For all of the crazy shit I've done, I had never been on a motorcycle. Lame, I know, but I had never actually cared that much. Actually, I was pretty sure you had to be a meth addict to even ride one, but I found out that was false on Friday night.
I think my friend only really wanted to get me on it so my boobs would be pressed against him, which is reasonable and acceptable. Anyway, I figured I'm the ripe old age of 23, I should get at least one motorcycle ride under my belt. I really wanted to flip off the other bikers, but I was informed that would be a BAD idea. I guess I am not that hardcore.
The vibrations made me a big fan, but to thoroughly enjoy it I would probably need to ride it alone. Overall, it was a good experience, but I wouldn't be a good candidate for owning one mainly because of my excessive drinking. I think vomiting while on a bike would be pretty ass-nasty, as it would fly back into my face and burn my eyes with it's extreme alcohol content. Also, with my penchant for hitting pedestrians (especially hobos), I need a bigger automobile than just a crotch rocket.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Friday, September 28, 2007
Fuck St. Paul!
I went to Sweeney’s last night in St. Paul, and was immediately reminded of why I don’t go to St. Paul. Because it is all historic and old, there is no parking. After driving around for 20 minutes, and finally parking in B.F.E (which I don’t really mind, until I’m stumbling back to my car in the middle of the night, worried about getting a rapin’ from one of the locals). Difficult choices I had to make in haste because I didn’t want to miss out on valuable happy hour time.
That should not have been a concern. The bastards at Sweeney’s don’t have drink specials until 9; I don’t stay out THAT late on weeknights when I am working (I use that term loosely) the next day, thus by the time I get to nine pm, I have usually been drinking hard enough I don’t NEED drink specials. And because I was in St. Paul, I needed to be coherent enough to navigate my way back into Minneapolis, which is now more difficult because of the fucking bridge being down. So this translated into no double fisting action.
To make everything more craptacular, the bartender kept hitting on me, before and after my friend arrived. Then I feel obligated to flirt back because I want the most potent drinks possible (that is the WORST thing ever, a watered down drink) and I don’t want him to spit in my drink.
There was one bright spot in the this turd of a night, this old woman was teetering down the stairs on her way down from the banquet hall, and she had to grab on to a tall potted tree to keep from falling down! My eye almost popped out of it’s socket from trying not to point and laugh. I shouldn't be complaining, I got drunk; mission accomplished!
That should not have been a concern. The bastards at Sweeney’s don’t have drink specials until 9; I don’t stay out THAT late on weeknights when I am working (I use that term loosely) the next day, thus by the time I get to nine pm, I have usually been drinking hard enough I don’t NEED drink specials. And because I was in St. Paul, I needed to be coherent enough to navigate my way back into Minneapolis, which is now more difficult because of the fucking bridge being down. So this translated into no double fisting action.
To make everything more craptacular, the bartender kept hitting on me, before and after my friend arrived. Then I feel obligated to flirt back because I want the most potent drinks possible (that is the WORST thing ever, a watered down drink) and I don’t want him to spit in my drink.
There was one bright spot in the this turd of a night, this old woman was teetering down the stairs on her way down from the banquet hall, and she had to grab on to a tall potted tree to keep from falling down! My eye almost popped out of it’s socket from trying not to point and laugh. I shouldn't be complaining, I got drunk; mission accomplished!
Thursday, September 27, 2007
That is what your bedroom is for...
I am pleased to report, as this month is coming to an end, my new roommates are working out well. One never knows when we meet them on craigslist. So far there has been no waking up with someone watching me sleep, I have found no shower cams, and my laundered underpants are not mysteriously sticky and/or crusty. They aren’t a bad couple of guys; one is obese and gay, which means I hide my food and my lube, but that's not TOO bad. The other is super quiet and always working on his peace of shit car, so I fully expect him to ask me for a ride at some point. It could be worse; even though my apartment is like my bat cave, and I am only there to sleep, I had a disturbing episode with my former roommate (also from craigslist).
