December 24th, 2010
|05:11 pm - Christmas Eve With The "Ass Man"|
I'm sitting here waiting for my laundry to dry in the laundry room down the hall, then after I get that shit taken care of, I'm going to change my clothes and shave my fucking face for the first time since around Thanksgiving and get ready for when Mom and Dad pick me up here in a couple hours so I can go to their house in Fort Branch, Indiana for Christmas over the weekend. Tomorrow we're all going to my oldest sister's house in Henderson, Kentucky, and by Sunday afternoon I'll be back here in the wolf's den where I belong.
Mom called me on the phone last night to confirm our plans, that I would indeed be here when they arrived. She also asked me where I wanted to stop and eat on the way to their place. I asked her if we could stop at TACO BELL and she yes! My mommy said yes, and I'm soooo excited to finally get to eat some fucking TACOS, goddammit, because I haven't eaten in the last two days and before that all I ate for four days was mother fucking SOUP BEANS!! I need some Christmas tacos in my belly and it's going to be all I can do to maintain my composure while we're sitting in our booth at Taco Bell and I start to munch down on that first taco (I'm going to order about twelve of those fuckers!). As soon as I hear the crunch of the shell, taste the tender kiss of the sweet seasoned roast beef, the gentle caress of the crisp lettuce and tomato and the rich and rapturous touch of the sour cream upon my tongue I may just go MAD, devouring them all like a maniac as I start to grow hair on my face and transform right in front of my parents and reveal to them my true Taco Werewolf nature! I really have to try and eat with some class because I don't want them to know how HUNGRY I really am and how malnourished I have been these past few months.
Another event today almost made me reveal my true werewolf nature at work. My boss took today off so the ASSISTANT MANAGER, or "Ass Man," as I like to call him, for short, was there instead to help me price and put out all the novelties that arrive on Friday, "Dildo Truck Day," as I call it, when we get all the sex toys: dildos, vibrators, butt plugs, blow up dolls, etc. The Ass Man is a nice guy, really. I like him and we've worked together for a number of years, but it's a common fact amongst everyone else that works at the store that this guy's ASS CRACK is always showing. It's gotten worse over the years. Five years ago, every once in awhile I'd see him bend down and maybe just the tip of his crack would be showing. Three years ago, maybe he'd be showing a quarter of his ass-- or a quarter MOON, as I see it and to use werewolf terminology-- when he bent over. Nowadays, though, he don't even have to be bending down and nearly his WHOLE, FULL MOON OF AN ASS is showing! I don't know if it's how flat his ass is, if his britches are too big, if he needs to wear a belt, or what. I never have really figured out what makes some guys' ass cracks show more than others, but the fact of the matter is that it is REALLY not pleasant to look at. Sometimes I will be coming around a corner in the store or something, and I'll come face to face with this guys fucking ASS CRACK-- or what is really his whole ASS for all practical purposes-- and it starts to cause this stirring inside of me, like I am this close to fucking "wolfing out" and telling him, "Man, I'm tired of looking at your fucking ASS, will you please wear some pants that fit or something from now on?!" LOL! As of yet, no one has mentioned to this guy that his ass is always showing and I think it's about time someone did!
But alas, it's Christmas Eve and I just didn't have the heart to tell him today.
December 21st, 2010
|02:02 pm - A Fever From Smoking Bible Paper?|
This past week I enjoyed a few days of actually being able to afford some decent food (including Hamburger Helper "Taco Burger"!!) and smoke some real cigarettes, but now I'm back to being broke and smoking nasty butts and eating at the community kitchen until Friday, Christmas Eve, when I get paid. My Mom and Dad are also coming to pick me up Friday night to take me home for Xmas festivities for a couple days and I should be able to keep my belly full until the New Year. I've got a big, long 2011 plan written up and posted on my refrigerator and believe me, starting December 31st SHIT IS GOING TO CHANGE FOR THE BETTER BECAUSE THE WOLF IS GOING TO COME OUT FOR REALS!!
Over the weekend I was out of cigarettes and also out of fucking rolling papers. So I commenced to rolling up cigarette butts out of BIBLE PAPER again, despite the fact that the last four or five times I've done this in the past few months, it gives me this weird fucking FeVER! After about a day of rolling cigarettes out of this Bible I have at home, a strange fever starts to kick in. I feel my heart beating rapidly; the hair all over my body starts standing on end. My body temperature increases and I start getting these really bad cold shakes and start shivering. I was smoking the Bible paper Sunday, and Monday morning the fever started kicking in. It was pretty cold outside, anyway, so I was shaking and shivering the whole time I was walking to work, and the whole time I was still smoking cigarettes out of this Bible paper like some crack-addicted idiot.
Luckily when I got to work I was able to talk my boss into spotting me some rolling papers we sell at the store, until Friday. I owe him a whole $2 now, oooooooh. But all day yesterday I still had the fever and it was only after sleeping in a cold sweat for about 12 hours last night and this morning that I was able to wake up today with the fever pretty much gone away.
I've told a few people about this fever I get when I smoke the Bible paper and they are like, "God is trying to tell you something! He wants you to quit smoking. Either that or He wants you dead!" The first time I got the fever I was hesitant to think it was because of the Bible paper; I figured it was just this strange coincidence and the fever was just totally unrelated flu symptoms or something. I remember when I was in my late 20's, this one summer I walked around town wearing the same black, cut-off shorts and black T-shirt without washing them, usually drunk off my ass or looking for a drink, carrying this little Bible in my backpack that I rolled cigarette butts up in ALL SUMMER and it didn't do shit! I didn't get any sort of fever back then, so why would God be trying to tell me something now? Why would he let me smoke all these years since then, waste all that money and do so much more damage to my lungs when he could have given me a fever back then as a way of telling me to stop?
It would be twelve years or so before I'd roll a cigarette in Bible paper again, this most recent period that began few months ago, and like I said, at the start of this period I thought maybe the fever was a coincidence the first time I got it. But a couple weeks after this first fever, I smoked more cigarettes with the same Bible paper and sure enough, the fever came back. This has happened at least five times: I smoke the Bible paper and I get a fever. I know, it is a testament to how addicted I am to cigarettes when I am willingly, KNOWINGLY subjecting myself to this fucking fever which, of course, has JACK FUCK NOTHING to do with "God telling me to quit smoking" or "wanting me dead" and everything to do with the fact that there is something in the ink or the paper, some toxin my body is resisting and therefore initiating a fever to burn away the unwanted substance(s). Besides the fact that I am severely hesistant to use "divine intervention" to explain anything--just as a test, an experiment-- I rolled up cigarettes a couple months ago from the paper of this big DICTIONARY I have at home and it gave me a fever too! LOL! So evidently the Bible I had years ago just didn't contain whatever it is in the newer Bible and dictionary I now possess that has been causing the fever.
Admittedly, I was a little disappointed when I rolled cigarettes up in the dictionary paper and it gave me a fever just as the Bible did, pretty much debunking any sort of "divine intervention" theory. I just think it is fun to contemplate the possibility of something powerful and supernatural or otherwordly actually giving a fuck about what I do. I also think it is funny to contemplate some sort of Christian or otherwise monk or mystic purposely smoking cigarette butts out of this Bible paper, knowing it will give them a fever and believing that during this fever they will gain some sort of divine insights and revelations or receive holy visions!
