Thursday, June 15, 2006
My Luck With WomenAs the old addage goes "lucky in cards, unlucky in love" and vice versa. I think it's the only cliche where cards and love can be interchanged to indicate someone is either poor and loved, or rich a lonely.
So you would think after going to the Argosy and intentionally losing hundreds of dollars in high stakes Pai-gow that I would finally meet a girl who isn't fucking psychotic. You would think.
But no. As MY cliche goes "unlucky in cards, go home to psycho whore."
I had a girl once who took the ice cream out of the freezer, put it in as many bowls as possible, throw the empty carton away and then put the bowls of ice cream back in the freezer. That's not right. And this is coming from the guy who eats his cereal out of an upside down frisbee.
Another girl, hot hippie girlfriend, literally forgot we were dating. Just forgot. She got high, wiped her memory and stopped calling. I finally ran into her and she admitted that it "totally slipped her mind" that we were in a relationship. I don't see how you can just forget someone after you have a two hour argument over what it would take to get you to shave your legs, but that's just how she went.
Oh, then there's the girl that admits she has a boyfriend, after you've been dating for a while. I've had a few of these. They always say "it's cool," but it's really only cool if you're the one getting laid by two people. If you're the one who has to share, that's not cool. That's bullshit.
3:46 AM
Sunday, May 21, 2006
DisaronoI don't think as many people are actually ordering Disarono at the bar as the Disarono commercials would have me believe.
"Disarono sour, dissarono martini," the bartender says, setting two brown drinks on the bar.
"Disarono on the rocks," some veluptios woman orders. The bartender smiles.
...
What fucking bar is THIS!? It's just disarono everything! More disarono please! The bartender's just shot through his third bottle and he's gotta go in the back and get another one out of the case. He comes back and people are pressed up against the bar, each one trying to yell louder than the other, waiving dollar bills in the air.
It's a jumble of words, but the bartender knows that everyone wants more disarono. He just opens the bottle and haphazardly dumps it into a roq of glasses. They're maybe half full before people are shoving eachother out of the way for them. The crowd drinks them straight and without ice.
DISARONO.
This does not happen. You know what happens when you go to a bar and order disarono? They look at you like you just shit your pants. You know why?
Because FUCK DISARONO, pretentious ass bullshit.
2:06 PM
Monday, May 01, 2006
Dog YearsI am finally back from my ever so brief one week break from What Green Tastes Like.
Now I know it might seem like longer to some of you, but you have to understand that I'm working on Ninja Years. It's like dog years, except I'm not a dog. I'm a ninja. I just said that, so I don't see what all this DOG talk is all about.
Basically, I'm insulted that dogs get their own time measurement. What in the smack-tarding fuck is "dog years"? What pretentious fuck came up with this shit? Dog years?
People don't take the Chinese calender that seriously. I mean, if you went around and said "this is my dog Banjo. He's seven. That's nineteen in Chinese years," people would look at you like "what the fuck are you measuring shit in Chinese years for you douche bag?"
Well, at that point, you have the option of either walking away or straight beating their ass right there in front of god and everyone.
HOWEVER, on the other hand, if you say "this is my dog Banjo. He's seven. That's forty in dog years," they're all like "wow, he's pretty old. For dog years."
WHEN THE FUCK DID DOG YEARS GAIN MORE CREDIBILITY THAN THE CHINESE CALENDER!?
Dog years is not for shit. You can do absolutely nothing with dog years except OVER-FUCKING-EXAGGERATE the age of your fucking DOG. You can't do other shit with dog years. You can't take out a loan from the bank and pay it back in 40 dog years. You can't join the military for seventeen dog years.
Why?
BECAUSE THEY'RE FUCKING DOGS! They're stupid ass shit beasts! Beasts! They have no concept of time! Quit measureing their fucking years.
Why don't cats have years? Why is there no cat years? No bird years? No tree years?
If I went around and proposed that everyone start aging trees based on Tree Years, you know what they'd say? "You're fucking stupid. No one will use tree years."
