting any part of their body inside of her.
The ex-wife is now gone from the house across the street, and that is kind of a drag because those two had some of the greatest fighting matches EVER. In fact, my wife and I have put chairs on our porch for the expressed intention of having a place to sit and watch the mayhem. The fights they would have usually started in the house and escalated outside to the middle of the street. On a really good day one of the two of them would pull up (in one of their plethora of fucking cars) and the other would run out to their car and begin yelling at the other inside, through a closed window. It was fucking classic! We have actually been late for events because of their altercations - EPIC.
The same neighbor, when they were married had a lemon tree on the strip of land between the sidewalk and the curb. I was told by the wife way back when we moved in I could help myself to them because most go to waste on the ground (they also have a lemon tree inside their stupid white fucking picket fence). So one Friday night a few months back, I'm making my famous lemon chicken soup and run out of lemons. It's like 1am and all is quiet in the neighborhood. So I go to the bush and help myself. Out of nowhere, their dumbass 20 something kid comes home in his Scion (I fucking hate those cars, especially his) and just like his daddy parks dead center in the thoroughfare.
At this point the dude has seen me and my plastic bag, and me picking lemons from the shrub. Here's how that conversation went:
Dude: What the fuck are you doing, man?
Me: I lost my kitchen table and thought it might be in this here lemon tree.
Dude: What?
Me: I'm picking lemons.
Dude: It's like 1 in the morning.
Me: Oh shit, am I being too loud for you? Did I wake you up?
Dude: No man, I just got home.
This cat obviously has a flair for the obvious.
Me: I'll be done in a minute. (I go back to picking my lemons)
Dude walks into their stupid white picket fence yard, and then turns to talk to me some more. By this time I am street side grabbing the low hanging fruit, so I can't see him, only hear him.
Dude: I'm going to tell my Dad.
Me: You are going to tell your dad what?
Dude: That you are stealing our lemons.
Me: Isn't your dad a fucking cop of some kind?
Dude: Yeah.
Me: Well do me a solid and tell him to quit taking up all the parking space in front of my fucking house.
And with that the stupid ass kid went inside the house. Now his daddy lived in the garage because step-mommy kicked his stupid ass out of the bedroom before we moved in to our house.
I filled my bag with lemons and walked back across the street to finish my soup.
I heard nothing from any of the crazy residents of the house personally, until the next day. And then it was on, the fight about the lemon tree I had picked my lemons from. The husband and wife were out in the street calling each other names I won't even use (starts with a c, and rhymes with runt).
After 5 minutes or so of blissful watching, the soon to be ex-wife told him to fuck off and left. Still nobody came to say a fucking word to me.
The following Tuesday, that asshole, cocksucker cop had the tree cut down. What a dick!!!!! No wonder his wife left his stupid ass!!!!
The soup however, came out better than ever. It is said food is better when cooked with love, I think food is better when cooked with ignorant, pointless mental beratings (from my neighbors).
Tomorrow, the Sleestack who lives next door.
Across the street is the LA County cop. He is a fucking asshole - why? Maybe he was held too much as a child. Maybe he wasn't held enough. Maybe he had a special uncle, who knows. But he is a 50 something, behemoth fucker with a bad attitude and a "punchdummy" that appears to be looking at us all the time in his front yard.
If you aren't familiar with Burbank, they sweep the streets EVERY week. Tuesday it is the west side of the street, Wednesday it is the east side. So no parking is allowed on the allotted sides of the street between 10am and noon on sweep days. The cocksucker cop is a car hoarder. In front of each house there is room for two cars and this piece of shit parks dead center - leaving room for only his car.
Then there is his wife, or what is now his ex-wife. She is the gossip queen of not only our street, but the whole fucking city of Burbank. She will fuck pretty much anything that moves and swears that the Animal Control staff trade her out "favors" when her dog gets out of line. The bitch works construction and is also 50 something - I'm going to go ahead and guess the Animal Control staff would rather mount their inmates in the back of their stupid vans twice before they would consider putting any part of their body inside of her.
The ex-wife is now gone from the house across the street, and that is kind of a drag because those two had some of the greatest fighting matches EVER. In fact, my wife and I have put chairs on our porch for the expressed intention of having a place to sit and watch the mayhem. The fights they would have usually started in the house and escalated outside to the middle of the street. On a really good day one of the two of them would pull up (in one of their plethora of fucking cars) and the other would run out to their car and begin yelling at the other inside, through a closed window. It was fucking classic! We have actually been late for events because of their altercations - EPIC.
The same neighbor, when they were married had a lemon tree on the strip of land between the sidewalk and the curb. I was told by the wife way back when we moved in I could help myself to them because most go to waste on the ground (they also have a lemon tree inside their stupid white fucking picket fence). So one Friday night a few months back, I'm making my famous lemon chicken soup and run out of lemons. It's like 1am and all is quiet in the neighborhood. So I go to the bush and help myself. Out of nowhere, their dumbass 20 something kid comes home in his Scion (I fucking hate those cars, especially his) and just like his daddy parks dead center in the thoroughfare.
At this point the dude has seen me and my plastic bag, and me picking lemons from the shrub. Here's how that conversation went:
Dude: What the fuck are you doing, man?
Me: I lost my kitchen table and thought it might be in this here lemon tree.
Dude: What?
Me: I'm picking lemons.
Dude: It's like 1 in the morning.
Me: Oh shit, am I being too loud for you? Did I wake you up?
Dude: No man, I just got home.
This cat obviously has a flair for the obvious.
Me: I'll be done in a minute. (I go back to picking my lemons)
Dude walks into their stupid white picket fence yard, and then turns to talk to me some more. By this time I am street side grabbing the low hanging fruit, so I can't see him, only hear him.
Dude: I'm going to tell my Dad.
Me: You are going to tell your dad what?
Dude: That you are stealing our lemons.
Me: Isn't your dad a fucking cop of some kind?
Dude: Yeah.
Me: Well do me a solid and tell him to quit taking up all the parking space in front of my fucking house.
And with that the stupid ass kid went inside the house. Now his daddy lived in the garage because step-mommy kicked his stupid ass out of the bedroom before we moved in to our house.
I filled my bag with lemons and walked back across the street to finish my soup.
I heard nothing from any of the crazy residents of the house personally, until the next day. And then it was on, the fight about the lemon tree I had picked my lemons from. The husband and wife were out in the street calling each other names I won't even use (starts with a c, and rhymes with runt).
After 5 minutes or so of blissful watching, the soon to be ex-wife told him to fuck off and left. Still nobody came to say a fucking word to me.
The following Tuesday, that asshole, cocksucker cop had the tree cut down. What a dick!!!!! No wonder his wife left his stupid ass!!!!
The soup however, came out better than ever. It is said food is better when cooked with love, I think food is better when cooked with ignorant, pointless mental beratings (from my neighbors).
Tomorrow, the Sleestack who lives next door.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Raising Cookies
There is no book on how to raise kids, and if there was it would be a crock of shit. Every kid is different, and therefore must be dealt with differently.
That said, it is the responsibility of the parent to make "relatively" safe decisions when considering summer activities.
For example, sending your teenage kid to a summer basketball camp, music camp or science symposium seems a fairly safe bet when it comes to a childs safety. Sure there are slips and falls, broken bones, hurt feelings and the ultimate realization that your kid is very possibly, at best, exceptionally average. That's why we have lawyers and McDonald's. Jobs and opportunities for all.
I have to wonder about the group of parents who, in their infinite wisdom, send their kids to Alaska as walking food commercials for the indigenous wildlife. The recent bear attacks on two teenagers come to mind.
Apparently the kids who were attacked by a pissed off Grizzly bear saw them as either a) a threat to her cubbies and or b) lunch. The group of 6 kids were part of a month long leadership conference - and what leadership skills could be learned as bait is my question?
You know at the beginning of a movie, right after the trailers and just before the main attraction there is the "turn your cell phone off" bit along with the walking soda and popcorn figures? Those irritate me - they do. I can just imagine how a bear must feel seeing what amounts to the same thing.
Those kids looked like Chips-Ahoy to them, so it's no surprise that momma bear, teaching her young to not only eat but to kill stuff because they are the TOP OF THE FOOD CHAIN!
If I'm sitting in my living room watching Sportscenter and a 6 pack of Sandies walk through the room you can bet your ass they won't make it to the other side. It's just how shit works. We live in a world where opportunities must be taken advantage of.
So I have to question the decision making of these "lucky to not be half digested bear poop" kids, and more importantly their mommies and daddies. What can be learned about "leadership" in Alaska - the least densely populated state in the nation?
I'm sure there was no malevolence involved, no conspiracy to whack the kids - just plain stupidity and ignorance. You send your kids to Afghanistan for a month, there are only so many options that are possible in terms of what your kids will learn. Opium farming, radical Islam, terrorism or postmortem.
That said, it is the responsibility of the parent to make "relatively" safe decisions when considering summer activities.
For example, sending your teenage kid to a summer basketball camp, music camp or science symposium seems a fairly safe bet when it comes to a childs safety. Sure there are slips and falls, broken bones, hurt feelings and the ultimate realization that your kid is very possibly, at best, exceptionally average. That's why we have lawyers and McDonald's. Jobs and opportunities for all.
I have to wonder about the group of parents who, in their infinite wisdom, send their kids to Alaska as walking food commercials for the indigenous wildlife. The recent bear attacks on two teenagers come to mind.
Apparently the kids who were attacked by a pissed off Grizzly bear saw them as either a) a threat to her cubbies and or b) lunch. The group of 6 kids were part of a month long leadership conference - and what leadership skills could be learned as bait is my question?
You know at the beginning of a movie, right after the trailers and just before the main attraction there is the "turn your cell phone off" bit along with the walking soda and popcorn figures? Those irritate me - they do. I can just imagine how a bear must feel seeing what amounts to the same thing.
Those kids looked like Chips-Ahoy to them, so it's no surprise that momma bear, teaching her young to not only eat but to kill stuff because they are the TOP OF THE FOOD CHAIN!
If I'm sitting in my living room watching Sportscenter and a 6 pack of Sandies walk through the room you can bet your ass they won't make it to the other side. It's just how shit works. We live in a world where opportunities must be taken advantage of.
So I have to question the decision making of these "lucky to not be half digested bear poop" kids, and more importantly their mommies and daddies. What can be learned about "leadership" in Alaska - the least densely populated state in the nation?
I'm sure there was no malevolence involved, no conspiracy to whack the kids - just plain stupidity and ignorance. You send your kids to Afghanistan for a month, there are only so many options that are possible in terms of what your kids will learn. Opium farming, radical Islam, terrorism or postmortem.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Michael Jackson vs. Casey Anthony
The battle between two "alleged" criminals, both of which were tried of atrocities that most of us will never begin to comprehend. Since Michael is no longer with us, there seems to be an easement of the allegations which once defined the pop star - and still linger as to what he was all about behind the walls of his home made Disneyland.