December 16th, 2010
|06:10 pm - Glad I Don't Have To Shovel Snow|
Just got done pushing some neighbor girl's truck out of the snow. I didn't really have much of a choice. She was backing out of her parking space and headed straight into a snow drift. The tiny tires of her little truck were spinning round and round while I'm standing there drinking my coffee and smoking a cigarette in front of our apartment complex. I couldn't very well just stand there and do nothing. I'm saying to myself, "Goddam, now I gotta help this bitch," so I reluctantly start pushing her out. With my he-man werewolf strength, it only took a few seconds to get her on her way. She rolled down her window to thank me. It's the first time I'd ever really looked at her face. She was cuter than I had thought. Maybe I'll get some "pay back" some day? LOL, I seriously doubt it.
I walked out of my wolf's den to go to work this morning and saw we'd gotten another three inches of snow. It was funny, because the whole time I'm walking to work I see all these people up ahead on the sidewalk I'm traveling on, shoveling snow. They were people from various businesses having to shovel the walk in front of their offices/stores or face a $50 city fine. It seemed like every time I arrived at the part of the walk they were responsible for, they'd just be finishing up and I'd step onto their freshly shoveled path as if they'd done it just for me and say, "Why, thank you, that was nice of you!" LOL! A few of them sort of sneered at me and I don't know why. I was just letting them know I appreciated what they were doing. Not only were they saving themselves a $50 fine, but they were helping guys like me out who have to walk everywhere. It was funny because a few of them were out shoveling snow in business suits, dudes from law firms and insurance offices, dressed up in their little corporate cocksucker outfits, and boy do I like seeing those bastards out in the cold shoveling snow. Yeah, you fucks, make a path for me so I can get to my job mopping up semen at the pornstore. And while your at it, lick my cum and snow-covered boots. Hahahahaha.
I was feeling kind of cocky because at the porn store I work at, we pay this contractor and his crew to come and shovel our walk and clear out the parking lot. Whenever it snows it's always already been taken care of by the time I arrive, so I don't have to do it. As soon as I punched in I went outside to smoke a cigarette like I always do, and I stood and watched this chick shoveling the sidewalk in front of some law office across the street. She was dressed up in some nice pants suit and I was like, yeah shovel that snow, bitch, better you than me! LOLOLOL. I didn't actually yell it out to her but I was thinking it, and watching her huff and puff out there in her fancy pants threads gave me some degree of holiday cheer.
After I got off work I walked in the snow about six blocks to this grocery store I go to that has good deals on hamburger. They sell those big five pound tubular packages of hamburger wrapped in plastic for about 6 bucks; they look almost like a baseball bat and it'd be funny to knock someone upside the head with one. While I was at the grocery store I ended up putting two heavy 2-liters of generic lemon-lime soda in my cart and a bunch of heavy canned goods. Combined with my big tube of hamburger, it was a heavy load to walk clear across town with back to my apartment. Luckily I ran into this old troll from the porn store, Felix, and he offered to give me a ride home. Felix is an older dude, in his 60's. He comes into the porn store nearly every day, usually several times a day, trolling the booths in the back and looking for a dick to suck. He is well known for offering guys $20 to cum on his face. He used to own a few gay bars here in town and is probably a millionaire but he always dresses like shit and looks like he just crawled out of a dumpster. I had to sit on at least two inches of trash in the passenger seat of his van as he drove me clear across town to here I live. To his credit, he didn't make any creepy innuendos or give me any strange looks like he wanted me to cum on his face as payment for the ride or anything. Honestly, I think he was just being a nice guy. I really appreciated the ride, actually, because those groceries would have been fucking HEAVY to carry all the way home.
December 13th, 2010
|10:26 pm - Blind Me With Your Bleach|
I was sitting here trying to watch the Minnesota Vikings/NY Giants game, trying to still root for the Vikings even though, before this game, they only had about a 1% chance of making the playoffs. The 3rd quarter is over, they're down by 18 points and I think that chance is now down to ZERO. I just can't stand watching Tarvaris Jackson and the rest of the team stink it up anymore tonight. Brett Favre didn't start the game for Minnesota, ending his phenomenal consecutive start streak at 297 games. It's weird seeing him on the sidelines. You can tell he just doesn't know what to do with himself now that he's not out there on the field and could very well never play again.
Herman didn't bring me any damn deer meat today! WaaaaaHHH!
You'd think since I've been a janitor most of my life that I would be hip to all the latest cleaning technologies. That's not true, though, because I've just recently discovered the wonders of simple BLEACH! It was recently recommended to me to use bleach for trying to clean off the nicotine stains from my apartment walls. Honestly, not much of anything is going to clean my walls--they pretty much just need painted over--but bleach has worked wonders on my bathroom, my counterspace, my shower and, of course, my UndERwEARS!! Hahahaha! I have even gotten down on my hands and knees to use it to scrub my floor. It leaves such a cleeeean, refreshing smell, and I even like how when I use too much it BURNS MY EYES!! Oh yes, burn me baby! Blind me with your bleach! Make clean, sparkling love to me after we've rolled around in our snow white bleach-washed underwear! I've even started to use it at work now, I love bleach so much.
UGGGGGHHH, one thing I really hate are NOTES SLIPPED UNDERNEATH my ApARTmENT DOOR. Every time I am behind on rent, I have to dread the inevitable note slipped underneath my door from my landlady that tells me to pay up! It is just a real uncomfortable feeling, like I'm under duress in my own home. Every day when I come home in the afternoon, I sloooowly open my door to enter the apartment, looking on the floor to see if "The Note" is there. I never have a clue when it will be slipped underneath my door but I know that it will come at some point, as long as my rent is past due. It's just something that constantly nags and gnaws at me whenever I'm behind on rent. For the past two weeks, every day when I come from work, I've been opening up my door and looking out for this stupid note on the floor and FINALLY, today, it came! I mean, the notes aren't really all that threatening. They are just these straightforward print-outs from accounting showing how much is past due, but it drives me fucking NUTS waiting on them. The good thing, though, is that once I've received a note I know I won't get another one for at least a week. So at least for the next seven days I can open my fucking door in peace and not have to worry about some stupid note telling me how much money I owe staring me in the face to welcome me home! I suppose the best way to rid myself of this "note underneath my door" problem is to to get caught up on my rent, right? Hahahahaa! Fat chance of that happening any time soon. LOL.
It just now occured to me that perhaps this entry was influenced by a movie I saw the other day, the 1979 film adaptation of Flannery O'Connor's book, Wise Blood. For those unfamiliar with the book or movie, the main character, aspiring preacher of "The Church of Christ Without Christ," Hazel Motes, purposely blinds himself with lye at the end to show his devotion to his new church and cause, while contrasting himself with another street preacher he encountered who faked his blindness. Hazel's landlady, feeling sympathy for him and his condition, lets him stay on in her boarding house for free and even asks him to marry her! It just occured to me that perhaps my contemplating bleach-induced blindess in combination with bitching about my landlady means I'd secretly like to fuck her until she can't see straight? LOL! She actually isn't a bad-looking woman at all and she is somewhat religious.
December 12th, 2010
|10:01 am - Deer Meat Dreams, Ramen Noodle Reality|
Here is a pic that my lovely and talented friend necrogrrl made for me a few months ago. I love it because she managed to perfectly capture the essence of what it is like in my wolf's den on most days. Me lying on my bed in my underwear. My werewolf mask is on, I have a taco in my hand and refried beans smeared on my armpits as I gaze out my window and stare at all the deer that like to roam around outside where I live. I dream of eating them, putting them in a taco and munching down on them babies! Hell yeah! This is the time of year when I'm thinking of eating DeeR MeaT! There are some wooded areas next to my apartment complex, and whenever I go outside to smoke cigarettes I often see a few deer roaming about. They make my belly growl because they look so tasty and delicious but, of course, I cannot shoot them because 1)I don't have a hunting license and 2)I don't have a gun or bow and 3)I don't have permission from my property manager's to hunt on their property and there are probably a host of other reasons why I shouldn't shoot them. It would just be too easy and I'm sure it would be considered "poaching" if not outright murder as far as some people are concerned. I'm certain if one of my neighbors came out and saw me shooting one of these deer they would be horrified. Plus, I'm not really into shooting baby deer or does which is all I ever see. I guess the bucks know that they are big prizes this time of year and keep themselves well hidden because, though I've seen a ton of does and babies out and about I have never once seen a buck.