I had came home early and was taking a nap. My roommate parks in the back, and I on the street, so he never sees my car. We were never really close, and other than polite chit chat when we pass each other, we were relative strangers. Don’t get me wrong, he was a nice enough guy, but it's not like we were ever friends; although his frat boy friends were always trying to get me to drink with them... THAT’S a recipe for getting train ran on me. I think I will pass! Anyway, I wake up, thinking I'll make myself a sandwich, and when I come out, there is my roommate, furiously beating off to softcore porn on TV. And by furiously, I mean he is choking that chicken like it owes him money, so much so his brow is furrowed and sweaty, and his face red. The look on his face is classic! His eyes get big, and he jumps up and starts running to his room... However, to reach his room he must pass me. I try to get out of his way, but he was trying to side step me, so for a moment, we engage in this dance, him with his still hard dick in his hand, and me with my laughter that I cannot hold back. My peals of laughter echoed through our garden level apt, and his shame followed him into his room.
I had came home early and was taking a nap. My roommate parks in the back, and I on the street, so he never sees my car. We were never really close, and other than polite chit chat when we pass each other, we were relative strangers. Don’t get me wrong, he was a nice enough guy, but it's not like we were ever friends; although his frat boy friends were always trying to get me to drink with them... THAT’S a recipe for getting train ran on me. I think I will pass! Anyway, I wake up, thinking I'll make myself a sandwich, and when I come out, there is my roommate, furiously beating off to softcore porn on TV. And by furiously, I mean he is choking that chicken like it owes him money, so much so his brow is furrowed and sweaty, and his face red. The look on his face is classic! His eyes get big, and he jumps up and starts running to his room... However, to reach his room he must pass me. I try to get out of his way, but he was trying to side step me, so for a moment, we engage in this dance, him with his still hard dick in his hand, and me with my laughter that I cannot hold back. My peals of laughter echoed through our garden level apt, and his shame followed him into his room.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Glamorous STD's!
I’m sure all of you folks have seen the ads for Valtrex, it’s that magical pill that will keep your outbreaks to a minimum and keep you from spreading The Herp to your snuggle buddies. They have these fantastic commercials where everyone is having a blast kayaking, hiking, and sailing; hell, I don’t even have crotch rot and I don’t have that much fun in the outdoors. It almost makes me think that if I skanked out and got a case of The Herp, I might enjoy life more. ALMOST. I think it is a very dangerous thing to glamorize STD’s. Next thing you’ll hear about on dateline (other than the Pope molestering more children), is teenagers peer pressuring each other into getting venereal diseases, because ‘all the cool kids are doing it’.
What bothers me the most about these commercials is their fact that 70% of people who got herpes, got it while their partner wasn’t having an outbreak. THIS MEANS THAT THE OTHER 30% KNOWINGLY HAD SEX WITH SOMEONE WHO HAD SORES ON THEIR GENITALS…. What the fuck?!?! If someone, not matter how hot or kickass they were, has lesions on their naughty bits, I would not fuck them with Angryman’s dick. I understand that alcohol and substances account for part of this percentage of bad judgment, but that doesn’t encompass everyone that is ate up with The Herp. This means that there are skeezy people out there, who in the process of hooking up with someone, looked down saw a scab and/or open sore and said “well, that doesn’t look pretty, but I’m gonna take a run at it anyway”…. That is a flavor of desperation that will leave a helluva aftertaste.
There is also a group of people who start dating someone, find out they have herpes because that person admits it, yet still go forward, full steam ahead. My friend was trying to rationalize it to me “but he’s a really nice guy, everything that I’m looking for, and if we use condoms, I MIGHT not get it;” sexually transmitted diseases are not an area where I want the word “might” to play a role. I don’t care how much I love you, or think you are a whole bag of awesome, no one is worth a lifetime of the shame that comes with filling a valtrex prescription every month.
What bothers me the most about these commercials is their fact that 70% of people who got herpes, got it while their partner wasn’t having an outbreak. THIS MEANS THAT THE OTHER 30% KNOWINGLY HAD SEX WITH SOMEONE WHO HAD SORES ON THEIR GENITALS…. What the fuck?!?! If someone, not matter how hot or kickass they were, has lesions on their naughty bits, I would not fuck them with Angryman’s dick. I understand that alcohol and substances account for part of this percentage of bad judgment, but that doesn’t encompass everyone that is ate up with The Herp. This means that there are skeezy people out there, who in the process of hooking up with someone, looked down saw a scab and/or open sore and said “well, that doesn’t look pretty, but I’m gonna take a run at it anyway”…. That is a flavor of desperation that will leave a helluva aftertaste.
