"It’s tricky to rock around, to rock around your page that’s right, it’s tricky..."

Ok...what filthy mongoloid whore at MySpace headquarters thought it would be cool to allow anyone with opposable thumbs and a wicked-obnoxious song echoing through their misshapen, peanut-like heads, the option of posting a music clip on their MySpace page? No...really?...

Shouldn’t we have to pass a test for this luxury or sacrifice a body part or pass a kidney stone or something?

Like, for instance, "Which one of these songs will become thoroughly fucking unbearably annoying when the user is subjected to listening to it repeatedly while scrambling to post a useless comment on your butt-hole of a MySpace page before their ears bleed or they gouge their eardrums out with a rusty, crud-covered thumbtack?"

I am down with people being all hip and enjoying their music and stuff, but paaaaleeeease… make sure it is something the rest of us might like and that won’t make us feel like we’ve been ear-raped by Windows Media Player on overdrive.

And make sure, if by chance, we visit your page at work and are trying to be inconspicuous…that we don’t have to suddenly scamper to cover up the pounding melody of "Mah bi@tches in da hood, be suckin’ mah d*ck good, and all ya’ll n&ggs know, dey be f*ckin on mah floow, cuz ahm a muth@f*ckin’ big d*ck gangsta muth@f*cka an ahm mohn stick it in yo muth@f*ckin tight @ss p*ssy dontcha know?"

Then again…I like that darned Mr. Gattis jingle…"Dial 4-5-9-twenty-two, twenty-two…lahddy dahddy doody pizza deliiiiivered…"

3:33 PM - 3 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

MySpace is still my space...what the shit???

I have taken a lengthy hiatus from the evil time-siphon known as MySpace...only because I switched jobs and couldn’t gain access to it anymore due to the firewall at work (and no, the anonymous K-proxy bullshit wouldn’t work either...skeevy little IT bastards!). So basically, my MySpace activity is now on MyTime and that is MyTee ShiTee. Why should I have to plug away on my own time when I could stick it to the man’s time instead?
 
I have returned to a full everything box and a bunch of new crappy little MySpace features...more virtual MyCrack to feed the hordes.

Peace Out!

4:08 PM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Go Fork Myself

Once again, I'm amazed I've survived serious injury this long!

For those of you completely oblivious to my routine, self-destructive daily antics, let's just say I'm not the most graceful gauze pad in the first aid box. I seem to lack even the most rudimentary coordination for simple everyday activities.

Like the other day, for example… It was an average, ordinary, routine day…started innocently enough, as do they all. I was washing dishes while glancing at the television, a bit of "Home Ec" multitasking if you will. This would definitely not be a problem for most people, but for "Butterfingers Mc Stumbleoften", strange things were bound to happen.

I was routinely cleaning, washing, and setting aside dishes, completely oblivious to my impending kitchen cataclysm. My attention must have strayed for a moment, distracted by a random beer commercial with scantily clad boobies or a series of shiny moving objects…I seem have the attention span of a Wal-Mart hamster in a bathtub full of plastic spinney wheels…anyhow, I failed to realize I had dropped a metal fork into the disposal. I reached up and flicked on the switch, and like a drunken frat boy at Golden Girls-Gone-Wild Wet T-shirt contest, I was in for quite a surprise.

The sink erupted suddenly and violently with a barrage of noise and hellish commotion. It spit forth vile stank, refuse, and dangerous debris like Al Sharpton at an Imus Roast. The entire room was immediately filled with a bone shattering clanking and guttural bellowing drawn from an apparent heinous inner circle of Hades I had been previously unaware existed below my kitchen counter.

The correct response would have been to leap across and flip the switch off like any normal, quick-thinking human being. Instead, I froze solid in my tracks. I stood there horrified at my own stupidity, wide-eyed and blushing like an untucked cross dresser in a spring break bikini contest. The sink continued its onslaught, growling and mocking me as if basking in my apparent mild retardation.