Luckily I have a friend at work, Herman, who is a full-fledged, real-life deer hunter! Herman is quite a story teller and when I met him about a year and a half ago when he first started working where I do, I thought maybe he was full of crap, that some of his stories were bullshit. He kept telling me he was going to shoot me a deer and bring me a big sack full of venison to chomp down on and I was like, yeah right, I'll believe it when I see it! Well, one day Herman just flat out brought in the DAmN DeeR MEAT! He laid the fucking MEAT down and as you can see from a blog entry I made last year, I was pretty happy about it! That deer meat kept my belly full for a good month and, being the greedy and incessantly needy and beastly person that I am, I WANT SOME MORE THIS YEAR! LOL! Herman has been "back on the hunt," getting up early in the morning on the weekends and sitting in his deer loft out in the woods, waiting to shoot me a deer. So far, he hasn't had any luck and my belly is starting to grow louder and louder every time I see Herman come in on Monday and he tells me I'll have to wait another week!
DAMMIT, HERMAN! I WANT MY DEER MEAT! This sentiment couldn't have been more true this past Monday when my boss had me doing my monthly "Cinderella" imitation. The walls of the adult novelty store I work in are covered in cheap white paint. This paint gradually flakes off when we move around products on the wall, and the paint speckles adhere to the floor. After about a month the floor is so covered in these tiny white paint speckles that I have to get down on my hands and knees and scrub the whole fucking floor by hand because it's the only way to really get them off. I call it my Cinderella imitation because I guess I can remember Cinderella doing a lot of scrubbing for her sisters; and one time a customer, I guess feeling sorry for me, put his hand on my shoulder as I scrubbed and said, "Think of yourself as Cinderella, you won't have to do this type of work someday." LOL, I was like, what, you think I'm going to turn into a pumpkin? Or marry a fucking frog, or whatever the fuck happened to Cinderella? Hahaha. He was just trying to be nice but his condolences only further emphasized and exacerbated in my mind how low it feels to have to be on your hands and knees scrubbing paint chips while all the customers watch. I'm a WerEwOLF, dammit, and I shouldn't have to do this kind of shit! It was Monday morning and the only thing making me feel better was the thought that any moment Herman could come in from the weekend with a BIG BAG OF DEER MEAT! But instead, when Herman finally did come in after I'd been scrubbing for two hours and my knees were sore, he was like, "Sorry, couldn't get a deer for ya, buddy! I'll try again next weekend!" Then Herman looks at me and laughs, seeming to mock me as he says, "Damn, you look good on your knees!" What an asshole! JUST BRING ME SOME DEER MEAT TOMORROW, MUTHER FUCKER!!!! In the meantime I'll be eating my Ramen Noodles, as usual.
December 9th, 2010
|04:03 pm - Giving Butts To Barry Cuz I Felt Bad About His Butthole|
I'm sitting here at the public library while I make this entry. I got off work about fifteen minutes ago, walked downtown to where I'm at now. The community kitchen a few blocks away doesn't open until 5pm so I got some time to kill before I get me some GRUB, BUB!! LOL! I'm fucking hungry like the dog, cat, and "The Wolf," man, as Duran Duran sang so eloquently about back in the 80's. I'm in a pretty good mood now because I just found a bunch of premium cigarette butts on the sidewalk in front of a tattoo parlor down the road. I get paid tomorrow; this should be the last day I have to eat at the free kitchen and smoke nasty butts for awhile, so I'm SToKEd! And I'm gonna watch the Indianapolis Colts kick the Tennesse Titans' asses tonight so bring on the HaPPY DaY HIGH FiVES, baby!
On a more sober note, I had to actually ShARe the handful of cigarette butts I found on the street on my way to the community kitchen yesterday. When I got to the kitchen I saw my old friend, Barry, who I hadn't seen in about three years. Barry, unfortunately, wasn't doing so well. He was down on his luck pretty bad. I used to get drunk alot with Barry years ago when we both worked at the adult bookstore together. But Barry got fired one day, and since then he's had kind of a hard time getting on in life, moving from one job to the next and barely surviving. He was pretty depressed when I saw him yesterday because he had just lost his job as a dispatcher for a cab company.
This, in itself--losing your job-- would be enough to make anyone sad around the holidays but the worst part was, while Barry and I were eating at the kitchen, he told me that he had his butthole sewn shut a year and a half ago! I guess one night he had been drinking at someone's house out in the country in a nearby county. He and the friend he'd been drinking with got in a fight and Barry, drunk off his ass and without a vehicle (I guess his friend was mad at him and refused to give him a ride back to his apartment in the city about 10 miles away), started walking down the dark country road, hoping to hitch a ride with someone, ANYONE, and unforunately the only person who saw him walking down that lonely road was a fucking COUNTY DEPUTY who, without hesitation, put him in jail for public intoxication.
Barry has always had problems with his colon and I guess while he was in jail it began to flare up. It began to really hurt and, despite his telling the people running the jail about it, they refused to give him treatment. They ended up keeping him in jail for 30 days(something to do with an outstanding warrant he had for some other misdemeanor, or something) and the whole time his colon was gradually getting worse and not being treated, in so much pain, until finally he was screaming in his cell for someone to help him, at which time the asshole jail personnel finally took him to a hospital where it was discovered that he had a blockage in his colon and had to be operated on immediately.
Barry said that one minute he was lying in the hospital bed and the next minute it was the next day when a doctor came in and told him that they had SeWN HiS FUCkinG BUTTHOLE SHUT PERMANENTLY!! I guess they had to take out a huge portion of his large intestine during the operation and had sewn his butthole shut and attached him to a colostomy bag without him even knowing it! I can't imagine how horrible that must be, to wake up one morning and suddenly realize you will never again take a shit in your life, at least not one through your butt. I mean, it would have been nice if the doctors had told him first and allowed him to take "one final dump" through his anus, you know what I mean? To just wake up one morning and have someone tell you that your butthole is sewn shut forever, that for the rest of your life your feces will go into a bag attached to your stomach just seems so dreadful to me!
I was sort of stupid when Barry asked me, while we were eating, if I wanted to see his colostomy bag. I said, "Sure, why not?" because, being a long-time janitor in a porn-store, I feel I have a pretty strong stomach, but MAN! When he lifted up his shirt and showed me that plastic bag full of his own crap I nearly gagged. LOL! For me, it isn't so bad seeing feces as long as I don't know whose it is. But for some reason, when I see poop and I know whose it is, whose butthole it has come out of, it kinda creeps me out. And to see someone with a bag of their own poop like that attached to their stomach just really made me nauseous and the image still haunts me today.
Anyway, when me and Gary finished eating we walked outside and he asked me if I had a cigarette. It kind of sucked because I really didn't want to give away any of the butts I'd found on the street on the way to the kitchen because I didn't have many. But how could I refuse Barry a few nasty butts I'd found on the ground after his telling me such a horrific story and me knowing that his butthole had stitches in it as we spoke? So, out of my infinite (though, admittedly, reluctant) generosity, I reached into my coat and handed him two or three of the longer cigarette butts I had in my pocket.