And then when I tell them "why do you age dogs in dog years?" they won't have a fucking thing to say. They'll be all "uh uh duh duh" and then I'll have to kick them right in their FUCKING GENITALS because DOG YEARS ARE FOR FUCKING SMACK-TARDS!
12:37 AM
Friday, April 29, 2005
Tattoo AdviceThe following is my advice to you about getting a tattoo. These are things I wish people would have told me when I started getting ink.
#1: IMPORTANT! TIP YOUR ARTIST! No amount of small-talk, compliments or questions will make your tattoo artist like you more than if you tip them. They only get a percentage of the price they charge you for the tattoo, but a tip is all theirs. You tip your artist and you're on the road to an artist who remembers who you are.
#2: Don't call a tattoo a "tat." That's as good as saying "hey look at me! I'm a douche bag moron!"
#3: Don't haggle on the price. If they say it's going to be 130, pay 130. Don't piss of the guy with the permanent marker. Besides, you don't want a "discount" tattoo. Trust me.
#4: Don't ask your artist if he's tattooed a dick before. He will say "I'm tattooing one right now."
#5: Don't tell your artist you (or anyone you know) is good at drawing and would make a good tattoo artist. He doesn't give a fuck.
#6: Conversation is tricky. If he asks a question, answer. If he makes a statement, respond. DON'T ask him a question when the needle is down. He's kind of busy tattooing you at the monent.
#7: Don't ask if it will hurt. It will. You know it will.
#8: Don't tell the artist "it doesn't hurt." He can make it hurt. And if you think you can take whatever he can dish out, you can't. Trust me.
#9: Tell your artist it looks good.
#10: Don't lie to your artist. If he finds out you lied to him, he'll suddenly become "very busy" and "never have time for you again, asshole."
1:41 AM
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Controlling Shadows is Not as Easy as It LooksI figure, if I can control shadows I would have an unstoppable army of the night that could do my bidding and stuff. Plus, like, no army dudes have ever done this before and they wouldn't be ready for it! They'd all be like shooting shit with their guns and my guys would say "HAHA, we're shadows and you can't shoot shadows" and then they'd shoot their shadow guns and it would kill their enemies, because they don't have shadow armor.
At least... I don't THINK they do.
Regardless, I went out today and tried to find the biggest, baddest shadows so I could get them to join me. Then, once they join me, they can get the smaller shadows to join up later. They could even come up with their own recruit slogans, I'm not that picky! They can be like "Join the shadow army because we're going to do things" or "Shadow dow dow dow bob bob berrang" or some shit, fuck, I don't know. That's why they're the recruiters and not me; I've got, like, all this other shit to do like paperwork or what not.
So then they have the big shadows and the big shadows have the little shadows and THEN the little shadows can recruit the littler shadows. Like plant shadows and rabbit shadows and rubbish shadows. THEN, when people get swarmed by shadows, they can feel proud, because they got swarmed by a myriad of shadows... not by some shitty "all humanoid" shadow army.
Because when you get swarmed by shadows, you're EXPECTING an all humanoid shadow army and then when it happens you're like "what the fuck ever; I didn't see THIS coming." But when you get swarmed by a shadow army and the shadows end up being forrest animals, you're like "WELL PISS ME JIGGERS! I'm getting fucked up by some deer and rabbit shadows. It's like an evil version of the Babmi movie came to life and then attacked me!"
So I have this ALL planned out and I'm drawing up graphs and charts and instructional pamphlets, when my boss comes up to me and asks what I'm doing. YEAH, I KNOW! Here he is AGAIN, nosing his nose into a bunch of shit that don't fucking concern him. He's all looking over my shoulder and shit and chimes in with his bullshit smart ass comments designed to piss me off like "what are you doing" and "those are some cool pictures" and other pompous jerkoff phrases.
Well, I turn around and get right in his face and politely tell him to mind his own fuckin' business unless he wants a world of evil shadow animals up his ass, but he gives me this confused look, as if he doesn't realize he's already in the middle of Round Two of "Don't Fuck With Grand-Dad."