Just as I came to my senses and attempted to reach the switch, I heard the sink burp and pause, as if to say, "Alright Goober, you've had enough".  It then spit out a deadly wad of McGyver-esk shrapnel faster than a Paris Hilton spending spree. I quickly jumped out of the way, narrowly escaping an accidental nipple piercing. The gnarled up fork missile shot through the air and viciously impaled itself in the crown molding above (that's right, I said crown molding bitches).

I remained there for a moment, huddled in silence, reflecting on my near-death experience. I should have been giving thanks my skin and eyeballs were still unscathed. Instead, the first thought that entered my warped little mind was…

"I wonder if I can do that with a spoon…". And so it began…

For future Birthday or Christmas gift ideas, some new silverware would be nice.

4:56 PM - 10 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

The game is Afoot!!!!

"I'm rubber and you're glue…whatever you say bounces off a' me and sticks to you…change backs…no change backs…infinity!!!"

Ahhh yes…the games children play…I remember them well. In fact, I have recently found myself engaged in them still…

My girlfriend and I have been enveloped in an ongoing game of "Chicken Butt". You remember how it goes… We will be deep in conversation about life, relationships, anal porn, the origin and evolution of the universe, midget titties, or any other meaningful topics…and she'll subtlety add an inquiry, "Oh, guess what?..." I'll respond, "What?..." and out of nowhere she'll slam me with a vicious, "CHICKEN BUTT!!!" Then begins the mocking phase where she flaunts her verbal conquest in my face. "I can't believe you fell for that again…man, you're gullible…laugh, laugh, snort, snort, wheez…".

This, of course, brings me to the retaliation phase where I need…somehow…to regain my dignity and my manhood by trapping her in the, "Know why…CHICKEN THIGH!!!" series, which is always the hardest because at this point both parties are on a full-fledged, "Chicken Butt" red alert.

While in conversation, you analyze every word, every possible scenario, like a mighty grammatical chess player calculating the next series of linguistic moves. "If I say this, then it leads to this, and that will be too obvious….so I need to try a different approach…"

Thusly, a skilled duo of professionals at this game could very likely progress through the remaining and most challenging stages, "Chicken Wing", "Chicken Feather", "Chicken Toe", and the final battle royal round of , "Chicken Beak". I personally, have never been able to get past "Chicken Thigh". As I said, she's Damn good at the game…too good…I think she should go Pro in fact…

9:06 AM - 3 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Blue's Clueless

O.K, first let me say I've had some whacked out dreams in the past but this one made me feel retardamated!

Picture a hot, bikini clad babe, glistening with perspiration on a secluded beach…tall, tan, and lean. She's playful, seductive, wearing next to nothing, and heading your way. You watch as she shimmies closer with the ole' "come hither" look in her sparkling eyes. And just when you think, this can't possibly get any better you realize…she's brought a friend…

Sounds like the makings of a great dream, doesn't it? That's what I thought too. This is where it started to get a little weird…

The two bronze beauties made their way to within slobbering distance of me, paused for a second then lay themselves gracefully on the sandy shore below. They began massaging each other like giddy Asian schoolgirls. I stood there in utter disbelief, totally helpless and drooling, like a quadriplegic with a pocket full of dollars at a Tiajuana whorehouse on bargain basement night… This seemed too good to be true, I was either dreaming dirty or auditioning for a really good beer commercial.

Suddenly, they began reciting the alphabet in harmony…A,B,C, D, E, F, G…. This, of course seemed a little strange at first, but with huge naked hooters staring me in the face…I was willing to work with it. The beach vixens continued their scholastic chanting all the way up to the letter R, at which time they stopped, turned to me, and said something very peculiar.