December 7th, 2010
|10:52 am - The Man With The Ruler|
Just got back from "work," four hours of half-ass sweeping and mopping out the masturbation booths. I don't usually go into work so early anymore, but after watching Monday Night Football last night, I couldn't sleep for some reason. Then by the time 4am arrived I figured I might as well walk into work and get the crap over with. It's fucking CoLD out but I better get used to it because it's only DeCEMbER, after all.
Professor Penis came walking into the store around 7am. For awhile now, he's had this thing going about getting a "measurement." I guess he saw some dude back in the booths a few weeks ago who was walking around with a ruler. I don't know if this "man with a ruler" was just being weird, or if the ruler was a way of getting guys interested in him, like him saying, "Hey, you want me to measure your penis for you?" so they can go into a booth together, or what. But whatever it is, Professor Penis has been ObSeSSeD with finding this mysterious "man with a ruler" again, because he didn't get a chance to talk to him the first time he saw him. He just "mysteriously disappeared," Professor Penis says, before he could get a measurement.
I found the whole thing kind of amusing at first, so every time I saw Professor Penis I humored him and said to him, "You need to find that guy with the ruler! You need to get yourself measured!" And Professor Penis chuckled, said, "Yeah, I need to find someone with a big ruler, don't I?"
This inane dialogue has been going on between me and him for a few weeks now. Professor Penis has been being pretty clever, though, in how he has gradually shifted the ongoing joke from him getting his dick measured by the mysterious man with the ruler to ME getting mine measured! Lately, when he sees me, he has been trying to beat me to the punchline by saying to ME, "Have you seen the man with the ruler?" See, he set it up (and I sort of let myself fall into his trap) so I would facetiously pretend like I am looking for this guy with ruler for him, and from there, ever so subtly and gradually, he makes out like I am looking for the man with the ruler so that I can be the one seeking to have my penis measured!
He says to me last week, "Have you seen the man with the ruler?" and I say, "No, I haven't seen him around anywhere" to which Professor Penis replies, "So you don't want a measurement?" LOL! And then this creepy, pervy, clever old fucker says, as he looks down at my crotch, "I'll bet you would need a big ruler to measure that one!" So I began to doubt if there was really any sort of mysterious "man with a ruler" back in the booths in the first place, that this whole story is some charade set up by Professor Penis to coerce me into letting him measure my fucking cock.
And yes, my suspicions were confirmed today. As I was sweeping out the parking lot, Professor Penis was walking out to his little truck. I start talking to him and suddenly he pulls out of his back pocket a fucking RULER, one of those little 12-inch wooden rulers, and he says, "Look what I got!" Hahahahaa! We both started laughing. This old man knows I'm not going to let him measure my fucking cock. It's just some dumb little humorous, harmless mind game/running joke we are playing with each other. He insisted to me this morning, though, that the mysterious "man with the ruler" is real, that he has heard other customers talk about him.
December 6th, 2010
|02:50 pm - Professor Penis|
There's a customer at work, this pervy old man I call "Professor Penis." He's a short, skinny guy with glasses, in his 80's, but he's pretty active and spry for his age. I call him "Professor Penis" because when he comes into the store to watch movies, he's got this running story-line/joke going with me that he is "getting an education," that when he goes into the booths to watch movies, masturbate, and lick other guys' penises, he is "attending class." I made the joke to him one day that he is so old that he should be TEACHING the classes by now, to which Professor Penis just laughed, then gave me a grin and stared briefly, yet lecherously, at my crotch, in approval of my humor. So ever since then I call him "Professor Penis" and he seems to like the nickname pretty well. I don't really mind him staring at my crotch every now and then; it's no big deal. It isn't like the guy has a chance with me. I'm straight, for one thing, and if he tried to get forceful I could just break him in half like a twig. One punch in the stomach to this old dude would probably send him into cardiac arrest.
I borrowed 2 bucks from Professor Penis about a year ago, and we've got this running joke about how I'm going to have to eventually "pay him back" some day. LOL! I sure as hell ain't paying him back in the lurid way he is thinking or fantasizing about, and it's actually gotten to the point where I don't want to pay him his damn two bucks at all, period. I borrowed it from him one afternoon because I needed some cigarettes, not thinking that nearly a year later I'd still be fucking talking about it with him. There's been a few times recently, in the past few months, where he'd ask me for it and I'd have at least 40 or 50 dollars on me and I'd just say, "Nope, sorry, I don't have it."
December 5th, 2010
|02:01 pm - A "New Winter Taco" Sure Can Change Things!|
We received our first major snow of winter yesterday here where I live in Indiana, so I wanted to somehow commemorate this event by taking a picture of myself! I've been lazy lately and haven't shaved in a few days so I've got my "Silver Wolf" look going with all the pesky gray hairs in my beard. To be honest, I was in sort of a sad mood yesterday morning when I walked outside to see all the wetness and slushiness, the cummy-looking WHiTe StuFF that mortals call "snow," because I knew I needed to walk across town in this shit to go to the free community kitchen to EAT later on, because I was fucking hungry. But despite my "new winter sadness" I did manage to smile in the picture. You can see in this pic my first and favorite little crucifix (I'm a big crucifix fiend!) to my right and, just to the left of my beanie-buried head you can see a picture of me from February 2007. In this picture I'm wearing one of my werewolf masks and touching the Indianapolis Colts Super Bowl trophy! Hell yeah! The Colts had won the Super bowl just a couple weeks earlier, and Jim Irsay, the Colts' owner decided to have this "Trophy Tour" all over cities in Indiana to let the fans actually SEE and touch the trophy. I was concerned that the security there wouldn't let me wear my werewolf mask for the pic, thinking perhaps I wanted to wear the mask because I had plans of STEALING the trophy. But they didn't have any problem with it when I asked them, were like, "Whatever, freak!" LOL! I actually have a larger story to tell about that day and perhaps I'll get the pic scanned so people can see it better, and make another blog entry devoted just to it at some point.
So yesterday afternoon I began my long, cold walk to the community kitchen, my belly growling and the hungry wolf inside me howling. There was snow and slush everywhere; it was getting colder by the minute. My fingers were nearly too numb to roll cigarettes, but I persevered, and there was one point, when I got about three blocks away from my destination, that I noticed what appeared to be BLOOD in the snow. It was this trail of red blood drops! I followed the trail for about a block, not really thinking much of it. People get cut in the winter and bleed into the white snow all the time, right? But it became more and more spooky, more eerie and sinister-seeming when the trail of blood not only went ON and ON but it continued along my very path to the community kitchen, as if someone was leading me there, or warning me NOT to go there? I was too hungry to heed any kind of warning. If there was some kind of danger there I would confront it head on. If some maniac had walked into the kitchen with a gun and started blowing all the hungry people's heads off because he didn't like what the cooks were serving or because he thought people who ate there they were a bunch of lazy bums who needed to get jobs, I did not care! I was going to EAT goddamit, despite this trail of blood!
But imagine my surprise when I realized it wasn't BLOOD at all that I had been following! I arrived at the kitchen to see they were serving TACOOOOOOS and that the red spots in the snow were drops of HOT SauCE, not blood; that they had come from someone walking AWAY from the kitchen as they wolfed out on a free fucking delicious "New Winter Taco!" LOL! The bad thing when they serve something like tacos at a place like that is there are sooooo many ingredients you have to wait for the servers to apply: lettuce, onions, tomatoes, cheese, hot sauce, etc; but I managed to wait it out and get my fill.
I was so satisfied when I got home, my belly was so full, that I decided to compliment my pic above with an "after pic" of what I felt like after I finished eating them tacos! As you can see, it's a much more cheerful pic than the one above, primarily because the wolf inside me had come into full view and my underwear looked and felt so SNOW WHITE AND CLEAN!