Casey Anthony on the other hand is still very much alive, yet hated beyond belief. Is it because she didn't write songs like Beat It - which in my mind is indicative of what MJ did with a lot of his time? Is it because she "allegedly" killed her own kid and chose to not molest others along the way?
MJ was talented beyond belief - but the King of Pop? Really?
I think settling a lawsuit for pedophilia for a tidy sum of 20 million bucks buys a lot of forgiveness. And what did dude learn from writing that payoff, er, settlement check? My answer would be he learned dick, both literally and figuratively.
I'm guessing the agreement / gag order (no pun intended) went something like this:
While Michael Jackson engages in some questionable shit, has a fascination with young kids, and maintains his own zoo to attract potential victims not to mention likes tucking them into his own bed, we believe that 20 million dollars will convince you (the plaintiff) that nothing occurred that cannot be paid for. MJ admits to nothing and has psychologically reverted back to a 9 year old. Hence, he only wishes to cuddle now.
With Casey Anthony, no such luck. Did she get away with killing her kid? Probably. But, the court system said she was NOT guilty and no settlement was ever negotiated. If Casey did it, then she and OJ will go down as the largest joke on the American justice system ever. Besides, how do you pay yourself a settlement for something you claim not to have done?
If she didn't it shows the justice system works. It's all perspective and depends on what side of the fence you choose to put your lawn chair.
Personally, I like to believe the universe always gets even. If it doesn't, it should. In MJ's case it did. He got off (no pun intended) in his latest trial, and if it had been a one time accusation there may be room for some doubt. But this cat was straight habitual, and Liz Taylor and the Caulkin brothers combined couldn't convince me, or anyone else for that matter, otherwise.
So it comes down to who deserves our sympathy, empathy and or forgiveness. Mikey is toast so it is only his legacy which would receive such exoneration. I think that dude bought his way out of some pedophilia charges and got lucky the second time around. I mean come on - who the fuck writes a check for 20 million for doing nothing?????
Casey Anthony needs to be left alone. Not because she is innocent, because she was found not guilty. She will go on to make a shitload of cash and sell books, movies and may even start a self help group in Vegas. Either way, if she is as stupid as has been alleged she will end up in jail in Nevada for beating some memorabilia dude stupid for not paying her enough for her trading cards, or her autograph - or whatever.
Casey Anthony on the other hand is still very much alive, yet hated beyond belief. Is it because she didn't write songs like Beat It - which in my mind is indicative of what MJ did with a lot of his time? Is it because she "allegedly" killed her own kid and chose to not molest others along the way?
MJ was talented beyond belief - but the King of Pop? Really?
I think settling a lawsuit for pedophilia for a tidy sum of 20 million bucks buys a lot of forgiveness. And what did dude learn from writing that payoff, er, settlement check? My answer would be he learned dick, both literally and figuratively.
I'm guessing the agreement / gag order (no pun intended) went something like this:
While Michael Jackson engages in some questionable shit, has a fascination with young kids, and maintains his own zoo to attract potential victims not to mention likes tucking them into his own bed, we believe that 20 million dollars will convince you (the plaintiff) that nothing occurred that cannot be paid for. MJ admits to nothing and has psychologically reverted back to a 9 year old. Hence, he only wishes to cuddle now.
With Casey Anthony, no such luck. Did she get away with killing her kid? Probably. But, the court system said she was NOT guilty and no settlement was ever negotiated. If Casey did it, then she and OJ will go down as the largest joke on the American justice system ever. Besides, how do you pay yourself a settlement for something you claim not to have done?
If she didn't it shows the justice system works. It's all perspective and depends on what side of the fence you choose to put your lawn chair.
Personally, I like to believe the universe always gets even. If it doesn't, it should. In MJ's case it did. He got off (no pun intended) in his latest trial, and if it had been a one time accusation there may be room for some doubt. But this cat was straight habitual, and Liz Taylor and the Caulkin brothers combined couldn't convince me, or anyone else for that matter, otherwise.
So it comes down to who deserves our sympathy, empathy and or forgiveness. Mikey is toast so it is only his legacy which would receive such exoneration. I think that dude bought his way out of some pedophilia charges and got lucky the second time around. I mean come on - who the fuck writes a check for 20 million for doing nothing?????
Casey Anthony needs to be left alone. Not because she is innocent, because she was found not guilty. She will go on to make a shitload of cash and sell books, movies and may even start a self help group in Vegas. Either way, if she is as stupid as has been alleged she will end up in jail in Nevada for beating some memorabilia dude stupid for not paying her enough for her trading cards, or her autograph - or whatever.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Tragically Unhip
So the world has lost another pissed off, misguided, self loathing rock star in Amy Winehouse. I don't say this because I take any joy in her death. Nope, quite the opposite. I mention this because in the nanosecond world we live in, had this woman survived herself I'm guessing she would have floated into Sinead O'Conner obscurity before she was 40.
Whats worse is the vast majority of the world will look at her death as untimely (although it appears to be accidentally self inflicted) and now everything she has done musically will take on some superior meaning - all because of a few hundred bucks of chemicals and some bad decisions.
Bad decisions and a few hundred bucks do not a legend make. Ask any kid with a guitar, bong and a computer - the rules don't change for those who decide their own melancholic state is soooooo bad that anything is better than this. I suppose it depends what "this" is, but whatever.
So now, because this chick is toast there will be this mass fallout - documentaries will be made, books will be written and I'm waiting for the Hallmark special on how tortured her soul was. Shit, I'm willing to bet a Broadway show will be made in her honor. That in my opinion is the real tragedy here.
Her music isn't any better today than it was last week - just more relevant because, well she's dead.
Kurt Cobain at least was convincing when he blew his brains out. Dude didn't want to live so he went out and made sure it was final. I'm not condoning what the dude did - it sucked (even though his band was, and still is to certain degree over rated).
Amy Winehouse will probably be compared to Janis Joplin, Jimmy Hendrix, Jim Morrison and John Bonham when in reality her contribution to the music scene couldn't compare to any of the aforementioned folks. Layne Staley, the lead singer from Alice in Chains died of a heroin overdose and he (in my opinion) had more of an impact on music than Winehouse. It took 7 days to find Layne's dead body, tragic!
And why doesn't anyone talk about Brad Delp, the lead singer of Boston who killed himself a few years back? This cat wrote some of the most timeless songs EVER. That, to me is tragic.
Winehouse is dead now, and that sucks. What will make it even worse is to pretend she was something in death she couldn't achieve in life. (The Grammy argument doesn't fucking hold water folks)
As the philosopher Michaels wrote in his song Tragically Unhip:
My record company says
blow my brains out my head
I'll make the cover of every magazine
Whats worse is the vast majority of the world will look at her death as untimely (although it appears to be accidentally self inflicted) and now everything she has done musically will take on some superior meaning - all because of a few hundred bucks of chemicals and some bad decisions.
Bad decisions and a few hundred bucks do not a legend make. Ask any kid with a guitar, bong and a computer - the rules don't change for those who decide their own melancholic state is soooooo bad that anything is better than this. I suppose it depends what "this" is, but whatever.
So now, because this chick is toast there will be this mass fallout - documentaries will be made, books will be written and I'm waiting for the Hallmark special on how tortured her soul was. Shit, I'm willing to bet a Broadway show will be made in her honor. That in my opinion is the real tragedy here.
Her music isn't any better today than it was last week - just more relevant because, well she's dead.
Kurt Cobain at least was convincing when he blew his brains out. Dude didn't want to live so he went out and made sure it was final. I'm not condoning what the dude did - it sucked (even though his band was, and still is to certain degree over rated).
Amy Winehouse will probably be compared to Janis Joplin, Jimmy Hendrix, Jim Morrison and John Bonham when in reality her contribution to the music scene couldn't compare to any of the aforementioned folks. Layne Staley, the lead singer from Alice in Chains died of a heroin overdose and he (in my opinion) had more of an impact on music than Winehouse. It took 7 days to find Layne's dead body, tragic!
And why doesn't anyone talk about Brad Delp, the lead singer of Boston who killed himself a few years back? This cat wrote some of the most timeless songs EVER. That, to me is tragic.
Winehouse is dead now, and that sucks. What will make it even worse is to pretend she was something in death she couldn't achieve in life. (The Grammy argument doesn't fucking hold water folks)
As the philosopher Michaels wrote in his song Tragically Unhip:
My record company says
blow my brains out my head
I'll make the cover of every magazine
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Weed SAT's
With roughly half of the states in the country legalizing "medicinal" marijuana in one form or another, the police are alleging that the instances of accidents involving "high" drivers is increasing.
A report from Colorado claims nearly 20% of the auto accidents involve impaired or high driver(s). The same report goes on to say that Colorado has 100,000 "legal" pot users. There are 5 million residents. Hmmmmm.
Lets do the math - 5 million people divided by 100,000 card carriers = .02% . This is dummy math!
However, this is only the beginning of the debate here in California as the argument has just begun to be filibustered regarding how to check drivers "THC" (the active ingredient in weed) level.
When checking for weed intoxication a blood test reveals a unit of measure referred to as nanograms, which I can only assume is similar to parts per million when referring to other substances found in blood. 5 nanograms of THC is what Colorado legislatures are proposing as over the limit - and these same asshole politicians are already admitting that the test results can be rebuffed in court.
The difference between say alcohol and pot is the rate of metabolism. You drink and alcohol processes at a fairly, non-refutable rate. If you get caught driving drunk, you're pretty much fucked. BUT -weed is different and stays in the bloodstream much longer, especially with chronic users. Get caught on suspicion of weed intoxication how does a prosecutor or medical expert prove when the weed was ingested, and to further that point that the driver was actually impaired at the time the test was taken?
I don't use weed, weed products or hemp oil. It's not some fucking moral high ground, it just isn't my thing. I have friends and family that smoke pot on a regular basis - and I don't give a hot fuck. I would much rather be out on the road with a bunch of stoners than drunks - and I drink.
So here is my proposition for the states wanting to regulate this, because the PhD's at MIT have failed fucking miserably to come up with a viable, scientific solution.
If someone is suspected of being "stoned" and the law wants to test them, put them in the back of a police car with a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos (with no soda) and time how long it takes them to kill the bag. If it's under 4.21 minutes then fucking give them a citation, mix their car keys up with their stoner buddies and let them figure out how to get the right key in the ignition. By then they will be "straight" enough to mosey on over to the 7-11 and cop a Big Gulp Dr. Pepper.
If not, let them go and harass someone else.
A report from Colorado claims nearly 20% of the auto accidents involve impaired or high driver(s). The same report goes on to say that Colorado has 100,000 "legal" pot users. There are 5 million residents. Hmmmmm.
Lets do the math - 5 million people divided by 100,000 card carriers = .02% . This is dummy math!
However, this is only the beginning of the debate here in California as the argument has just begun to be filibustered regarding how to check drivers "THC" (the active ingredient in weed) level.