There is also a group of people who start dating someone, find out they have herpes because that person admits it, yet still go forward, full steam ahead. My friend was trying to rationalize it to me “but he’s a really nice guy, everything that I’m looking for, and if we use condoms, I MIGHT not get it;” sexually transmitted diseases are not an area where I want the word “might” to play a role. I don’t care how much I love you, or think you are a whole bag of awesome, no one is worth a lifetime of the shame that comes with filling a valtrex prescription every month.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
The Corporate Cocksuckers at General Mills
A friend of mine was bitching the other day about how General Mills have shrunk boxes and kept prices the same. I was shocked she wasn't aware they were corporate cocksuckers, and that is just their brand of greedy whore magic. General Mills isn't some mom and pop business that cares what consumers need. They are so big that if you choose not to buy their goddamn cereal, there are a metric ass ton of people who will, and they continue to thrive. This is all common sense, and there is a bigger issue about boxed cereal that bothers me; besides, I do my part by giving them the finger every time I drive by their headquarters in Minneapolis .
What pisses me off is that there are hardly ever any fucking toys in the bottom of the box. Now, it's all this send away bullshit that needs three UPC's and a check or money order for 2 dollars. Fuck that, I am not nearly that patient. I want to dig through my Lucky Charms with the zeal of an old time miner trying to find gold... All to get my plastic piece of shit that will probably break. I don't care if it's a choking hazard to small children. If they don't see it and end up eating it and choking to death, their parents should have been watching them closer and obviously don't deserve to have children. But if they are older and beyond needing parental supervision, hey... fucking Darwinism at it's finest. They would've probably grown up to be a dumb ass or become a corporate cocksucker working for general mills, and Judas H. Priest we certainly do not need more of those.
What pisses me off is that there are hardly ever any fucking toys in the bottom of the box. Now, it's all this send away bullshit that needs three UPC's and a check or money order for 2 dollars. Fuck that, I am not nearly that patient. I want to dig through my Lucky Charms with the zeal of an old time miner trying to find gold... All to get my plastic piece of shit that will probably break. I don't care if it's a choking hazard to small children. If they don't see it and end up eating it and choking to death, their parents should have been watching them closer and obviously don't deserve to have children. But if they are older and beyond needing parental supervision, hey... fucking Darwinism at it's finest. They would've probably grown up to be a dumb ass or become a corporate cocksucker working for general mills, and Judas H. Priest we certainly do not need more of those.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Wisdom, Wesley Snipes Style...
Jonathan was an awesome shit and showed me the error of my ways when he passed this golden nugget along to me. My favorite Wesley Snipes piece of wisdom is "you can put a cat in the oven, but that don't make it a biscuit". So very true. It's similar to the saying "you can't turn a whore into a housewife", but with more eloquence. A cat will still be a cat, whether it is burning to death in an oven, or sitting on the window sill.
I will apply this to the Bush family; you can stick them in the governors mansion or the white house, but they are still the same fumbling idiot Texans. They are such lower life forms, that they are resisting evolution, and becoming increasingly worse.
But, "some motherfuckers are just always trying to skate uphill"; isn't THAT the truth. No matter how many scandals, coke binges, DUI's, rampant incompetance is brought to life, this family continues to run for office. I say, let's elect Wesley Goddamn Snipes as our next president. Not only could he whip some serious ass as a candidate (both literally and figuratively), but i think once he got into office, he could shake the cabinet and congress up enough to make a difference. Vote Snipes 2008!
I will apply this to the Bush family; you can stick them in the governors mansion or the white house, but they are still the same fumbling idiot Texans. They are such lower life forms, that they are resisting evolution, and becoming increasingly worse.
But, "some motherfuckers are just always trying to skate uphill"; isn't THAT the truth. No matter how many scandals, coke binges, DUI's, rampant incompetance is brought to life, this family continues to run for office. I say, let's elect Wesley Goddamn Snipes as our next president. Not only could he whip some serious ass as a candidate (both literally and figuratively), but i think once he got into office, he could shake the cabinet and congress up enough to make a difference. Vote Snipes 2008!