December 2nd, 2010
|08:13 pm - It's Politically Incorrect To Say "Indian Summer"?|
It's DECEMBeR and I'm still raking leaves at work! I don't know why I got such a late start on them this year. I've been raking them on and off for the past few weeks. I started off good but then I went on a week's vacation around Thanksgiving. Then it started getting cold and rainy, so I put it off. Yesterday it wasn't raining but there was a light dusting of SnOW on the ground; regardless, I decided to go outside and rake. The leaves were soaking wet; it was cold and my fingers were numb. The leaves were damp and heavy and there were all these damn twigs and STICKS mixed in with them, making my life ever the more difficult as I raked and raked and raked until I heard a CRACK! And that's when I realized my rake had broken in half! HAHAHAHA!! For a moment I wondered if the leaves were just too heavy and wet; then I wondered if perhaps I was just too big and STRONG to be raking leaves, that it was inevitable that the rake would break due to my fearsome work ethic and over-exertion of my bulging muscles. But, no, I think the rake was just a piece of crap, honestly, and it was on its third or fourth year of raking. Today, my boss brought in another one and I am JUST ABOUT FINISHED. Finally. It's always soooo sad when I rake leaves. I feel bad for the crispy, dead, brown little guys who, not so long ago, were green and bright as soothing summer water ran through their veins. The sun shone brightly upon them as they frolicked upon the limbs amongst their leafy little buddies and now they are all DEAD and WET and they are causing my rake to break the way I'd like to snap Old Man Winter's neck!
Actually, when I first started raking these leaves about three weeks ago, the weather was extremely nice for November. It was sunny and warm. I was at my apartment complex one morning during this period, taking some garbage out to the dumpster, when one of building's maintenance men started chatting me up about how nice the weather is. At one point during this rather normal but inane, pointless conversation, I didn't really know what else to say so I said, "So, what do they call it when the weather is this warm in November? Indian Summer?"
And to this the oh, so righteous maintenance man said, "Yeah, that's the UNPOLITICAL thing to call it." He wasn't really outwardly condescending in his tone, but man, what a way to sour a conversation with a near-stranger by implying that I was somehow being insensitive to Native Americans! Or that I was some sort of vulgar, ignorant person. To tell you the truth, I didn't give a crap what this maintenance man thought of me. I was just being polite by having a conversation with him about the stupid weather, anyway. As far as I could tell, though, he was a damn gringo or "Pale Face" just as I am, and I don't know why he felt the need to "correct" me the way some pedantic losers like to correct people about their grammar all the time.
I just said, "Oh, I had no idea that 'Indian Summer' was offensive to Indians. What, is it sort of like how they get pissed about sports teams having names like the Atlanta Braves, Florida State Seminoles or Washington Redskins?" He just sort of chuckled and said, "Yeah, something like that" and was I like, "Okay, see ya dude! Nice talkin' to you!" (NOT) I then promptly walked away from the fucker, admittedly wondering if it really WAS considered UN-PC to use the term "Indian Summer," because I'd never heard that it was before. I looked it up online real quick and didn't really find anything substantial. There are some vague ideas floating around that say calling nice weather in the Fall an "Indian Summer" is related to calling someone an "Indian Giver" when they ask for a gift back that they bestowed upon someone, implying some sort of "fakery" or "trickery" on the person's part (as in a "fake" summer), but for the most part I think the maintenance man was full of CRAP. If I ever meet an actual Native American who says this offends them and why, and their explanation sounds reasonable, then maybe I'll change my perspective and think about not using the term "Indian Summer" anymore, I guess, but until then I leave you with:
"Indian Summer! Indian Summer! Nanny Nanny Na Na!" LOL!
November 27th, 2010
|11:29 am - Black Friday, Hamburger, and the Underwear Mom Gave Me|
Thanksgiving this year was the first time I'd actually CELEBRATED Thanksgiving in any real form or fashion in quite a few years. It admittedly made me feel good to take part in the holiday and, waking up yesterday morning and having the day off from work, I felt this urge to do something for BLACK FriDAY, not wanting my holiday cheer to end! Of course, I don't really have the money to be one of those people who go to Wal-Mart, Circuit City, Best Buy, or any of those other stores, getting in line at 4am and taking a number to get a good deal on a stereo, flat-screen TV, I-pad, lawnmower or what-have-you. What I DID think was more within my budget was to go to the nearest supermarket to see if I could get a good deal on some HaMbUrGeR!!
My mother had given me a little money when I was home for Turkey Day-- $100, actually (!!!)-- and she made a point to tell me not to squander it. I managed to pay my phone bill with about $60 of it, bought a few packs of smokes with about $20 of it(sssshhh, don't tell her!), and I needed to make sure I spent the remaining $20 on something she would approve of. All this past week I've been eating fucking TURKEY, the white and brown meat of some fucking BiRD and what I really needed was some RED MEAT in my belly! Mom had made numerous remarks while I was home about how skinny I was getting so I'm sure she'd be happy with me buying some hamburger (especially if I got a good deal on it) to put some meat on my bones!
She had also inquired as to whether I had been wearing underwear lately. She had bought me a six-pack of tighty-whities for Christmas last year and, being someone who much prefers going commando, I didn't have the heart to tell her that I'd used all that brand-new shiny white underwear she'd bought for me as napkins to wipe the hot sauce off my face as I ate tacos! LOL! But I started thinking that MAYBE, just maybe there was still a pair of those underwears left, that I hadn't used all six as a napkin, and how cool would that be to be able to wear a pair of the underwear my mom bought me while I go to the grocery store to buy hamburger she would approve of with the money she gave me? And sure enough, after rummaging through my closet for a bit I discovered one pair of the underwears she had given me for Christmas, one that had somehow escaped my insatiable, irrational urge to wipe my mouth with! Hahahahaa! So over my privates and buttocks it went, fitting tightly and snuggly as I wore them to the supermarket in search of some BiTChIN BLaCK FrIdaY DeALS ON RED MeaT!!
But when I arrived at the meat section of the grocery store I found there were actually no deals on hamburger at all! As a matter of fact, as I looked at the prices and fondled and examined the various packages of meat, I saw that they were running the same SCAM that they always do. For the past few years I've noticed that you can no longer just get a POUND of hamburger anymore! They always have the quantities weighed out as a tad bit more than a pound, forcing you to buy more than you really need. They sell them in quantities like 1.35 lbs of 1.45 lbs, 1.25 lbs, etc., which is annoying because all the dishes I make require simply ONE POUND of hamburger! Hamburger Helper=1 pound; tacos=1 pound; spaghetti=1 pound of meat to mix in with the sauce, etc., and when you are poor like me having to spend that extra 60 cents to a dollar or so on excess hamburger simply angers me to no end! I've been meaning to actually confront someone at the grocery about this fucking racket they have going on, but suspiciously, and not surprisingly, whenever I look around the meat department there is never anyone around. Needless to say, My BLaCK FriDAY was ruined as I felt that, while other people were out and about getting good deals on nice, sparkly things, here I was at the supermarket getting ripped off on something so mundane and drab as hamburger!