When checking for weed intoxication a blood test reveals a unit of measure referred to as nanograms, which I can only assume is similar to parts per million when referring to other substances found in blood. 5 nanograms of THC is what Colorado legislatures are proposing as over the limit - and these same asshole politicians are already admitting that the test results can be rebuffed in court.
The difference between say alcohol and pot is the rate of metabolism. You drink and alcohol processes at a fairly, non-refutable rate. If you get caught driving drunk, you're pretty much fucked. BUT -weed is different and stays in the bloodstream much longer, especially with chronic users. Get caught on suspicion of weed intoxication how does a prosecutor or medical expert prove when the weed was ingested, and to further that point that the driver was actually impaired at the time the test was taken?
I don't use weed, weed products or hemp oil. It's not some fucking moral high ground, it just isn't my thing. I have friends and family that smoke pot on a regular basis - and I don't give a hot fuck. I would much rather be out on the road with a bunch of stoners than drunks - and I drink.
So here is my proposition for the states wanting to regulate this, because the PhD's at MIT have failed fucking miserably to come up with a viable, scientific solution.
If someone is suspected of being "stoned" and the law wants to test them, put them in the back of a police car with a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos (with no soda) and time how long it takes them to kill the bag. If it's under 4.21 minutes then fucking give them a citation, mix their car keys up with their stoner buddies and let them figure out how to get the right key in the ignition. By then they will be "straight" enough to mosey on over to the 7-11 and cop a Big Gulp Dr. Pepper.
If not, let them go and harass someone else.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Puking on the Queen - Part 3
Finally Jayme and her boyfriend get to the room. Their friend Crystal shows up (who really has the room) 5 minutes later. The following is the verbatim transcript from the best 5 minutes of video there was available. I wish I could post it but it just can't happen.
So Jayme is getting worse by the second, and Crystal was high on the same chocolate bars (just less). Jayme is trying to stand at the foot of the bed, Crystal is sitting adjacent from her and the video is being shot by the boyfriend. Jayme is trying to use her iPhone which she could normally do in her sleep.
Jayme: (looking at her boyfriend) Are you gonna still love me tomorrow? No fuck that, it's not nice to take pictures if they don't feel good (laughs) .......... Crystal, you don't even know.
Boyfriend: What did you take to get you this fucked up?
Jayme looks at Crystal confused.
Boyfriend: Look at me.
Jayme: Because I don't know.
Crystal: Chocolate.
Jayme: That's just...see? It's simple.
Boyfriend: She hucked on the roof and scared the shit out of the passengers.
Jayme falls down face first on the bed laughing hysterically.
Jayme: Nooooooooooooo ...............(laughing) .......I........... just............look..........do you know how hard it is to buy Dramamine these days? (Falls off the bed onto the floor laughing.
Boyfriend: This fucker isn't really floating......
Crystal: I haven't had to score Dramamine..........No you don't understand. You Know what made me laugh so hard, and that I almost shit my pants is that last night I said Jayme you need your pillow (she shows Jayme the pillow - Jayme is on her knees still at the foot of the bed) and Jayme says "oh my God" it's the wrong fucking color. I almost shit my pants.
Jayme is head down, face first on the bed, knees on the floor laughing.
Boyfriend: You feng shui'd the pillow?
Crystal: (Laughing) There is something wrong with it.
Jayme: It is evil I told you that, and you're like "yeah that's so fucking funny".
Jayme falls back against the wall laughing as Crystal doubles over laughing.
Boyfriend: This is priceless.
Jayme: (laughing) but it's not funny right. (Crystal has her arm rested on the "pillow" which is white with a blue stripe checking her phone). Look, you're even resting on it and I told you to get rid of it...didn't I say?
Crystal throws the pillow over the bed onto the floor. However the room they are in has one of those round windows which is roughly 30" in diameter. The window is closed, I'm not sure they even open.
Jayme: Yeeeeeaaaaaaahhhhhhh overboard......watch.......bec......because .......... the leprechauns are.....they kill they fucking hate that color.
Crystal falls onto the bed face first laughing.
Boyfriend: Leprechauns?
Jayme: Their not in the rainbow.....(laughing).... those fucking leprechauns they fucking know.
Boyfriend: Are you going to fall over baby?
Jayme: Noooooooo, because why?
Boyfriend: Why?
Jayme: (pointing at Crystal) because you know why did you see that leprechaun? ....... (laughing)
Boyfriend: Did he steal the colors honey?
Jayme: no no no they are back now because we got rid of that stupid fucking thing (pointing to the window where she thinks the pillow went out) in the wrong color.
Boyfriend: Do we need to chuck the pillow out the door?
Jayme: (looking at Crystal) It's overboard right?
Crystal: Yes, yes yes.
Boyfriend: You threw the pillow overboard?
Crystal: It's overboard.
Jayme: If I ... the pillow...if the wrong color is not with us right....now the leprechaun (laughs hysterically).
Boyfriend: Tell the story Crystal.
Crystal: It's overboard.....
Jayme: Watch, the leprechaun (pointing to the door) is going to come in (points to the bed) waaaaaaaaaaatch (points back to the door).
Boyfriend: Oh no.
Jayme: You know what? He has a green hat....and a little red beard...and he fucking skips along....
Crystal is laughing so hard she is making those sucking sounds people make when they can't breathe.
Boyfriend: Is he the little fucker on the box of Lucky Charms?
Jayme: Yeah yeah yeah yeah that's the dude that's the dude right? What's he say?
Boyfriend: They are magically delicious.
Jayme laughs and then immediately stops and gathers her thought(s).
Jayme: Ok... that's not funny anymore.
Boyfriend: No really it is.
Jayme: Really?
Crystal: Dude, I got rid of the pillow.
Boyfriend moving around the bed to pick up the pillow off the floor.
Boyfriend: The pillow, look. It's over here. Look look look we are looking. (Boyfriend picks up the pillow) there is the pillow right there.
Jayme (laughing) noooooooooooo it's still the wrong color.
The Boyfirend walks back toward the other side of the bed which leads to the bathroom and the door. Both Jayme and Crystal drop to all fours and crawl away from the pillow as fast as they can. Crystal makes it to the bathroom while Jayme drops face first onto the floor laughing so hard she can't talk. Crystal shuts the bathroom door and hysterical laughter can be heard from outside.
Jayme: You seeeeeeeeeeeeeee. He's got the wrong color aaaaaagghhhhhh.
Crystal cracks open the bathroom door, still on all fours peeking out to see the pillow being held by the Boyfriend. The boyfriend stops short of the door and turns around with the camera to see Jayme in a downward facing dog position laughing.
Boyfirend: I have the fucking pillow, see check it out.
Jayme and Crystal scream and laugh hysterically.
Jayme: Honeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyy nooooooooooooooooo.
Jayme tries to get up but falls back down on the floor - face down laughing hysterically. Crystal has again locked herself in the bathroom laughing.The Boyfriend throws the pillow outside the room in the corridor and leaves the door open.
Boyfriend: I threw the pillow outside. I did. Look.
Jayme: No nooooooooooooooo
Crystal cracks the bathroom door laughing.
Crystal: I have to take a shit. If she makes me laugh that hard one more time...
Boyfriend: You're going to blow a colon?
Crystal: I'm going to shit my pants.
Bathroom door closes.
And with that is the end of the video. There was a lot more that happened but nothing that tops this.
So Jayme is getting worse by the second, and Crystal was high on the same chocolate bars (just less). Jayme is trying to stand at the foot of the bed, Crystal is sitting adjacent from her and the video is being shot by the boyfriend. Jayme is trying to use her iPhone which she could normally do in her sleep.
Jayme: (looking at her boyfriend) Are you gonna still love me tomorrow? No fuck that, it's not nice to take pictures if they don't feel good (laughs) .......... Crystal, you don't even know.
Boyfriend: What did you take to get you this fucked up?
Jayme looks at Crystal confused.
Boyfriend: Look at me.
Jayme: Because I don't know.
Crystal: Chocolate.
Jayme: That's just...see? It's simple.
Boyfriend: She hucked on the roof and scared the shit out of the passengers.
Jayme falls down face first on the bed laughing hysterically.
Jayme: Nooooooooooooo ...............(laughing) .......I........... just............look..........do you know how hard it is to buy Dramamine these days? (Falls off the bed onto the floor laughing.
Boyfriend: This fucker isn't really floating......
Crystal: I haven't had to score Dramamine..........No you don't understand. You Know what made me laugh so hard, and that I almost shit my pants is that last night I said Jayme you need your pillow (she shows Jayme the pillow - Jayme is on her knees still at the foot of the bed) and Jayme says "oh my God" it's the wrong fucking color. I almost shit my pants.
Jayme is head down, face first on the bed, knees on the floor laughing.
Boyfriend: You feng shui'd the pillow?
Crystal: (Laughing) There is something wrong with it.
Jayme: It is evil I told you that, and you're like "yeah that's so fucking funny".
Jayme falls back against the wall laughing as Crystal doubles over laughing.
Boyfriend: This is priceless.
Jayme: (laughing) but it's not funny right. (Crystal has her arm rested on the "pillow" which is white with a blue stripe checking her phone). Look, you're even resting on it and I told you to get rid of it...didn't I say?
Crystal throws the pillow over the bed onto the floor. However the room they are in has one of those round windows which is roughly 30" in diameter. The window is closed, I'm not sure they even open.
Jayme: Yeeeeeaaaaaaahhhhhhh overboard......watch.......bec......because .......... the leprechauns are.....they kill they fucking hate that color.
Crystal falls onto the bed face first laughing.
Boyfriend: Leprechauns?
Jayme: Their not in the rainbow.....(laughing).... those fucking leprechauns they fucking know.
Boyfriend: Are you going to fall over baby?
Jayme: Noooooooo, because why?
Boyfriend: Why?
Jayme: (pointing at Crystal) because you know why did you see that leprechaun? ....... (laughing)
Boyfriend: Did he steal the colors honey?
Jayme: no no no they are back now because we got rid of that stupid fucking thing (pointing to the window where she thinks the pillow went out) in the wrong color.
Boyfriend: Do we need to chuck the pillow out the door?
Jayme: (looking at Crystal) It's overboard right?
Crystal: Yes, yes yes.
Boyfriend: You threw the pillow overboard?
Crystal: It's overboard.
Jayme: If I ... the pillow...if the wrong color is not with us right....now the leprechaun (laughs hysterically).
Boyfriend: Tell the story Crystal.
Crystal: It's overboard.....
Jayme: Watch, the leprechaun (pointing to the door) is going to come in (points to the bed) waaaaaaaaaaatch (points back to the door).
Boyfriend: Oh no.
Jayme: You know what? He has a green hat....and a little red beard...and he fucking skips along....
Crystal is laughing so hard she is making those sucking sounds people make when they can't breathe.
Boyfriend: Is he the little fucker on the box of Lucky Charms?
Jayme: Yeah yeah yeah yeah that's the dude that's the dude right? What's he say?
Boyfriend: They are magically delicious.