Wisconsin Weekend And Why I Need An Abortion
I went to Wisconsin this weekend, land where the ghosts of cheese curds past haunt the asses of the residents in the form of dimples. It was an overall quality weekend, nothing out of the ordinary, other than the signs. I didn’t notice these on the way there because it was dark and I was excited for the coming festivities (a.k.a. drunk). Every 10 or so miles there are these anti abortion signs. I understand that it’s necessary to have nine kids there because many people live on a farm, and since slave labor isn’t legal, the other option is to use your own genetic material to make free workers that can’t really leave.
But what about everyone else, that doesn’t need to milk cows and shovel hay at home? Why cant WE clear out all unwanted uterus passengers? They dont seem to 'get' that even if it is outlawed, it will still happen, only by some guy that is NOT a doctor, in an alley, in his van with a rusty coat hanger. Just like prohibition, when they made booze illegal, it just reduced the quality control and then you had people going blind from their moonshine. It really pissed me off that these self-righteous assholes had the indignation at other people’s wombs to put up these signs. And these were all on main highways and interstates, not shitty little dirt roads, so it wasn’t like these could be avoided by people traveling through.
Granted I have never had an abortion, but seeing these douchebag signs made me want to get knocked up for the sole purpose of getting one. I remember when I was about 17, I asked my mom for an abortion for Christmas. After she stopped freaking out, and I told her I WASN’T pregnant, I explained I wanted it to be like a ‘get out of jail free’ card, that I could use anytime, in case the occasion arose. She wasn’t amused, and I ended up getting a car stereo, not an abortion gift certificate.
Lesson I learned: despite being able to buy booze on a Sunday, I could never live in the shit hole of Wisconsin. I kind of like my reproductive rights without the condemnation. Besides, who wants to have the ever present stench of cheese and ignorance on them all the time?
But what about everyone else, that doesn’t need to milk cows and shovel hay at home? Why cant WE clear out all unwanted uterus passengers? They dont seem to 'get' that even if it is outlawed, it will still happen, only by some guy that is NOT a doctor, in an alley, in his van with a rusty coat hanger. Just like prohibition, when they made booze illegal, it just reduced the quality control and then you had people going blind from their moonshine. It really pissed me off that these self-righteous assholes had the indignation at other people’s wombs to put up these signs. And these were all on main highways and interstates, not shitty little dirt roads, so it wasn’t like these could be avoided by people traveling through.
Granted I have never had an abortion, but seeing these douchebag signs made me want to get knocked up for the sole purpose of getting one. I remember when I was about 17, I asked my mom for an abortion for Christmas. After she stopped freaking out, and I told her I WASN’T pregnant, I explained I wanted it to be like a ‘get out of jail free’ card, that I could use anytime, in case the occasion arose. She wasn’t amused, and I ended up getting a car stereo, not an abortion gift certificate.
Lesson I learned: despite being able to buy booze on a Sunday, I could never live in the shit hole of Wisconsin. I kind of like my reproductive rights without the condemnation. Besides, who wants to have the ever present stench of cheese and ignorance on them all the time?
Friday, September 21, 2007
VOMITioaifdjgdiogdjfaoifhdgiod
I am seriously ill today; sooooo this post may not be as much of a sparkling gem. Partied with some friends in Bloomington last night, and about shit my pants. There I am, drinking my margarita, and the tornado sirens go off. With my chemically induced paranoia, a few fears popped to mind first, as I am not from the Midwest, thus unaccustomed to tornado sirens. 1. I thought jesus was coming back, and I’m like “crap, I’m wearing jeans, he’ll never rapture my ass now!”; that and all those gay jokes I’m constantly making about him and those 12 dudes he always hangs out with 2. I thought it was possibly an air raid, and the goddamn communists were coming to fuck us up. So I’m trying to pry off their crawlspace door, figuring with that extra protection, I should be totally fine during a nuclear holocaust. I bet I could hardcore beat some zombie ass if I needed to, though.