November 25th, 2010
|08:19 pm - I Feel So Cold And Naked Without My Dressing|
I just returned from a rainy, wet, miserable walk to and from (it takes me an hour both ways) the free food kitchen here in town to eat me some fucking FREE TURKaaaaaYY!!. Hell yeah! And no, I didn't go there to get a "warm fuzzy" in my heart from volunteering to help feed the poor and hungry, do their dishes, help cook, serve, etc.-- I went there to fucking EAT! Hahahaha! I went to get a "warm fuzzy" in my beatific BELLY, if you know what I mean. I don't know, it just felt like the right thing to do. A good way to feel the real Thanksgiving spirit is not by helping your neighbors or by helping to feed the hungry. It's by being one of the hungry and taking what they give you! There's nothing better than a cold, miserable wet walk across town in the dark, chilly November air, along deserted sidewalks and roads, across abandoned intersections, until you arrive at the food kitchen soaking wet. You stumble to where they are serving the food and just say, "I'll take a little bit of EvErYtHinG!" They had turkey, sweet potatoes, dressing, mashed potatoes, gravy, and all kinds of luscious desserts. They even let me take home a free sack of potatoes! It kinda sucked having to carry them home, though.
To be honest, though today kind of sucked, I had a fairly normal, decent Thanksgiving with my family this past weekend. Due to some issues having to do with half my nieces and nephews staying with their biological father every other year on the actual Thanksgiving Day, we celebrated a few days early so the whole family could be there. It was actually the first time I'd been with my family for Thanksgiving in at least 10 years. It was a nice time, I guess. My family is pretty conservative so I got to hear my Mom talk quite a bit about Jesus and the End of The World. She has always been one to go to church here and there, but the past few years her religious fervor (or as she likes to call it, her "Faith") has really seemed to escalate. She says it is from simply reading the Bible; for the past year she has been reading it from front to back and is now nearly finished. I've always been interested in religious and apocalyptical stuff so, even though I don't really share her views on alot of things, it was fun to see her so passionate about something.
Jesus seems to have blessed my Mom and Dad with alot of new stuff since I was last home. They have this fucking HUUUUUGE high-definiton, flat screen TV, a new computer, and two other new TVs in two other rooms. They already had one of those older-model big-screen TVs the last time I was down in December. I admittedly was enamored with the big flat-screen upstairs, just sat there staaaaaring at the picture wide-eyed. On Sunday morning I sat there talking to my mother and watching her favorite preachers on the TV while she cooked the Thanksgiving Feast. Later on in the day, though, at the risk of seeming anti-social, I scurried rather rat-like down stairs to watch football on the old TV downstairs. Despite my family's conservative nature, their unabashed patriotism (there are more than a few American flags decorating their home's interior), it seemed like I was the only REAL AMeRiCaN there who actually wanted to watch football!
It seems my family has trained the little conservative minions well. At one point we were all sitting around the kitchen table. My Mom or Dad was talking about how much they hate the government and dislike Obama, when all the sudden three or four of my little nieces and nephews overheard us while they were playing and said, "Yeah Obama sucks!" LOL! And these kids are no older than 10! I guess they were just parroting what they hear the adults around them saying all the time. What is funny is how my family, ALL of THEM, my two sisters and their families included, all seem to be doing quite well. I mean, it just seems kind of funny to me to be sitting in this kitchen. The table is COVERED with food. In the room next door is this new $1,500 TV hanging from the wall. There are seven kids running all over, all wearing nice clothes; a couple have nice cell phones; they've got the latest video games, etc.; Mom and Dad's driveway was filled with their and my sisters' families' nice, big trucks and SUVs, and my family is obsessed with how evil the government is and how the End of the World is Near! LOL!
November 18th, 2010
|08:19 pm - Lipstick-Stained Butts Aren't Worth Fighting For|
So for various reasons, the past couple years I've been living in pretty much ABjEcT poverty. I've been surviving on working just a part-time job as a porn-store janitor and supplementing it with the (very) occasional temporary job (selling glowsticks at carnivals, front desk clerk at Motel 6) and occasional sales of my "Obama Taco Underwear" paintings. I'm a semi-regular presence at local community kitchens where I get free food. I have next to zero disposable income and doing things like eating out, shopping, doing anything social that requires money, etc., are pretty much out of the question. I have the mindset where this doesn't bother me as much as it would alot of people, but man, the worst thing about being broke all the time is trying to support my insatiable CIgArEttE HaBiT! I simply can't afford them, but yet I simply can't quit either.
One of the things I've come up with to solve the problem is smoking what I call "Billy's Blend." My first name is actually William; people call me "Bill" (but you can call me "Taco," lol). And "Billy's Blend" is made up of a mixture of the tobacco wrought from all the cigarette butts I pick up in public ashtrays and on the street. Yes, I do this; it's disgusting, I know. In most instances, when I pick up a cigarette butt from the ground, I tear the tobacco from the filter and, once I've found enough butts to make a whole cigarette doing this, I roll the tobacco salvaged from the various types and brands of cigarettes into a paper and smoke it. So I'm not smoking it straight from the filter of some stranger. That is UNLESS I find a cigarette butt that is at least 3/4 the size of the original cigarette-- in these cases I often just say fuck it and start smoking it straight from the filter, germs be damned. I especially like smoking from butts that have LIPSTICK on them so I can imagine I'm sort of somehow indirectly touching lips with some hot chick, sucking on her lipstick-stained cigarette butt the way I'd like for her to suck on my . . . . . BURRITO? LOL!!!
Hey, baby, I got your little butt in my mouth but what about your other butt, the BIG JUICY one? Hahahaha
So yeah, it's fucking sad and pathetic. And these "Billy's Blend" cigarettes are sometimes so awful tasting that when I smoke them I feel like crying or putting a gun to my head. I don't even care who sees me picking these butts off the street anymore. I've gone up to public ashtrays in front of convenience stores, the library, hotels, etc. and there will be people standing right next to them. I just say, "Hey, what's up?" if anything at all as they watch me picking through all the butts, occasionally saying things like, "Oh that's a good one there!" like a jeweler would hold a prized diamond up to the light. Sometimes someone will throw a butt down on the sidewalk right as I'm approaching and they'll see me pick it up.
I've also thought about this marketing idea. I could go to all these different cities nearby, picking up cigarette butts and blending all the tobacco into these plastic sandwich bags, have the butts organized by the cities I get them from. Sell them to people on the street who are as desperate as me for tobacco. I could have "Chicago Blend," "Indianapolis Blend," Cincinnati Blend," etc.
No one said anything or seemed to care or be offended by my picking their nasty used butts up off the ground and smoking them until TODAY when I almost got into a fight with some customer at work. I went outside to rake leaves at work this morning and I saw a cigarette butt lying on the ground. It was about 3/4 of a cigarette so I was like, hey my lucky day! I automatically popped it into my mouth and lit it, started smoking away. After taking about two puffs off of it some guy comes out of the store. He looks down on the ground where I'd picked up the butt, appearing bewildered, like he was looking for something. He then kind of shakes his head, looks at me and asks me for a cigarette. I look at him and say, "Nah, I don't have any, man, this is my last one," referring to the one in my hand. He looks at it and says, "Hey, that's my cigarette! I left it out here a few minutes ago before I walked into the store!" And this dude was some scumbag. He was getting all angry and I could tell he was willing to physically fight me over this fucking cigarette butt.
I just act dumb and say, "Nah, man, this ain't your cigarette," but I knew that it was. I could just tell, but I was dumbfounded and shocked that this guy was actually wanting the cigarette back that he had thrown on the ground 10 minutes before!
"It's a fucking Winston 100 Ultra Light," the guy said, "right there there in your hand. That's my cigarette, I left it on the ground planning to get it when I came back out!"