Jayme laughs and then immediately stops and gathers her thought(s).
Jayme: Ok... that's not funny anymore.
Boyfriend: No really it is.
Jayme: Really?
Crystal: Dude, I got rid of the pillow.
Boyfriend moving around the bed to pick up the pillow off the floor.
Boyfriend: The pillow, look. It's over here. Look look look we are looking. (Boyfriend picks up the pillow) there is the pillow right there.
Jayme (laughing) noooooooooooo it's still the wrong color.
The Boyfirend walks back toward the other side of the bed which leads to the bathroom and the door. Both Jayme and Crystal drop to all fours and crawl away from the pillow as fast as they can. Crystal makes it to the bathroom while Jayme drops face first onto the floor laughing so hard she can't talk. Crystal shuts the bathroom door and hysterical laughter can be heard from outside.
Jayme: You seeeeeeeeeeeeeee. He's got the wrong color aaaaaagghhhhhh.
Crystal cracks open the bathroom door, still on all fours peeking out to see the pillow being held by the Boyfriend. The boyfriend stops short of the door and turns around with the camera to see Jayme in a downward facing dog position laughing.
Boyfirend: I have the fucking pillow, see check it out.
Jayme and Crystal scream and laugh hysterically.
Jayme: Honeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyy nooooooooooooooooo.
Jayme tries to get up but falls back down on the floor - face down laughing hysterically. Crystal has again locked herself in the bathroom laughing.The Boyfriend throws the pillow outside the room in the corridor and leaves the door open.
Boyfriend: I threw the pillow outside. I did. Look.
Jayme: No nooooooooooooooo
Crystal cracks the bathroom door laughing.
Crystal: I have to take a shit. If she makes me laugh that hard one more time...
Boyfriend: You're going to blow a colon?
Crystal: I'm going to shit my pants.
Bathroom door closes.
And with that is the end of the video. There was a lot more that happened but nothing that tops this.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Puking on the Queen - Part 2
So Jayme is bent over the railing puking, her boyfriend is trying to keep her hair out of the mess all the while heavy pieces of chunky vomit are playing their sick medley on the metal roof below.
The other 4 members of the party showed up to help in whatever way they could, and it was decided that Jayme and her boyfriend would go back to the room Jayme had shared with her girlfriend the night before. The boyfriend had never been there.
The Boyfriend and Jayme set out to find the room. Now, unless you have been to the Queen Mary it is difficult to explain the enormity of this ship. It is a cross between the hotel in the movie The Shining, The Love Boat and a haunted stadium.
All the boyfriend knew was the room number, and there are a shitload of rooms, with corridors at least 150 yards long. There are stairways that twist and turn you around so your sense of direction is for shit.
After 1o minutes or so of trying unsuccessfully to find the right floor, much less the room the Boyfriend stopped to ask directions from one of what seemed to be several front desks. Jayme is still of the mind of a child and everything is hilarious - including the fact that she can't remember how to get back to the room.
Now anyone who has children knows how unsettling it is to deal with an unruly child. The boyfriend, while asking directions to the room was having to try and cover for Jayme. It went something like this:
Boyfriend: (to a clerk) How do I get to room 262?
Clerk: Is she alright?
Jayme: I'm not a she. I mean I am a she but.....(and the laughter overcame her and she couldn't complete her sentence)
Boyfriend: She is having a reaction to some medication.
Clerk: Does she need a doctor?
Jayme: I don't like doctors.
Boyfriend: I just need directions.
Jayme: You said de-erections. (laughing uncontrollably)
Clerk: Alright. Go down those stairs (pointing to a set of stairs that went down 6 or 8 steps and then went off in opposite directions another 8 or so steps) and then go down them again.
Jayme: Go down the stairs again? Why do we have to go down them twice?
Clerk: No, I mean there will be another set of stairs.
The boyfriend walks down the first flight of stairs and sees what the clerk is trying to say. He then returns to the desk in time to keep Jayme from heading for the candy bowl on the counter.
Boyfriend: Jayme, no more candy.
Jayme: I'm soooooooooooo hungry.
Clerk: Once you are at the bottom of the second set of stairs, head left, then left again and walk down the corridor.
Boyfriend: The room is on that corridor.
Clerk: Yes.
With that Jayme and her boyfriend made their way down the two sets of stairs and through what seemed like a maze of corridors. The signs that show where rooms are, are few and way far between. After several minutes of looking for the room (they were on the right deck) the boyfriend asks one of the housekeeping employees of the ship for help.
Boyfriend: Can you tell me how to get to room 262?
Housekeeper: Spanish.....
Now, the boyfriend can't speak Spanish, and Jayme, even when she isn't blasted out of her mind can only understand very little. So the boyfriend goes into sign language mode holding up first 2 fingers, then 6 fingers, then two fingers.
Housekeeper: Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Boyfriend: (talking slowly) How do I get to this room?
Housekeeper: Straight Spanish again. This time faster and a little irritated.
The Boyfriend has to revert to using his fingers to count in Spanish to each number in his head and then says the number. For example, in his head he thinks uno and then says dos. This goes on until the numbers 262 are spoken in Spanish.
The Housekeeper then, with a pissed off look on her face points down a corridor which has to be a quarter of a mile long. So Jayme and her boyfriend begin to meander down the corridor, looking at the signs spread about 100 yards apart.
Jayme: Are we going to the room? I have to pee.
Boyfriend: Yeah, we are getting there.
The occasional patrons of the hotel pass by occasionally and the corridors are very narrow. The boyfriend has to pull Jayme over to the side to allow them to pass. Just before finding the room, there was a couple who were walking toward Jayme and her boyfriend, when Jayme again announced she had to pee, but this time it was more serious and loud.
Jayme: I have to pee goddamnit.
Boyfriend: I know. We are almost there . (smiles at the couple who walk by in single file)
The couple hurries along to get by.
They finally find the room and after searching Jayme's jeans find the card key and Jayme goes into the bathroom.
When she emerges, she sees THE pillow, and shit gets worse.
Sorry, but the last chapter will have to come tomorrow. There is some video of what happens next if Jayme will agree to allow it to be shown.
.
The other 4 members of the party showed up to help in whatever way they could, and it was decided that Jayme and her boyfriend would go back to the room Jayme had shared with her girlfriend the night before. The boyfriend had never been there.
The Boyfriend and Jayme set out to find the room. Now, unless you have been to the Queen Mary it is difficult to explain the enormity of this ship. It is a cross between the hotel in the movie The Shining, The Love Boat and a haunted stadium.
All the boyfriend knew was the room number, and there are a shitload of rooms, with corridors at least 150 yards long. There are stairways that twist and turn you around so your sense of direction is for shit.
After 1o minutes or so of trying unsuccessfully to find the right floor, much less the room the Boyfriend stopped to ask directions from one of what seemed to be several front desks. Jayme is still of the mind of a child and everything is hilarious - including the fact that she can't remember how to get back to the room.
Now anyone who has children knows how unsettling it is to deal with an unruly child. The boyfriend, while asking directions to the room was having to try and cover for Jayme. It went something like this:
Boyfriend: (to a clerk) How do I get to room 262?
Clerk: Is she alright?
Jayme: I'm not a she. I mean I am a she but.....(and the laughter overcame her and she couldn't complete her sentence)
Boyfriend: She is having a reaction to some medication.
Clerk: Does she need a doctor?
Jayme: I don't like doctors.
Boyfriend: I just need directions.
Jayme: You said de-erections. (laughing uncontrollably)
Clerk: Alright. Go down those stairs (pointing to a set of stairs that went down 6 or 8 steps and then went off in opposite directions another 8 or so steps) and then go down them again.
Jayme: Go down the stairs again? Why do we have to go down them twice?
Clerk: No, I mean there will be another set of stairs.
The boyfriend walks down the first flight of stairs and sees what the clerk is trying to say. He then returns to the desk in time to keep Jayme from heading for the candy bowl on the counter.
Boyfriend: Jayme, no more candy.
Jayme: I'm soooooooooooo hungry.
Clerk: Once you are at the bottom of the second set of stairs, head left, then left again and walk down the corridor.
Boyfriend: The room is on that corridor.
Clerk: Yes.
With that Jayme and her boyfriend made their way down the two sets of stairs and through what seemed like a maze of corridors. The signs that show where rooms are, are few and way far between. After several minutes of looking for the room (they were on the right deck) the boyfriend asks one of the housekeeping employees of the ship for help.
Boyfriend: Can you tell me how to get to room 262?
Housekeeper: Spanish.....
Now, the boyfriend can't speak Spanish, and Jayme, even when she isn't blasted out of her mind can only understand very little. So the boyfriend goes into sign language mode holding up first 2 fingers, then 6 fingers, then two fingers.
Housekeeper: Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Boyfriend: (talking slowly) How do I get to this room?
Housekeeper: Straight Spanish again. This time faster and a little irritated.
The Boyfriend has to revert to using his fingers to count in Spanish to each number in his head and then says the number. For example, in his head he thinks uno and then says dos. This goes on until the numbers 262 are spoken in Spanish.
The Housekeeper then, with a pissed off look on her face points down a corridor which has to be a quarter of a mile long. So Jayme and her boyfriend begin to meander down the corridor, looking at the signs spread about 100 yards apart.
Jayme: Are we going to the room? I have to pee.
Boyfriend: Yeah, we are getting there.
The occasional patrons of the hotel pass by occasionally and the corridors are very narrow. The boyfriend has to pull Jayme over to the side to allow them to pass. Just before finding the room, there was a couple who were walking toward Jayme and her boyfriend, when Jayme again announced she had to pee, but this time it was more serious and loud.
Jayme: I have to pee goddamnit.
Boyfriend: I know. We are almost there . (smiles at the couple who walk by in single file)
The couple hurries along to get by.
They finally find the room and after searching Jayme's jeans find the card key and Jayme goes into the bathroom.
When she emerges, she sees THE pillow, and shit gets worse.
Sorry, but the last chapter will have to come tomorrow. There is some video of what happens next if Jayme will agree to allow it to be shown.
.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Puking on the Queen - part 1
We attended a motorcycle show and fundraiser for Tazzy Fund, an organization who assists animal shelters and rescues. The event was held at the Queen Mary facility in Long Beach. The music and celebrities from the Sons of Anarchy hit TV series were on hand and the weather was great.
The event ended around 6PM - then things got interesting.
There were a few couples who had procured rooms for the night on the ship. That's where we headed following the days festivities. Drinks were flowing as was the "medicinal" marijuana edibles - more specifically the XXX Hash chocolate bars.
One of the women I will refer to as Jayme (I am changing the names for obvious reasons) who does not smoke, vaporize or use pot in any way decided to eat 1 square inch of one of the XXX bars. It is unclear whether she knew it was laced with THC or not.
About 20 minutes later we made our way up to a bar that overlooks the ocean, and ordered additional drinks and appetizers. For some reason we decided to move inside, but still had a nice view of the sea. Cocktails and appetizers were delivered and the party was in full swing.