"R…as in red, rocket, or racecar…can you says racecar??? With that, she casually reached behind her back and like a bikini-clad, Oprah watchin' She-Houdini, produced a plastic toy racecar. This struck me as just a tad of kilter, to say the least… Then the other babe chimed in, "Yes! That's right…and the next letter in the alphabet is S…and S can be used to make words like sand, stamp, or snake…" And again, like the other bare breasted beach trickster, this one reached behind her back and produced a large toy stuffed animal snake. There I stood, in a quandary…I was suddenly gazing upon two scantily clad beauties who were trying to entice me not with seduction or sex appeal as I had been accustomed to, but with page 5b of the holiday "Toys R Us" catalog mailer…

Something was seriously wrong here. This may have been erotic if I were into those new risqué "Girls Gone Playschool" videos, however, this was definitely currently not my cup of tea.

It was not until just then, that I surmised I may in fact be dreaming and not really getting to look at free naked titties. Disappointing?…to say the least… At that point, realizing I was in a dream, I began to try and wake myself up. I suddenly became aware of my surroundings. I was in bed as usual, but apparently, I had left the TV on all night while I slept. In the early morning hours, my subconscious was subjected to vast amounts of  kiddie T.V. To my surprise, I awoke to the fun and frivolity of "Blue's Clues". Hmmm… not quite what I expected to be the cause of my morning wood...

I have to say though; I don't think I'll ever again be able to look at a Wal-Mart prize claw machine without getting a chubby.

6:41 PM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Ghetto Sleep Numbers

After many twilight hours of late-night-basic-cable, infomercial induced, subliminal badgering, I finally had to break down and do it! I had become thoroughly compelled to know exactly what in GOD'S NAME my freekin' "Sleep Number" actually was. Damn that Lindsey Wagner and her relentless, spokeswoman product whoring!!!!

 So now it was on to the formidable question at hand…where prêt ell, should I set out in search of this number? In my many travels to the ghetto, or the Highland Mall rather, I had remembered seeing a Sleep Number store somewhere in the mall…amongst the rows and rows and valleys and mountains and hills of merchandizing chaos...far beyond the reaches of Gondor-Fil-A…deep below the escalators of Middle Earth… But where? It was now my goal, my all encompassing quest if you will, to finally find it…MY true slumber number…MY own set of unique nocturnal digits…MY PRECIOUSSSSSSSS….

With the help of my "Johnny-on-the-spot girlfriend", we were able to find the store with little to know effort. Not because she is navigationally gifted or some such talent, simply because it happened to be housed next to a Bath and Bodyworks…and it seems she has a built in GPS device for locating every single one of these freekin' type stores on the planet. Upon entering the official "Sleep Number" store, I was immediately disappointed to NOT see Lindsey Wagner there waiting to greet me…I, of course, wanted to give the bitch a swift punch in the ovaries for making me NEED to do this. With that out of the way, I began to rummage through the sleeping and numbering type items. I remained un-assaulted for the first few moments we were there. It was only after I decided to actually pop a squat on one of beds that the festivities truly began. Just when I started to relax…

"Oh no you dih-ent?!?!..."  

I lurched up in response to see who had spoken to me and was greeted with a heavy dose of ghetto attitude.

"Who you think you is, already all up in dem beds an shit?"

At a loss for words and a little dismayed, I responded "Oh, I'm sorry…I was just…"

"No need pologizin' now, you done fucked up already! You ain't posta be just jumpin' all up in da bed an shit…we posta be tellin' you about em' fersss."

In utter grammatical horror, I stood there staring at her as she continued to belittle my intensions and tear me up like a bad weave in a Beyonce concert. Was this the approach that was normally taken?? Was the object of the sales game here not to actually impress the customer with states and demonstrations in order to purchase the product willingly, but to "Thug" them into buying it instead??? Bailey don't play dat!!!

We ended up staying for her entire "Showtime at the Apollo" sales pitch and eventually did get to find out what our sleep numbers were...apparently, her Sleep Number was "Cruuunk", and mine was "Aaaight". Which was good, I guess, definitely an improvement…her's used to be "Hwhaaat!", and mine "Ooowkay!"