I was pretty agitated. Not only was I being called out on picking this dude's cigarette butt from the ground, I was being put in a position where I had to GIVE IT BACK TO HIM OR FIGHT HIM OVER IT! I decided this shit just wasn't worth fighting over or getting in a physical altercation with a customer and potentially in trouble at work over, so I just handed the guy his dumb fucking cigarette butt and said, "Here, take it then." I don't know, the whole experience just made me want to quit smoking more than ever. Luckily after having to give the guy his butt back, I looked over a few feet away by the dumpster and found another butt that was just as big. I managed to smoke it all the way down this time without some fucker coming up to me and CLAIMING IT.
November 13th, 2010
|11:52 am - Tacos, Not War: Veterans Day Musings|
My mom called me yesterday after listening to the radio where they urged all their listeners to call a veteran and thank them for their services. LOL. I thought it was touching and sweet of her and told her I appreciated it, even though there are and were a lot of veterans who sacrificed more than I ever did. I was in the U.S. Navy from 1988-1992. I did spend 6 months of that time in the Persian Gulf, home-ported in Bahrain on the USS Lasalle, during Desert Storm, and I do technically qualify as a "war veteran," but man, I was never in fear of my life once. I just sat on a ship in front of this computer watching radar blips on the screen. And I served as the secretary for some crusty, gruff old commander, typing out messages for him all the time. I smoked alot of cigarettes, drank coffee and beer; masturbated in my bunk at night; cleaned bathrooms and watched Phillipino bands sing bad American pop songs in hotel lounges. It was boring most the time and, with the exception of the handful of times I got to have sex with prostitutes at my ships' various port calls, I fucking hated my time in the military.
I was a troubled 17-year old kid who did too many drugs in high school. I did barely graduate high school but my parents didn't have a whole lot of money and felt it was a bad investment at the time to pay for my college, and they were right--I wouldn't have lasted a semester. So I didn't really have much choice but to join the Navy or some other branch of the military, like a lot of guys in my family did.
I barely even had to handle a gun. I didn't even come close to doing what a lot of the ground troops go through in the Army and Marines in places like Iraq and Afghanistan. That stuff is terrifying and intense and, though I find the motivation behind America's wars questionable in that they are painfully obvious campaigns to benefit banks, corporations and war profiteers, I do respect anyone who goes through that type of human experience. I'm proud of the fact that, though it was four of the most miserable years of my life, I did make it through my entire 4-year contract. I lived up to my word and got an honorable discharge. But I am not even close to being in the category of those who engaged in actual combat, and it's important for me to make that distinction. Though I do appreciate the fact that I can justifiably say, "I served and you didn't you fucking hippy!" there are so many jerk-offs out there who lie, embellish or exaggerate their military service to garner some sort of respect or benefits that they don't deserve. I spent my GI Bill benefits long ago and don't feel anyone owes me a damn thing anymore.
Thanks, Mom. I do love you and it was genuinely sweet of you, but thanks are best served for the guy in the wheel-chair, the guy sitting in a hospital bed with his legs blown off or the thousands of poor soldiers rotting in the ground because of the greed of oil companies and other corporate avarice.
November 3rd, 2010
|08:34 pm - Your Couch Is Not My Couch!|
I was standing outside my apartment complex Saturday night and one of my neighbors comes out. I didn't even really know the guy, didn't even know his name at the time, and he asks me if I'll help him move his couch from his apartment to another one right next door that he is moving into. I'm like, sure, and we plan on moving the couch Sunday morning. I told him I'd be around between 8am-10am so just let me know. He said he was going to start moving all his other stuff into the new apartment early in the morning and so he'd see me out in the hall at some point.
The next day I'm walking down the hall about 9am and he isn't anywhere around. I figured I'd see him out in the hall because that's when he SAID he was going to start moving all his other stuff, EARLY in the morning, but I don't see the guy until probably around 11am. He says he got up late and now he has to go somewhere, that he'd be back around 1pm and he'd be ready to move the couch. I'm like, this is starting to become a pain because I just wanted to get up and get it OVER WITH; now I've got to hang around a bit more waiting to move this couch of some dude I don't even know in some effort, I guess, to be "neighborly"?
So I see the guy again out in the hall around 1pm and he's telling me that he's a big football fan. He's a big football fan who likes to watch the games on Sunday and it just dawned on him that if we move the couch at 1PM that that's when the FooTbALL GaMeS start and he wouldn't have a couch to sit on in his old apartment (where the TV cable connection is) while he watches the games! So he asks me if I can come back around 7pm, after the afternoon football games. I'm like, yeah, I guess, whatever. I like to watch football, too, and I wanted to watch the night game at 8:20pm, so I hoped to get the damn couch moved before that one started.
I see him again at 7pm and he tells me it's a REAL BIG COUCH and that he called his friend to come over and help us, that his friend would be over around 8pm. I tell him, "Well, we'll need to hurry because I want to watch the night game between the Steelers and Saints which starts at 8:20pm." Then he's like, "Oh, that's right, that's gonna be a good game! Maybe we should just wait until morning to move the couch so me and Harold (his friend) can have some place to sit while we watch it, too!"
Reluctantly I set a time with him to move his damn couch on Monday morning at 7am right before I go to work. I get up, go down the hall and, of course, he isn't anywhere around. I start to knock on his door to wake him up so I can get this idea of moving a stranger's couch out of my head, just get this thing off my back so it will stop HAUNTING ME, and just before I start to knock I stop, stare at his door and point at it, say softly but firmly to the door, "YOUR COUCH IS NOT MY COUCH!" and just head off to work without talking to the guy.
Of course, as soon as I get back from work a few hours later I'm walking down the hall, heading to my apartment; I walk past his place and he has the door open. He is standing there with his friend and I look and see the couch. I just KNEW that if we didn't FINALLY move the couch that instant that it was going to continue haunt me, so I said, "Let's go ahead and get that couch moved!" So we do move it, finally, and it was a real bitch to do. It took about 20 minutes to move it out of his old apartment and into the new one, the two of us grunting and groaning and sweating while his friend--who actually KNEW HIM and seemed in perfectly fine physical shape to me-- stood there watching and texting people! When we were finished the guy gave me a bag of instant oatmeal, a half box of instant potatoes and a full pack of Camel Turkish Royal cigarettes for my troubles so I guess it was worth it, but boy was I ever glad to get that couch moved and off my mind!
November 2nd, 2010
|04:32 pm - Use Air Fresheners On Election Night|
It's Election Day in this great land of ours, and even though this election isn't nearly as exciting as the one in 2008 (it's possible we will never have one that exciting again), I'll still enjoy watching the results on TV later. I even cleaned my apartment up a tad for the occasion in addition to buying one of those sweet-smelling Renuzit air-freshener thingies that only cost $1! Those things make my wolf's den smell pretty good but the bad thing is they only last 5-6 days (you get what you pay more or, in my case, what you can afford!) and it won't be long before the fresh air clears and my apartment will smell like my own hairy butt again. Hahahahaha. That is, on the days when it doesn't smell like tasty, tantalizing TACOOOOOS!! Actually, the tragedy of being a Taco Hombre Lobo for me right now is that I rarely can AFFORD to eat tacos. Sad and pathetic, I know!
So the general perception is that the Republicans, inspired by the "grass roots" Tea Party movement, are going to win over a bunch of seats tonight. I like football analogies and one thing I've noticed in following teams is that whenever a team CONTINUOUSLY decides to fire a coach after one bad season and gets a new one nearly every year or so(take the Washington Redskins and Oakland Raiders, for example), the team almost NEVER GETS ANY GOOD. You have to give the new coach a chance. You have to give him awhile to get the right players, create the right system and environment for his players to thrive in; and if you keep firing the coach after one or two bad seasons you will NEVER HAVE ANY CONSISTENCY OR PROGRESS. It just frustrates me how, only two years after "Independent voters" were so fed up with Republicans and wanted change they are--yes, it is ridiculously true--voting THEM BACK IN before the current Democratic administration even gets a chance to do anything. All Democrats have had time to do so far is gradually try to climb out of the hole Republicans put us into in the first place! It's just this wishy-washy, vote-with-the-wind mentality of the Independent voter that frustrates me to no end sometimes. I've never voted anything but Democrat and I doubt that will ever change.