Then the chocolate kicked in.
Jayme says she needs to use the bathroom NOW! Her boyfriend took her to the restroom where he waited outside for her. After about 5 minutes, another woman had gone in side the bathroom, and upon her exit the boyfriend asked her to check on his girlfriend. The woman went back in and when the door was opened laughter could be heard from outside the restroom.
Jayme finally came out and was ripped, high as a kite and laughing uncontrollably. Her boyfriend was able to get Jayme back to the table where the laughing continued. Jayme was eating wings and drinking iced tea.
Then the chocolate went into overdrive.
Jayme said she needed some air so her boyfriend escorted her outside the bar to the deck of the ship. Here is how it went once they both reached the railing:
Jayme is laughing at everything, clothes and outfits people are wearing. Boats in the harbor - you name it and she found it hilarious. The actual spot where Jayme went to was at the top of a set of stairs used by patrons to access the restaurant / bar.
Jayme has reverted to the mentality of a 7 year old, fascinated by the entire world.
Jayme: Can you see the birds? They are flying.
Boyfriend: That's what they do.
Jayme: I know, but they are flying really good.
Boyfriend: They sure are.
Jayme: (looking down) What is that.
Boyfriend: A steel roof over the lower deck.
Jayme: Why?
Boyfriend: Why what?
Jayme: Why do they need a roof on a boat?
Boyfriend: To keep the rain and sun off of the passengers.
Jayme: But we are passengers and we don't have a roof.
Boyfriend: That's true. We are on the upper deck.
Jayme: (laughing hysterically) You said "dick".
Boyfriend: No I said deck.
Jayme: (still laughing hysterically) I don't feel good.
Boyfriend: Do you need to lay down?
Jayme: No, I wanna throw up.
With that, and no warning Jayme tossed her cookies and wings. I'm not talking about typical puking - but power vomiting. Exorcist type shit. And every chunk hit the roof below with a loud thud, scaring the shit out of the folks below.
A few seconds into the puke fest, the boyfriend has positioned himself between Jayme and the top of the stairs to prevent her from potentially falling down. An elderly couple, dressed to the hilt began to climb the stairs just as Jayme began to blow puke over the side of the boat and immediately changed directions.
Who wants to patronize a restaurant where just outside a beautiful woman is power puking on a steel roof 50 feet below making a horrific sound - like raw meat hitting a garbage can lid at 60 miles per hour? All while the puker is laughing so hard she is having a tough time standing?
This is just the first part of the story - the rest to come tomorrow. It involves evil pillows and bad pizza.
The event ended around 6PM - then things got interesting.
There were a few couples who had procured rooms for the night on the ship. That's where we headed following the days festivities. Drinks were flowing as was the "medicinal" marijuana edibles - more specifically the XXX Hash chocolate bars.
One of the women I will refer to as Jayme (I am changing the names for obvious reasons) who does not smoke, vaporize or use pot in any way decided to eat 1 square inch of one of the XXX bars. It is unclear whether she knew it was laced with THC or not.
About 20 minutes later we made our way up to a bar that overlooks the ocean, and ordered additional drinks and appetizers. For some reason we decided to move inside, but still had a nice view of the sea. Cocktails and appetizers were delivered and the party was in full swing.
Then the chocolate kicked in.
Jayme says she needs to use the bathroom NOW! Her boyfriend took her to the restroom where he waited outside for her. After about 5 minutes, another woman had gone in side the bathroom, and upon her exit the boyfriend asked her to check on his girlfriend. The woman went back in and when the door was opened laughter could be heard from outside the restroom.
Jayme finally came out and was ripped, high as a kite and laughing uncontrollably. Her boyfriend was able to get Jayme back to the table where the laughing continued. Jayme was eating wings and drinking iced tea.
Then the chocolate went into overdrive.
Jayme said she needed some air so her boyfriend escorted her outside the bar to the deck of the ship. Here is how it went once they both reached the railing:
Jayme is laughing at everything, clothes and outfits people are wearing. Boats in the harbor - you name it and she found it hilarious. The actual spot where Jayme went to was at the top of a set of stairs used by patrons to access the restaurant / bar.
Jayme has reverted to the mentality of a 7 year old, fascinated by the entire world.
Jayme: Can you see the birds? They are flying.
Boyfriend: That's what they do.
Jayme: I know, but they are flying really good.
Boyfriend: They sure are.
Jayme: (looking down) What is that.
Boyfriend: A steel roof over the lower deck.
Jayme: Why?
Boyfriend: Why what?
Jayme: Why do they need a roof on a boat?
Boyfriend: To keep the rain and sun off of the passengers.
Jayme: But we are passengers and we don't have a roof.
Boyfriend: That's true. We are on the upper deck.
Jayme: (laughing hysterically) You said "dick".
Boyfriend: No I said deck.
Jayme: (still laughing hysterically) I don't feel good.
Boyfriend: Do you need to lay down?
Jayme: No, I wanna throw up.
With that, and no warning Jayme tossed her cookies and wings. I'm not talking about typical puking - but power vomiting. Exorcist type shit. And every chunk hit the roof below with a loud thud, scaring the shit out of the folks below.
A few seconds into the puke fest, the boyfriend has positioned himself between Jayme and the top of the stairs to prevent her from potentially falling down. An elderly couple, dressed to the hilt began to climb the stairs just as Jayme began to blow puke over the side of the boat and immediately changed directions.
Who wants to patronize a restaurant where just outside a beautiful woman is power puking on a steel roof 50 feet below making a horrific sound - like raw meat hitting a garbage can lid at 60 miles per hour? All while the puker is laughing so hard she is having a tough time standing?
This is just the first part of the story - the rest to come tomorrow. It involves evil pillows and bad pizza.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Penis Rooter
So this Catherine Kieu cut her about to be ex-husbands weenis off. Why? Allegedly after an argument over houseguests staying at their condo, which by the way belonged to the husband. Here is how it could have gone down:
Catherine laced that evenings dinner with some sort of medication / poison causing her husband to go lay down in bed, as he wasn't feeling well. Then, dude wakes up tied to the bed, his wife standing over him with a 10" knife. She then proceeded to cut his dick off and throw it down the disposal. Whether or not the disposal was turned on isn't clear yet - as the doctors are not talking about whether there was an attempted re-attachment.
The fucked up part of this story, aside from this cat getting his johnson cut off, was the conversation they had to have during and following the pee-pee amputation. I can only assume it went something like this:
Man: Why am I tied up?
Catherine: You pissed me off.
Man: I'm sorry, what are you angry about?
Catherine: You want to have a sleepover and I wanna be alone.
Man: But we are getting divorced.
Then this poor fucker notices the knife
Man: What the hell are you going to do with that?
Catherine: I'm going to cut your dick off.
Man: Seriously?
Catherine: Yup.
I can only assume it was at this point that Catherine began to saw through this dudes wiener, and I'm relatively sure it hurt, and he screamed.
Man: Hey, any chance of you putting that on ice for me? I'm not done with it yet.
Catherine: (laughing) not a chance asshole. You will never use this bitch again.
At this point Catherine left the bedroom, with her dickless husband still tied up and bleeding to throw his pecker down the kitchen disposal, and to call the cops.
At this point, being the vindictive insane bitch she is she probably went up and started making sick fucking jokes at her still tied up husband.
Catherine: You won't be writing your name in the snow without footprints anymore. Oh, and now you are relegated to pee sitting down. Bet you won't leave that fucking toilet seat up again now will you?
At this point the cops arrived and she answered the door asking if they wanted coffee.
Cop: Where is the victim?
Catherine: Resting upstairs in bed.
The cops go into the rooom to find this poor bastard dickless, naked and tied to the bed - bloody as hell.
Man: She cut my dick off.
Policeman: Can you describe the missing penis?
Man: It's a cock...
Policeman: There is no need for profanity sir.
The police at this point are untying the man.
Man: It's about this long (man gestures with his hands).
Police: Is that fully erect sir, or in subzero temperatures?
Man: (to wife) where is my fucking cock?
Catherine: In the disposal.
The medical folks finally arrive to stabilize the man as the cops go into the kitchen to search for the missing penis.
Cop: Mam, where is the penis in question?
Catherine: Down the drain.
Cop: You mean the disposal?
Catherine: Yup.
The first cop looks at the second cop.
Cop: I'm not going in to get it.
Cop 2: Well I'm not touching that thing either.
Cop calls on his radio: Send in the penis retrieval unit.
Cop: Mam, why would you cut your husbands dick off?
Catherine: He was going to have a slumber party.
Cop: Mam, your husband is 60 years old. I'm sure he doesn't have slumber parties.
Catherine: He deserved it.
And with that Catherine was taken away to jail, where she was charged with a shitload of felonies - still claiming he deserved it. The man was reported to be in good spirits following his "surgery" so this evil fucking woman obviously didn't have the forethought (no pun intended) to turn the disposal on. She almost makes that Bobbitt bitch look smart. At least she tried to hide the evidence.
Catherine laced that evenings dinner with some sort of medication / poison causing her husband to go lay down in bed, as he wasn't feeling well. Then, dude wakes up tied to the bed, his wife standing over him with a 10" knife. She then proceeded to cut his dick off and throw it down the disposal. Whether or not the disposal was turned on isn't clear yet - as the doctors are not talking about whether there was an attempted re-attachment.
The fucked up part of this story, aside from this cat getting his johnson cut off, was the conversation they had to have during and following the pee-pee amputation. I can only assume it went something like this:
Man: Why am I tied up?
Catherine: You pissed me off.
Man: I'm sorry, what are you angry about?
Catherine: You want to have a sleepover and I wanna be alone.
Man: But we are getting divorced.
Then this poor fucker notices the knife
Man: What the hell are you going to do with that?
Catherine: I'm going to cut your dick off.
Man: Seriously?
Catherine: Yup.
I can only assume it was at this point that Catherine began to saw through this dudes wiener, and I'm relatively sure it hurt, and he screamed.
Man: Hey, any chance of you putting that on ice for me? I'm not done with it yet.
Catherine: (laughing) not a chance asshole. You will never use this bitch again.
At this point Catherine left the bedroom, with her dickless husband still tied up and bleeding to throw his pecker down the kitchen disposal, and to call the cops.
At this point, being the vindictive insane bitch she is she probably went up and started making sick fucking jokes at her still tied up husband.
Catherine: You won't be writing your name in the snow without footprints anymore. Oh, and now you are relegated to pee sitting down. Bet you won't leave that fucking toilet seat up again now will you?
At this point the cops arrived and she answered the door asking if they wanted coffee.
Cop: Where is the victim?
Catherine: Resting upstairs in bed.
The cops go into the rooom to find this poor bastard dickless, naked and tied to the bed - bloody as hell.
Man: She cut my dick off.
Policeman: Can you describe the missing penis?
Man: It's a cock...
Policeman: There is no need for profanity sir.
The police at this point are untying the man.