My friends assured me it was just a tornado siren. Laaaaaaaame. Honestly, if there were REALLY a tornado, I’m pretty sure I would hear it coming. Not just the wicked witch’s cackling, but everyone says it sounds like a train. No matter how drunk I am, I’m downright positive I would hear that shit.
Anyway, so eventually I took a ‘nap’ on their futon, and woke up about 3:30 with the realization I needed to go home. While driving back to uptown Minneapolis, I noticed the other drivers. Being way after bar close, all of the drunks were off the road, instead there were an abundance of methed out truckers. I can’t really say that much about MY quality of driving, as I was vomiting into a walmart bag in my lap, but I could practically see the blood vessels bursting in their eyes.
Ughhhhhhhhhhh I feel awful, and I keep burping up this vile mixture of mango rum, tequila, pineapple juice and pizza rolls. Who wants to make out?
My friends assured me it was just a tornado siren. Laaaaaaaame. Honestly, if there were REALLY a tornado, I’m pretty sure I would hear it coming. Not just the wicked witch’s cackling, but everyone says it sounds like a train. No matter how drunk I am, I’m downright positive I would hear that shit.
Anyway, so eventually I took a ‘nap’ on their futon, and woke up about 3:30 with the realization I needed to go home. While driving back to uptown Minneapolis, I noticed the other drivers. Being way after bar close, all of the drunks were off the road, instead there were an abundance of methed out truckers. I can’t really say that much about MY quality of driving, as I was vomiting into a walmart bag in my lap, but I could practically see the blood vessels bursting in their eyes.
Ughhhhhhhhhhh I feel awful, and I keep burping up this vile mixture of mango rum, tequila, pineapple juice and pizza rolls. Who wants to make out?
Thursday, September 20, 2007
shhhh... don't tell carrot top I said this...
I was watching “Last Comic Standing” last night (they really know how to make 30 min AT BEST of comedy stretch into two hours...) and I saw Carrot Top once again. I had seen him on Flava Flavs roast a month back, and was instantly seized with a "WHAAAAT THHHHHE FUUUUUUUUCK?!" seizure. He was rippling with muscles, practically leaking out botox, and wearing more eyeliner than a 14 year old gothic girl. The muscles are obviously not natural, and a product of steroids… ok, I get that part because everyone always picks on him, so why not bulk up so he can beat some ass if someone tries to mug him at the Flava Flav roast?
What totally befuddled me was the botox. Generally, when I think of people prone to use botox, it’s ladies growing older that try to recapture their youth and stay in the spotlight. Granted, he is 42, but he’s not a woman (made even more obvious by his unnatural muscles and rope-like veins in his neck) and he was never REALLY a star. Even when they introduced him last night it wasn’t as the ‘famous star of comedy Carrot Top’… no, it was as ‘the recognizable comedian Carrot Top’; there is a vast difference between being a recognizable comic or a hilariously funny comic. What exactly is Carrot Top trying to hold onto with the botox? He wasn’t exactly a ‘pretty boy’. No amount of black eyeliner would change that.
I better not say anymore, because with all those steroids he’s taking, if I piss him off he might go ‘roid rage on me and beat me to death with one of his props.
What totally befuddled me was the botox. Generally, when I think of people prone to use botox, it’s ladies growing older that try to recapture their youth and stay in the spotlight. Granted, he is 42, but he’s not a woman (made even more obvious by his unnatural muscles and rope-like veins in his neck) and he was never REALLY a star. Even when they introduced him last night it wasn’t as the ‘famous star of comedy Carrot Top’… no, it was as ‘the recognizable comedian Carrot Top’; there is a vast difference between being a recognizable comic or a hilariously funny comic. What exactly is Carrot Top trying to hold onto with the botox? He wasn’t exactly a ‘pretty boy’. No amount of black eyeliner would change that.
I better not say anymore, because with all those steroids he’s taking, if I piss him off he might go ‘roid rage on me and beat me to death with one of his props.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Now the flask is in the other hand...