Democrats haven't done anything that no one saw coming when they elected them in, and the Republicans would have done pretty much the same thing in regard to TARP (actually the initial TARP was under Bush), the Stimulus, etc. All the surprise, shock and anger in regard to these things makes no sense to me unless you hated the Democrats to begin with and never voted for them in the first place. I can see liberals being upset because they feel Democrats "aren't doing enough" or conservatives being upset because they are "doing too much" (which is really a joke), but to be an Independent voter who voted for Democrats in '08 and to now be "disappointed" in them--and so are now voting Republican--just seems naive and silly. Pick a side, already!
Oh, and what's with everyone who votes going around showing off their little stickers that say "I voted" or people mentioning it in their social-networking profiles. Is performing your civic duty really something you need to be BRAGGING about? Just put on a clean pair of underwear, go vote, stuff a taco in your mouth, hope for the best and be quiet!
October 31st, 2010
|11:40 am - A Day Of Tricks And The Unexpected Treat|
Well, it's Halloween and here's to hoping that everyone has a devilishly delightful day. I hope that all your tacos are tasty and yet somehow still TerriBLE and Terrifying; that your enchiladas inspire ecstasy yet are somehow still EeRiE and ELDRiTcH and that your beautiful burritos, while tantalizing your tongue with a tinge of terrific taste at some point sit in your belly and BLIND you with their BADNESS as they shout out "Boo!" to you from the depths of your bowels before you go hooooowling into the BatHROOM! Hahahahahaha!
I'm just enjoying a weekend of finally having a little MONEY and eating REAL food, smoking decent cigarettes--my beloved Marlboro Reds(after a week of smoking cigarettes rolled up from butts I find on the street)--and watching a little football. I saw that our hometown perennial LOSERS, the Indiana Hoosiers, finally vanquished the hopes of any fans who were foolish enough (and I, admittedly, was one of them) to think that we could actually get to a bowl game this year, by losing to Northwestern here at home 20-17.
Today my beloved Minnesota Vikings play the New England Patriots. I was sooooo excited a few weeks ago when the prodigal son--and my favorite NFL player of all time--Randy Moss returned home to the Vikings, but those feelings are now mixed and I'm admittedly confused and tormented because Moss has now played in three games for them and the Vikings still SUCK!! It looks like Favre is still going to play today with the fractured ankle. Let's see how it goes. Stop throwing touchdown to the other team, Brett! That might help! LOL!
I was so broke last week that I didn't have any coffee. I was at work, at the bookstore, and I walked out into the parking lot around 8:00am. I was really jonesing for some CoFFAAAYY and lo and behold!-- I actually spied a cup of coffee out in the parking lot just a few feet away and the cup was standing UPRIGHT! "Could it be?" I thought to myself as I eagerly walked up to it, HOPING BEYOND HELL that it actually had some coffeee still in it and I can't express my delight when I found that it was still nearly FULL! Of course, I just started drinking it, paying no mind to whose cup it might have been or how many or what sort of germs I might get. I think my boss was a bit grossed out by it, but hey, the way I saw it it was just a free cup of coffee and an UNEXPECTED TREAT! The odds were in my favor that it was just a customer who had gotten the cup at nearby McDonald's, came to the bookstore, and took a few sips before coming into our store. I'm guessing it had only been in the parking lot a couple hours, tops.
Isn't it wonderful when we experience unexpected treats like that in life?
October 22nd, 2010
|06:45 pm - Obama And Michael Jackson Star In "Noseless"!|
Michael Jackson's nose fell off on his way up to Heaven! Feeling guilty about not making a public address regarding Jackson's death in June 2009, President Obama agrees to let Michael borrow a few of his supporters' noses so that the King of Pop can smell the tacos down on earth while sitting on his cloud in Heaven! Obama even volunteers to let Michael borrow his OWN nose on occasion! Read more about it HERE or just check out this latest installment of my "Obama Taco Underwear" Painting Series below:
October 21st, 2010
|06:54 pm - The Eyes In The Underwear Speak Of Unity|
The "Obama Taco Underwear Painting Series" adventure continues with my latest installment, "The Road To The White House Goes Through The Dog House (The Eyes In The Underwear Speak Of Unity)". This is a commissioned painting I made for a friend. He just got a new dog, an English sheep dog, and he wanted a painting that involved him, the dog and Obama. I just mailed it out to him today so I haven't heard back from him yet on what he thinks of it. I hope he doesn't mind that I have him and Obama on all fours eating dog food. LOL. Eh, I think he'll be cool with it. It's all in fun!
October 20th, 2010
|06:30 pm - My Cincinnati Baseball Adventure|
Here is a picture of me posing in one of my werewolf masks in front of the "Great American Ball Park" in Cincinnati. Though I'm not really a baseball fan (I'm a football guy!), I have a friend who is a huge Cincinnati Reds fan and he needed someone to go to a couple games with him. He offered to pay for everything, including my TACOS and I was like, dude, I'll only go if I can wear my WeReWOlF MaSK part of the time!
We got a hotel across the Ohio River from downtown Cincy, in Newport, Kentucky. There is a big bridge with a walkway alongside it that goes across the river to the ball park. I originally thought it would be CooL to walk across this narrow walkway across the water into town. It was cool when I first started walking across it, but as I neared halfway down it (the walkway was about a quarter mile long) I started getting VerTiGO reaaaaaal bad and started walking faster and faster, nearly freaking the hell out as I gazed down the side of the walkway into the water. I don't know exactly how high above the water it was, maybe 100 feet or so, but it ignited something in my brain that made me not really want to walk across this walkway again! I didn't want to seem like a baby, though, so I wasn't going to say anything to my friend who lagged behind me a few feet. Thankfully, when we finally got across the river and off the walkway and he caught up with me, he said he felt the same thing, that it scared the hell out of him looking down, and that he was going to pay for us to take a cab across the bridge for the rest of our stay. Boy, was I relieved! Hee!
The baseball games, themselves, were actually kind of miserable for me. The first night we were in the "cheap seats" behind center field and it was HoTTeR ThaN FucKKKK, the sun beating down on my newly shaved bald head as sweat dripped down my face and this dude next to me's exposed ARmPit about made me gag during the whole game. The second night we had better seats, "scout seats" right behind home plate. We were in a shaded area and it was a little cooler. I got excited because halfway through the 1st inning the seat right next to me was vacant and I was like, cool, no smelly armpits tonight and I can relax and stretch out a little. But it wasn't long before I started hearing this rumbling sound of someone walking my way. Before I knew it this HUGE lady was squeezing herself against people's knees in my aisle, coming my way, and she soon PlaNteD her plentiful, gigantical RumP RoaSt right next to me and yelled at me, "You a Reds fan?! You better be!" The Reds were playing the St. Louis Cardinals so alot of their fans had actually made the trip to the game. I just despairingly said, "Yeah, I'm a Reds fan," to keep this woman from eating me the way she ate bratwursts. Around the fifth inning she ordered four or five bratwursts covered in sauerkraut, shreds of which flew out of her hands and mouth and SplaTTered on my arm and shirt as she ate them.
Oh and to top it all off the Reds LOST both of the games we saw. The whole trip, though I can't say I had FUN just became this interesting test of endurance. It got me out of town for a couple days, at least!