Man: It's about this long (man gestures with his hands).
Police: Is that fully erect sir, or in subzero temperatures?
Man: (to wife) where is my fucking cock?
Catherine: In the disposal.
The medical folks finally arrive to stabilize the man as the cops go into the kitchen to search for the missing penis.
Cop: Mam, where is the penis in question?
Catherine: Down the drain.
Cop: You mean the disposal?
Catherine: Yup.
The first cop looks at the second cop.
Cop: I'm not going in to get it.
Cop 2: Well I'm not touching that thing either.
Cop calls on his radio: Send in the penis retrieval unit.
Cop: Mam, why would you cut your husbands dick off?
Catherine: He was going to have a slumber party.
Cop: Mam, your husband is 60 years old. I'm sure he doesn't have slumber parties.
Catherine: He deserved it.
And with that Catherine was taken away to jail, where she was charged with a shitload of felonies - still claiming he deserved it. The man was reported to be in good spirits following his "surgery" so this evil fucking woman obviously didn't have the forethought (no pun intended) to turn the disposal on. She almost makes that Bobbitt bitch look smart. At least she tried to hide the evidence.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Price of Nice
The financial state of the US sucks. Billions are spent fighting wars and protecting our "interests" overseas all in the name of freedom. And what do we have to show for it?
Now, thanks to the fantastic political system we have checks for social security, medicare and other so called "entitlements", which by the way have already been paid for, may not go out to those who rely on them.
So what now? Are the poor people in their third world countries going to start seeing TV ads with melancholic music playing showing the homeless, underemployed, elderly and suffering cancer patients and diabetics with flies on their faces begging for the billions we gave them back?
We go to war and there are rules. Really? Don't marginalize (kill) that insurgent (terrorist) unless he tries to blow your head off? What a crock of shit.
I'm all for helping the disenfranchised and the less fortunate as we live in the greatest country the world has ever seen - or do we?
The Roman empire lasted a hell of a lot longer than our wimpy 300 years, and perhaps some lessons could be taken from them.
Perhaps we should quit worrying about aiding those in other countries and feed, clothe, house and educate the folks who are US citizens.
As far as the foreign policies for the past half decade - well they suck. That's right, they fucking suck. Americans shouldn't have to be put in harms way domestically or abroad in the name of being fair or nice or politically correct. Remember Hiroshima? Game fucking over! SCOREBOARD
We need oil and we will get it. Why put 150,000 troops in harms way when a single pilot with a well equipped US built plane can deliver the consequences of fucking with our ability to control the free world?
I know, the rest of the planet would hate us - shit they already do. Either because we beat the shit out of them in some conflict, control their economy, allow porn on the net - pick your poison.
It would serve the so called leaders of this country well to go back and study the civilizations that survived thousands of years and borrow some of their philosophies. These cats knew how to run the world and if that's what our government is trying to do (though they will never admit it) they suck at it.
Close the borders, bring the troops home and allow natural attrition to take place. Shit, Lions eat their young and I'm pretty sure they are the top of their food chain.
Now, thanks to the fantastic political system we have checks for social security, medicare and other so called "entitlements", which by the way have already been paid for, may not go out to those who rely on them.
So what now? Are the poor people in their third world countries going to start seeing TV ads with melancholic music playing showing the homeless, underemployed, elderly and suffering cancer patients and diabetics with flies on their faces begging for the billions we gave them back?
We go to war and there are rules. Really? Don't marginalize (kill) that insurgent (terrorist) unless he tries to blow your head off? What a crock of shit.
I'm all for helping the disenfranchised and the less fortunate as we live in the greatest country the world has ever seen - or do we?
The Roman empire lasted a hell of a lot longer than our wimpy 300 years, and perhaps some lessons could be taken from them.
Perhaps we should quit worrying about aiding those in other countries and feed, clothe, house and educate the folks who are US citizens.
As far as the foreign policies for the past half decade - well they suck. That's right, they fucking suck. Americans shouldn't have to be put in harms way domestically or abroad in the name of being fair or nice or politically correct. Remember Hiroshima? Game fucking over! SCOREBOARD
We need oil and we will get it. Why put 150,000 troops in harms way when a single pilot with a well equipped US built plane can deliver the consequences of fucking with our ability to control the free world?
I know, the rest of the planet would hate us - shit they already do. Either because we beat the shit out of them in some conflict, control their economy, allow porn on the net - pick your poison.
It would serve the so called leaders of this country well to go back and study the civilizations that survived thousands of years and borrow some of their philosophies. These cats knew how to run the world and if that's what our government is trying to do (though they will never admit it) they suck at it.
Close the borders, bring the troops home and allow natural attrition to take place. Shit, Lions eat their young and I'm pretty sure they are the top of their food chain.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Nancy disGrace
We all have heard Casey Anthony got off - possibly away with murder. Thank God the entire circus is over, or is it?
The prosecution involved in the trial sucked, dropped the ball, fucked the dog or whatever euphemism fits. The defense attorneys did just enough to create reasonable doubt in the jurors minds. Just like an NFL playoff game - one winner and one loser.
The one "reporter" who can't seem to shut the fuck up about the trial is Nancy "I am the dumbest woman on TV" Grace. This psycho has been running her chubby gullet about the guilt of Casey Anthony from day one, and all but guaranteed a guilty verdict.
Guess what fatty - you were wrong!
The prosecution swung for the fence and missed. Given our society here is the probable outcome:
Casey Anthony will get rich. Not just a little rich but fucking loaded. If she hires a publicist worth a shit this woman will end up on Leno, Letterman and perhaps the lizardman Larry King will break his retirement of pedophilia to interview her. I would love to see Whoopie Goldberg go all old testament on Casey just to have Casey break out the duct tape and chase one of the ugliest women on the planet off stage - all while Elisabeth Hasselbeck cry her eyes out.
There will no doubt be a movie deal, book deal, video game and perhaps even a Casey Anthony app for all handheld devices. This chick is going to clean up.
Charlie Sheen will end up moving her into his house and doing a reality show called WINNING! They will probably be doing bong hits on TV so prepare your comfort Bon Bon's now.
Nancy disGrace, you are pathetic. This chick will be worth more than you in less than a year! The only thing she was found guilty of was lying to police - shit, you lie to the public everyday. And those pathetic pictures of your twins you constantly put on your show are just awful.
You obviously couldn't make it on daytime TV (there wasn't a role open for a fat, obnoxious, out of work lawyer who probably blew her way through law school) so get over yourself. You obviously aren't as smart as you think you are which comes as no surprise to anyone except you and those who subscribe to the National Enquirer.
Feel free to introduce yourself to a treadmill and take some of that misguided jack you are getting paid and invest in a Lifestyle Lift. Your jowls are irritating.
The prosecution involved in the trial sucked, dropped the ball, fucked the dog or whatever euphemism fits. The defense attorneys did just enough to create reasonable doubt in the jurors minds. Just like an NFL playoff game - one winner and one loser.
The one "reporter" who can't seem to shut the fuck up about the trial is Nancy "I am the dumbest woman on TV" Grace. This psycho has been running her chubby gullet about the guilt of Casey Anthony from day one, and all but guaranteed a guilty verdict.
Guess what fatty - you were wrong!
The prosecution swung for the fence and missed. Given our society here is the probable outcome:
Casey Anthony will get rich. Not just a little rich but fucking loaded. If she hires a publicist worth a shit this woman will end up on Leno, Letterman and perhaps the lizardman Larry King will break his retirement of pedophilia to interview her. I would love to see Whoopie Goldberg go all old testament on Casey just to have Casey break out the duct tape and chase one of the ugliest women on the planet off stage - all while Elisabeth Hasselbeck cry her eyes out.
There will no doubt be a movie deal, book deal, video game and perhaps even a Casey Anthony app for all handheld devices. This chick is going to clean up.
Charlie Sheen will end up moving her into his house and doing a reality show called WINNING! They will probably be doing bong hits on TV so prepare your comfort Bon Bon's now.
Nancy disGrace, you are pathetic. This chick will be worth more than you in less than a year! The only thing she was found guilty of was lying to police - shit, you lie to the public everyday. And those pathetic pictures of your twins you constantly put on your show are just awful.
You obviously couldn't make it on daytime TV (there wasn't a role open for a fat, obnoxious, out of work lawyer who probably blew her way through law school) so get over yourself. You obviously aren't as smart as you think you are which comes as no surprise to anyone except you and those who subscribe to the National Enquirer.
Feel free to introduce yourself to a treadmill and take some of that misguided jack you are getting paid and invest in a Lifestyle Lift. Your jowls are irritating.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Falling Down
With all the talk of new gun control legislation, it's clear the people in the positions to make these decisions are, well, fucking stupid. The problem is not guns, never has been. Nor is it bullets, high capacity magazines or hollow point super destructo ammo.
Nope, the problem is people - and more importantly the illegal folks who cruise over the wannabe border. Don't believe me? When was the last time you saw a helicopter chasing an armed suspect that wasn't of minority descent?
The movie Falling Down - and that's a movie!
The right to the pursuit of happiness is guaranteed. But, happiness is a relative term. American's will NEVER give up their guns - they make folks happy.
I have been through several background checks and always bought the weapons I wanted. When it was time to sell a gun, I sold it to whoever had the cash (so long as they weren't a "known" felon"). So if the new owner of the AR-15 wants to climb a water tower and play human paintball, isn't that his right?
It's also the right of every American this cat decides to shoot at to fucking shoot back.
When Timothy Mcveigh blew up that federal building in Oklahoma City, did the feds put heavy controls on diesel fuel or fertilizer? Or Ryder trucks? Nope, nada and didn't happen.
Fact is, the world is a shitty place. You want to be totally safe and face no potential danger or accidents? Die, because that is about as close as you will get on this planet.
Want to fix the majority of the problem? Allow the border patrol to have the same weapons and technology the military has. Also, allow them to shoot on sight. If the poor fuckers happen to live then we can ship them back to their country of origin.
It reminds me of when I was going to school in Utah, and every few years the farmers in Idaho would offer to supply folks from Utah free food, lodging and ammo to come and shoot jack rabbits and coyotes. Perhaps some of these unemployed folks who have run out of benefits can be given the same opportunity - get a .50 caliber and a spotter and go to work. I fucking guarantee there will be less border crossings, less gun crimes, especially in southwestern states, less drug use, lower health care costs, less food stamp recipients and better news stories.
The Taliban may be ass backwards, but they don't have nearly the problem with people wanting to "come" to their shitty little sandbox. First, the place is a shitty little sandbox - second, if you get caught you get shot.
Nope, the problem is people - and more importantly the illegal folks who cruise over the wannabe border. Don't believe me? When was the last time you saw a helicopter chasing an armed suspect that wasn't of minority descent?
The movie Falling Down - and that's a movie!
The right to the pursuit of happiness is guaranteed. But, happiness is a relative term. American's will NEVER give up their guns - they make folks happy.