Regardless, he takes all my papers and shit and pulls me back into the Human Resources Office (and the H.R. Manager just DOESN'T get me) and they both chime in with ten pounds of bullshit in a seven pound sack. And I inform them of that fact and they look at me all confused.
"We're just going to give you a warning," my H.R. Manager says.
A warning? ME? A WARNING?
No one WARNS the Master. And I tell them that.
"NO ONE WARNS THE MASTER!" I declare, slapping a stack of papers off her desk and all over the floor. "Warn me NOT, lest ye be WARNED!"
"You're not in trouble here," she says.
"YOU are," I state, with my stone cold fear stare.
Just to punctuate my point, I gathered up her papers, stacked them nicely back on her desk, said "imagine I'm a shadow bear, cuz this is what you're in for!" and then SLAPPED THAT SHIT BACK ON THE FLOOR.
Got it?
12:40 AM
Sunday, April 10, 2005
It's a Bling Thing.HAS SOCIETY LOST IT'S FUCKING GRAPES!?
On TV I see this commercial for some "bling" something or whatever where they have these sparkling stickers you can put on your cell phones and stuff. They are sparkling red hearts or white diamond looking things and they're for these teeny bopper mallrat girls who go "I love tha bling!" and all that dumb shit.
Somewhere there is an alternate dimension where women are the primary make up of the United States military and we are just entering into the Vietnam conflict. Somewhere there is an alternate dimension where these "I love to bling my cell phone" girls are crying under heavy fire from the Viet Cong... and I want to visit that world.
Just when I think this commercial can't get any fucking stupider... they show this brief scene of this soccer mom with this "bling" sticker on her sunglasses and she goes "Even I love to bling!"
Hey! You're a cool mom!
I'm sure none of your kids will be EMBARASSED AS FUCK when you show up at the mall in your glasses with sparkling stickers all over them going "even I love to bling!" All the other kids will go, "You have such a cool mom! And she loves to bling! Did you see her glasses? They were all blinged out! I wish MY mom would show up with stickers on her kulats with extra bright bling."
What happened here?
"Bling" was a gangsta term from, like, 5 years ago! Now it's being thrown around by Miss Johnson's third grade class. THIS is what happens when you live in a world where girls don't march down the Ho Chi Mihn Trail about to get ambushed by Charlie.
3:08 AM
Thursday, April 07, 2005
It's Been a WhileAt World Lumber, the paint department was doing really well. It was up 178% in sales from last year and things were runnign great. So they moved me to the Paint Department.
Probably to whip them into shape. That's not what they said, but I knew that's what they meant when they said "this is your last chance."
"178% is good," I said to my new employees, starting in my new department. "But good isn't good enough. Now excellent... that would be good."
So I started whipping them into shape. Then I has a whole bunch of harrassment suits filed against me for using an actual whip. Apparently a studded whip was good enough for Jesus, but not good enough for ANYONE ELSE. I opted to flog them with sticks, but that's against company policy too.
"Fuck," I said. "Can I do ANYTHING?"
Apparently they wanted a list of things I wanted to do and then they would tell me if I could do them.
So I compiled a list and 3 reams of paper and two containers of toner later, I find out all the things I CAN'T do.
Threaten them with bodily harm.
Inflict bodily harm.
Bring "guard dogs" to work.
Beat anyone within an inch of their life.
Create and enforce my own laws.
Have other people create laws and then enforce those laws.
Enforce laws from civilizations which no longer exist.
Enforce laws from Middle East countries.
Enforce the 10 Commandments.
Build traps in the store.
Fabricate stories about my employees legal background and tell them to customers.
Inquire about customers deceased loved ones.
Create and enforce my own laws. (I thought I might sneak this one in the second time around.)
Take "frisbee golf" breaks.
Take "frisbee golf tournament" breaks.
Make posters displaying everyone's position in the pay scale.
And a ton of other things.
12:17 AM