Many a time I would be talking to my best friend, Mike, in Florida on a Sunday, bitching that I didn’t have any booze. He thought this was absolutely hilarious, and kept telling me I should plan for my Sunday drinking on Saturday. I would explain it’s not always that easy, like for example if I drank more on Saturday than I expected, or I dropped the bottle and now had a kitchen floor covered in vodka. Coming from a state that not only has no restrictions on liquor, but actually encourages drinking through such accommodations like drive-thru liquor stores, plastic to go cups at the bar, and even a theme park, Busch Gardens, built by beer people with a beer college in it… I was not prepared for being unable to go to the liquor store on a Sunday, and it took me quite awhile to get with the program; I am ashamed to say I still have unfortunate occurrences where I am left wanting on a Sunday .
This weekend, Mike and his new boyfriend were driving to Georgia, to see a Bjork show; I feel I can only tell this story by including the text messages I received. My first text message: (5:24 pm) “G0d, I’m in the middle of Georgia, do you know what they do to gay jews in GA? LYNCH EM, that’s what!” the fun has begun.. Slightly later, I get this little gem: (7:26 pm) “we just passed a Jeff Foxworthy outlet store. WTF?” I can honestly say I was unaware they even have regular Jeff Foxworthy stores, much less an outlet store.
The full horror of Georgia didn’t actually set in until Sunday arrived along with this text: (4:37 pm) “I now know the pain of dry countiez. nearest place to get b00ze is fucking alabama or back 2 fla. I HATE GE0RGIA!” I chuckled to myself, knowing that now he would be forced to go to a bar, and Mike at bars isn’t always the best idea. Like me, he can get rowdy, only in hyper-homo-drive, and also like me, he has no patience for dumbasses. At least I can manage to keep myself in check, where he goes full on “Bitchy Fag”… I like to consider it part of his irrepressible charm.
Mike (7:48pm): “We had to leave the bar early. ugly queen was hitting on Chris, so I was forced 2 threaten him with his own be3r bottle. He had shitty weave 2! LOLZ!”
And it gets better. Mike (9:28 pm): “I just slapped the shit out of some wh0re that was running her mouth. Had 2 leave another bar. My badz!”
We have been best friends since we were 14, thus I knew him well enough to know it was not over; he is nothing, if not determined... Mike (11:06 pm): “just whipped out my d1ck on tha bar to get a b0ttle of tequila!! T1me 4 shotz!”
It all ended well enough, but this is a perfect example of what happens when there are dry counties or states. Are they really necessary? They don’t stop people from drinking, but instead make them become better planners orforce them go to some bar; pissed off people at the bar are fights waiting to happen and DUI's more probable.
This weekend, Mike and his new boyfriend were driving to Georgia, to see a Bjork show; I feel I can only tell this story by including the text messages I received. My first text message: (5:24 pm) “G0d, I’m in the middle of Georgia, do you know what they do to gay jews in GA? LYNCH EM, that’s what!” the fun has begun.. Slightly later, I get this little gem: (7:26 pm) “we just passed a Jeff Foxworthy outlet store. WTF?” I can honestly say I was unaware they even have regular Jeff Foxworthy stores, much less an outlet store.
The full horror of Georgia didn’t actually set in until Sunday arrived along with this text: (4:37 pm) “I now know the pain of dry countiez. nearest place to get b00ze is fucking alabama or back 2 fla. I HATE GE0RGIA!” I chuckled to myself, knowing that now he would be forced to go to a bar, and Mike at bars isn’t always the best idea. Like me, he can get rowdy, only in hyper-homo-drive, and also like me, he has no patience for dumbasses. At least I can manage to keep myself in check, where he goes full on “Bitchy Fag”… I like to consider it part of his irrepressible charm.
Mike (7:48pm): “We had to leave the bar early. ugly queen was hitting on Chris, so I was forced 2 threaten him with his own be3r bottle. He had shitty weave 2! LOLZ!”
And it gets better. Mike (9:28 pm): “I just slapped the shit out of some wh0re that was running her mouth. Had 2 leave another bar. My badz!”
We have been best friends since we were 14, thus I knew him well enough to know it was not over; he is nothing, if not determined... Mike (11:06 pm): “just whipped out my d1ck on tha bar to get a b0ttle of tequila!! T1me 4 shotz!”
It all ended well enough, but this is a perfect example of what happens when there are dry counties or states. Are they really necessary? They don’t stop people from drinking, but instead make them become better planners orforce them go to some bar; pissed off people at the bar are fights waiting to happen and DUI's more probable.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