I have been through several background checks and always bought the weapons I wanted. When it was time to sell a gun, I sold it to whoever had the cash (so long as they weren't a "known" felon"). So if the new owner of the AR-15 wants to climb a water tower and play human paintball, isn't that his right?
It's also the right of every American this cat decides to shoot at to fucking shoot back.
When Timothy Mcveigh blew up that federal building in Oklahoma City, did the feds put heavy controls on diesel fuel or fertilizer? Or Ryder trucks? Nope, nada and didn't happen.
Fact is, the world is a shitty place. You want to be totally safe and face no potential danger or accidents? Die, because that is about as close as you will get on this planet.
Want to fix the majority of the problem? Allow the border patrol to have the same weapons and technology the military has. Also, allow them to shoot on sight. If the poor fuckers happen to live then we can ship them back to their country of origin.
It reminds me of when I was going to school in Utah, and every few years the farmers in Idaho would offer to supply folks from Utah free food, lodging and ammo to come and shoot jack rabbits and coyotes. Perhaps some of these unemployed folks who have run out of benefits can be given the same opportunity - get a .50 caliber and a spotter and go to work. I fucking guarantee there will be less border crossings, less gun crimes, especially in southwestern states, less drug use, lower health care costs, less food stamp recipients and better news stories.
The Taliban may be ass backwards, but they don't have nearly the problem with people wanting to "come" to their shitty little sandbox. First, the place is a shitty little sandbox - second, if you get caught you get shot.
Friday, July 8, 2011
The No-Ho HO
My stepsons 21st birthday was held last night at a wannabe Japanese restaurant. We had a great time - how do I know? The bill was 633 bucks, before parking. Nonetheless the kids and parents all got shitfaced and returned home safe.
Now, anyone who knows me knows I have a soft spot for homeless people, especially the sort that ask for nothing and are grateful to be given cash without soliciting it. I was outside with some of the kids as they were smoking on the sidewalk (Lankershim Blvd). The air was cool and it was nice to get a break from the recycled 60s music the place plays incessantly.
One of the kids had run out of smokes, so I took his empty pack to discard it in a proper receptacle. Then, out of no where this homeless (I'm assuming) bitch comes by and asks for a cigarette. Here is how it went.
Homeless: Got a smoke? (she was shitty about it from the get go)
Me: Nope (as I showed her the empty pack)
Homeless: I said I wanna buy a smoke (screaming at this point)
Me: Sorry, I got nothing for you but cellophane and cardboard.
Homeless: You are going to hell (still screaming)
Me: Yeah? You know Satan?
Homeless: Fucking right I do.
Me: You suck him off?
Homeless: Sometimes.
Me: He say you are any good?
Homeless: You are evil, you are going to burn in hell.
Me: As opposed to you sucking off the devil?
I am totally entertained fucking with crazy people. It's all about cause and effect for me, and I rarely pass up the opportunity to take full advantage of it.
Homeless: Fuck you you fucking asshole.
Me: You suck the devil off with that mouth?
So Homeless lady starts to walk away, only to turn around and come back and again, get right up in my face. Now I'm 6'1 and 200 lbs. I run 3 or 4 miles a day - I'm not scared of this crazy bitch. Then, something happened I didn't expect. She cocks (no pun intended) her arm back and takes a swing at me barely grazing my forehead.
Me: Is that all you got? No wonder you suck cock in hell.
Homeless: Fuck off you fucking fuck!
Homeless then walked off screaming at the world that I was going to hell - all for not having a smoke for her. However, this week has been awesome because all of the past three days blogs are true stories.
There is however one side note, the woman was spotted walking aimlessly up and down the street after this incident took place. So when my wife dropped her sons birthday cake on the sidewalk on our way out to the car, I made sure if this homeless bitch was going to try to snack on it I was going to kill that idea - so I stomped on the cake, on the sidewalk, so there was nothing left for anything other than pigeons. Take that you fucking skank!
Now, anyone who knows me knows I have a soft spot for homeless people, especially the sort that ask for nothing and are grateful to be given cash without soliciting it. I was outside with some of the kids as they were smoking on the sidewalk (Lankershim Blvd). The air was cool and it was nice to get a break from the recycled 60s music the place plays incessantly.
One of the kids had run out of smokes, so I took his empty pack to discard it in a proper receptacle. Then, out of no where this homeless (I'm assuming) bitch comes by and asks for a cigarette. Here is how it went.
Homeless: Got a smoke? (she was shitty about it from the get go)
Me: Nope (as I showed her the empty pack)
Homeless: I said I wanna buy a smoke (screaming at this point)
Me: Sorry, I got nothing for you but cellophane and cardboard.
Homeless: You are going to hell (still screaming)
Me: Yeah? You know Satan?
Homeless: Fucking right I do.
Me: You suck him off?
Homeless: Sometimes.
Me: He say you are any good?
Homeless: You are evil, you are going to burn in hell.
Me: As opposed to you sucking off the devil?
I am totally entertained fucking with crazy people. It's all about cause and effect for me, and I rarely pass up the opportunity to take full advantage of it.
Homeless: Fuck you you fucking asshole.
Me: You suck the devil off with that mouth?
So Homeless lady starts to walk away, only to turn around and come back and again, get right up in my face. Now I'm 6'1 and 200 lbs. I run 3 or 4 miles a day - I'm not scared of this crazy bitch. Then, something happened I didn't expect. She cocks (no pun intended) her arm back and takes a swing at me barely grazing my forehead.
Me: Is that all you got? No wonder you suck cock in hell.
Homeless: Fuck off you fucking fuck!
Homeless then walked off screaming at the world that I was going to hell - all for not having a smoke for her. However, this week has been awesome because all of the past three days blogs are true stories.
There is however one side note, the woman was spotted walking aimlessly up and down the street after this incident took place. So when my wife dropped her sons birthday cake on the sidewalk on our way out to the car, I made sure if this homeless bitch was going to try to snack on it I was going to kill that idea - so I stomped on the cake, on the sidewalk, so there was nothing left for anything other than pigeons. Take that you fucking skank!
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Animal Control because cops said NO!
Yesterday I am on a business call on my front porch when the Burbank Animal Control rolls up in front of the house. This shit is never good - EVER. We have two younger boxers, both saved from the rescue my wife is involved with, and an 8 year old pit bull with the speed of cold syrup.
Now the only time these cats have been here before was because some neighbor thought one of my dogs took a dookie on her lawn, which would have been impossible for two reasons:
1) The dog in question is a home field player - he only shits in his own yard. I know this because I run him a few times a week on the bike / running trail and dude holds EVERYTHING until he is inside his own gate.
2) Secondly, my dog doesn't posses the use of thumbs, hence dude is unable to open the gate to exit the yard and shit on this lady's lawn even if he wanted to.
Needless to say the officer issued a warning and I objected, and suggested taking a sample of our dogfood and having the suspected poop analyzed. If it came back as my dog, send me the bill. If not, send the old bitch up the street the bill. Sounds like good old American police work to me?
But, even though these Animal Control dudes roll around in "police" vans that say "ANIMAL CONTROL" apparently there was no dookie CSI team available. I was given the warning and used it to pick up the next shit the dog in question took.
So the officer gets out of his van, ticket book in hand and comes to my gate with a smile. He is a short, wormy little cocksucker and his plastic smile immediately told me how fucked I was. The conversation went something like this:
Officer: How are you doing today?
Me: Great until I saw you.
Officer: Huh huh.
Me: Seriously dude, I was having a decent day. Why are you here?
Officer goes to hand me a Warning / Citation that looks like it was written by a retarded third grader.
Me: What the hell is this?
Officer: Well, it seems there was a report at 5am of two boxer attacking another dog.
Me: Really, that's terrible. So again, why are you here?
Officer: This was the address that was given. You do have two boxers registered here, correct?
Me: Yup, sure do. I have two BMW's registered here as well.
Officer: Do you know where your dogs were around 5 am this morning?
Me: I can't be sure, but I do know both were in our bedroom, one usually up my wife's ass and the other on her doggie bed.
Officer: Well, this is the address that was given and apparently the dogs were running at large causing a threat.
Then I got mad:
Me: Are you fucking serious dude? Do I look like the type of guy who is up at 5am?
Officer: No, you don't. But what does that have to do with your dogs being out?
Me: Well Kojak, my dogs as skilled as they are cannot open the bedroom door, the front door, the screen door or the gate. As a matter of fact the year and a half old puppy sometimes still poops in the house. He isn't hitting 160s on the IQ test, ya know?
Officer: Well, this is the address that the incident occurred at so this is just a warning.
Again I tried to read the writing and was immediately taken aback to Kindergarten and crayons.
Me: This writing is not very legible, did you write this?
Officer: That is not relevant sir. You may be contacted by the dogs owner who was in the fight and liable for vet bills.
Me: Are you kidding me dude? My dogs were sawing logs at 5 am. If they were outside I have to be outside...
Officer: If you have an issue with the warning you are welcome to contact the supervisor. Have a nice day.
Me: Yeah, you too. Oh, by the way you stepped in some dog shit.
Dude looks at his shoes and sees nothing.
Me: My bad. It is my address you know. Looks like boxer shit to me. See ya.
So I called the wife and told her - yup she's pissed. Those poor fuckers at the Burbank Animal Control HQ (wish we could have been real cops) have no idea what kind of shit storm they are dealing with from her. I pity the bitch who gets in her way - either way I have bail money set aside.
Now the only time these cats have been here before was because some neighbor thought one of my dogs took a dookie on her lawn, which would have been impossible for two reasons:
1) The dog in question is a home field player - he only shits in his own yard. I know this because I run him a few times a week on the bike / running trail and dude holds EVERYTHING until he is inside his own gate.
2) Secondly, my dog doesn't posses the use of thumbs, hence dude is unable to open the gate to exit the yard and shit on this lady's lawn even if he wanted to.
Needless to say the officer issued a warning and I objected, and suggested taking a sample of our dogfood and having the suspected poop analyzed. If it came back as my dog, send me the bill. If not, send the old bitch up the street the bill. Sounds like good old American police work to me?
But, even though these Animal Control dudes roll around in "police" vans that say "ANIMAL CONTROL" apparently there was no dookie CSI team available. I was given the warning and used it to pick up the next shit the dog in question took.
So the officer gets out of his van, ticket book in hand and comes to my gate with a smile. He is a short, wormy little cocksucker and his plastic smile immediately told me how fucked I was. The conversation went something like this:
Officer: How are you doing today?
Me: Great until I saw you.
Officer: Huh huh.
Me: Seriously dude, I was having a decent day. Why are you here?
Officer goes to hand me a Warning / Citation that looks like it was written by a retarded third grader.
Me: What the hell is this?
Officer: Well, it seems there was a report at 5am of two boxer attacking another dog.
Me: Really, that's terrible. So again, why are you here?
Officer: This was the address that was given. You do have two boxers registered here, correct?
Me: Yup, sure do. I have two BMW's registered here as well.
Officer: Do you know where your dogs were around 5 am this morning?
Me: I can't be sure, but I do know both were in our bedroom, one usually up my wife's ass and the other on her doggie bed.
Officer: Well, this is the address that was given and apparently the dogs were running at large causing a threat.
Then I got mad:
Me: Are you fucking serious dude? Do I look like the type of guy who is up at 5am?
Officer: No, you don't. But what does that have to do with your dogs being out?
Me: Well Kojak, my dogs as skilled as they are cannot open the bedroom door, the front door, the screen door or the gate. As a matter of fact the year and a half old puppy sometimes still poops in the house. He isn't hitting 160s on the IQ test, ya know?
Officer: Well, this is the address that the incident occurred at so this is just a warning.
Again I tried to read the writing and was immediately taken aback to Kindergarten and crayons.
Me: This writing is not very legible, did you write this?
Officer: That is not relevant sir. You may be contacted by the dogs owner who was in the fight and liable for vet bills.
Me: Are you kidding me dude? My dogs were sawing logs at 5 am. If they were outside I have to be outside...
Officer: If you have an issue with the warning you are welcome to contact the supervisor. Have a nice day.
Me: Yeah, you too. Oh, by the way you stepped in some dog shit.
Dude looks at his shoes and sees nothing.
Me: My bad. It is my address you know. Looks like boxer shit to me. See ya.
So I called the wife and told her - yup she's pissed. Those poor fuckers at the Burbank Animal Control HQ (wish we could have been real cops) have no idea what kind of shit storm they are dealing with from her. I pity the bitch who gets in her way - either way I have bail money set aside.
Fucked in Mickydees
So some friends and I are headed to Malibu to hang on the beach and cath some sun. You know, the usual holiday bullshit. Because my birthday is the 4th, my friends and family were in town. We leave from Burbank somewhere around 3 and none of us have eaten yet (hangovers will do that to you) and I was wanting a fish sandwich from the golden arches. Not the fries, just the sandwich and the best Coke mix on the planet.
So because the drivethrough looked like the line at the DMV, I went inside and ordered my grub. Everyone else decided to stick to their healthy ways, but fuck it's my birthday and had been at least 6 months since I had patronized their establishment. So I wait, and I wait and finally the non speaking employee motions toward me to come and pick up my order. I already had filled my soda so I was good to go.
I get to the car, and there are 5 or 6 in our group, all who have gone to different establishments to pee, get food or just be the usual pain in the ass when you have that many people together.
Being hungry I open the sack and to my surprise there is a Big Mac staring me in the face, and fries. I tell my buddy Steph this is NOT my order and he says "let me see it". Now Steph is anti fat, grease, fast food and generally a health nut. So dude proceeds to break open the Mac container and go to work on the sandwich. 3 bites in the fucker is half gone, and I'm telling him I have to take it back in to get my original order. Hee is laughing his ass off so hard he had special sauce running down his face. Meanwhile the other folks in our group are mowing down the fries.
Fucking great - how do I explain to a Spanish speaking clerk that I mistook most of a Big Mac for a Fish sandwich?
Steph says, "dude, they have to throw it away anyways, no problem". So Steph wipes the excess sauce dripping down his face with the bun and returns what may have been a third of the sandwich. I picked up the fries from the parking lot and made some of the folks holding them in their hnds give them back. There was no way I was causing a scene with a non English speaking clerk.
So back in I go and immediately the clerk motions over to me with a sack in her hand. In broken English she apologizes and hands me my sack while taking the original sack with the partially eaten burger in it, molested french fries and sauce from Steph's face down the face of the bun and hands it to some poor bastard who without checking his order runs out the door. I was laughing so hard I almost pissed myself.
Nonetheless I checked my fish sandwich and it was perfect.
What I would pay to know is how pissed off the other cat was who ran out of the store, in a tie no less, and got back to work to find out his lunch was totaled? Or better yet, he shows up at his girls place and she blames h. is ass for eating her food. He has to take it back or eat the five bucks it cost him, and his pride if anybody else knew, just to save face. Besides that, how do you explain that your order, which was originally correct, was half eaten and essentially ruined - in fucking Spanish?
It was like an early birthday present for the rest of us, and a lesson for all:
THEY FUCK YOU IN THE LOBBY!
So because the drivethrough looked like the line at the DMV, I went inside and ordered my grub. Everyone else decided to stick to their healthy ways, but fuck it's my birthday and had been at least 6 months since I had patronized their establishment. So I wait, and I wait and finally the non speaking employee motions toward me to come and pick up my order. I already had filled my soda so I was good to go.
I get to the car, and there are 5 or 6 in our group, all who have gone to different establishments to pee, get food or just be the usual pain in the ass when you have that many people together.
Being hungry I open the sack and to my surprise there is a Big Mac staring me in the face, and fries. I tell my buddy Steph this is NOT my order and he says "let me see it". Now Steph is anti fat, grease, fast food and generally a health nut. So dude proceeds to break open the Mac container and go to work on the sandwich. 3 bites in the fucker is half gone, and I'm telling him I have to take it back in to get my original order. Hee is laughing his ass off so hard he had special sauce running down his face. Meanwhile the other folks in our group are mowing down the fries.
Fucking great - how do I explain to a Spanish speaking clerk that I mistook most of a Big Mac for a Fish sandwich?
Steph says, "dude, they have to throw it away anyways, no problem". So Steph wipes the excess sauce dripping down his face with the bun and returns what may have been a third of the sandwich. I picked up the fries from the parking lot and made some of the folks holding them in their hnds give them back. There was no way I was causing a scene with a non English speaking clerk.
So back in I go and immediately the clerk motions over to me with a sack in her hand. In broken English she apologizes and hands me my sack while taking the original sack with the partially eaten burger in it, molested french fries and sauce from Steph's face down the face of the bun and hands it to some poor bastard who without checking his order runs out the door. I was laughing so hard I almost pissed myself.
Nonetheless I checked my fish sandwich and it was perfect.
What I would pay to know is how pissed off the other cat was who ran out of the store, in a tie no less, and got back to work to find out his lunch was totaled? Or better yet, he shows up at his girls place and she blames h. is ass for eating her food. He has to take it back or eat the five bucks it cost him, and his pride if anybody else knew, just to save face. Besides that, how do you explain that your order, which was originally correct, was half eaten and essentially ruined - in fucking Spanish?
It was like an early birthday present for the rest of us, and a lesson for all:
THEY FUCK YOU IN THE LOBBY!
Friday, July 1, 2011
The Anthony Judge
Judge Belvin Perry Jr. is the presiding judge in the media circus which is the Casey Anthony murder trial. I read up on this cat, and from a professional and educational perspective he seems to be at the top of his game. BUT, I have heard this dude talk, and the general consensus is Belvin is an idiot.
I'm sure he knows the legal system, his professional accolades verify that. When Belvin speaks, I get visions of a black Forrest Gump. Seriously, this is the judge the state of Florida chose to oversee the largest media covered trial in history? Belvin is the best they could do?
Today Belvin says, "they are real problems, and they are imaginary problems" during the proceedings. This stellar vernacular from a dude with a BS in History and a Masters degree in Education. Needless to say he won't be teaching 2nd grade English anytime soon.
Belvin - what the fuck kind of name is that anyways?
Belvin is well respected in the black community probably due to the status he has achieved, and has been noted as a positive role model to young black kids.
Call me crazy but I want my kid to be well spoken. In the "immediate" world we live in perception is reality. Folks size each other up by the way we look, the way we speak, and in my case how articulate one is. If I was sitting at a bar with this dude and heard him talk, there is a good chance I would ask him if he would grab me some more peanuts.
There is also the irony of the prison population in this country being predominantly black, which the judge is - and the very few white female inmates which Casey Anthony is. Wonder how this is going to turn out?
The OJ trial was entertaining because it was the first major murder trial covered via cable news channels. Marsha Clark's career was killed on multiple networks simultaneously - live. Johnny Cochran was compelling to watch, partially because I could understand him. Shapiro too. Honestly, the Anthony trial is unwatchable because I can't understand most of what comes out of Belvin's gullet.
I think this case would be much more entertaining if Judge Judy was presiding. Listening to her go on one of her rants about what a shit mom Casey Anthony is, along with the fact that she doesn't have a job would crack me up. What the fuck could Casey Anthony say to her without old Judge Judy telling her "shut-up mam"! Sound bite heaven!
Unfortunately, this will probably end badly for the entire Anthony family. Casey will get the chair, her dad has been outed as to having at least one affair with a fucking ugly woman and her mom has perjured herself. I wonder what's worse, 30 days in jail for lying to the court, or having the world know you will basically hump anything that will hold still?
The Casey family throwing themselves on the mercy of the court would be the smart move - if the judge was capable of forming complete, tangible sentences.
I shouldn't expect Belvin to enunciate when he can't even pronounce the word..... subtitles anyone?
I'm sure he knows the legal system, his professional accolades verify that. When Belvin speaks, I get visions of a black Forrest Gump. Seriously, this is the judge the state of Florida chose to oversee the largest media covered trial in history? Belvin is the best they could do?
Today Belvin says, "they are real problems, and they are imaginary problems" during the proceedings. This stellar vernacular from a dude with a BS in History and a Masters degree in Education. Needless to say he won't be teaching 2nd grade English anytime soon.
Belvin - what the fuck kind of name is that anyways?
Belvin is well respected in the black community probably due to the status he has achieved, and has been noted as a positive role model to young black kids.
Call me crazy but I want my kid to be well spoken. In the "immediate" world we live in perception is reality. Folks size each other up by the way we look, the way we speak, and in my case how articulate one is. If I was sitting at a bar with this dude and heard him talk, there is a good chance I would ask him if he would grab me some more peanuts.
There is also the irony of the prison population in this country being predominantly black, which the judge is - and the very few white female inmates which Casey Anthony is. Wonder how this is going to turn out?
The OJ trial was entertaining because it was the first major murder trial covered via cable news channels. Marsha Clark's career was killed on multiple networks simultaneously - live. Johnny Cochran was compelling to watch, partially because I could understand him. Shapiro too. Honestly, the Anthony trial is unwatchable because I can't understand most of what comes out of Belvin's gullet.
I think this case would be much more entertaining if Judge Judy was presiding. Listening to her go on one of her rants about what a shit mom Casey Anthony is, along with the fact that she doesn't have a job would crack me up. What the fuck could Casey Anthony say to her without old Judge Judy telling her "shut-up mam"! Sound bite heaven!
Unfortunately, this will probably end badly for the entire Anthony family. Casey will get the chair, her dad has been outed as to having at least one affair with a fucking ugly woman and her mom has perjured herself. I wonder what's worse, 30 days in jail for lying to the court, or having the world know you will basically hump anything that will hold still?
The Casey family throwing themselves on the mercy of the court would be the smart move - if the judge was capable of forming complete, tangible sentences.
I shouldn't expect Belvin to enunciate when he can't even pronounce the word..... subtitles anyone?
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