6:35 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

JELL-O Heads

I was zoning out watching TV a while ago and happened upon a rather interesting scientific investigation on one of the primo cable channels or such. See, it was documenting an actual scientific study of sorts. At first glance, it looked to be a normal boring clinical trial to determine the affects of blahbitty blah blah on the blahbatood, or the standard whatzit system of measurement for the whatzagigger flaffigaggle devices, or some such thing. Little did I know, this very program would give me insight into my very being and affect countless lives from this day forward.

 I watched with morbid curiosity as these so-called "scientists" stuck, shaved, and skewered what looked to me to be an ordinary bowl of Jell-O…The Fuck???… What were we trying to prove here? How many electrodes in a bucket of Jell-O does it take to show you're a fucking idiot???

I-D-I-O…T !! (sung to the J-E-L-L-O jingle)

What was shocking and thoroughly disturbing to me was not so much the actual study, and the fact that government funds were being spent by no-life-havin', lab-coat-wearin' dork-a-zoids in a "hypothesis" frenzy prodding and poking a bowl of congealed sugar-water like the latest alien abductee in an interstellar, anal probing marathon, but it was the result I found to be truly obscure. It had been determined, through painstaking clinical research that Jell-O brand gelatin actually has the same identical brainwave activity as the average adult human male…I SHIT YOU NOT!!! We males as a species, share the same identical electrical impulses coursing through our soggy, porn-soaked little sports-laden minds as an inanimate blob of colored glucose… Hmmm…makes you wonder, doesn't it????

Makes sense though. This would explain our outright fascination with things that are plump and jiggly…and why when we see them, we have the untamable urge to stick our faces in them and make motorboat noises.

6:43 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Cracka' Please!...

I think I have officially become a "stereotype".

On a recent trip to the Highland Mall for some much needed "Bling", I found myself in a bit of an racial predicament so-to-speak. You see, I had decided for Halloween this year to dress up as Flava Flav. Needless to say, I was obviously lacking the appropriate accoutrements to complete my ensemble. So I headed to the "Bling-Bling" Mecca for Austin's fashion elite, the Highland Mall.

The one add-on I decided that I absolutely, positively, couldn't live without, was naturally the big, shiny, jeweled, gold toofess. But where, oh where, to find one…? As I contemplated my current dilemma, I happened to glance over my shoulder and saw what looked to be the answer to my prayers. There was a small booth(or boof rather) set up adjacent to the food court that sold these types of dental garments and was labeled suitably enough, "GRILLZ". Of course I have to admit, I did feel a little bit awkward about the whole thing. This would be my first experience in purchasing "Bling"…or maybe renting to own, possibly…I'm not sure what types of financing are available and what the current "Bling-Bling A.P.R." happens to be, anywhoo…

To say the least, I may have looked out of place nosing through the "GRILLZ" merchandise, but I didn't think much of it at the time. At first glance, I couldn't seem to find what I was looking for. I only needed a single, embellished gold tooth and it seemed all they were selling were full teeth racks. I decided to approach the counter thug with my inquiry, maybe we could work out a deal for one tooth. As I rounded the corner and walked to the register, I saw the looks of utter confusion in the eyes of the manager and would-be shoppers alike. I no more than opened my mouth and squeaked out an, "Excuse me sir, but do you know…" when the head thug in charge of Bling-ulation answers back, "Yah, man…the Cinnabon's over there on the right…"

What?...have I just been somehow dissed or something??? Did this dude just expect something like that out of me and that just because my skin color was lacking the degree of melatonin that his was, I could not possibly be interested in acquiring new sources Bling?!?!? The fuck!!! I was so thrown back by this reverse discrimination, the only response I could utter back was simply, "O.k., thanks…" and walked away.

I just goes to show you…it's always something!!! This is just another attempt by the Man to try and "Bling" me down…

Word!

6:41 PM - 4 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

To Drive Thru or not to Drive Thru…that's the McQuestion

On a recent "haul-ass-and-get-back-before-your-shitty-little-20-min-break-is-over" lunch break at work, myself and a couple of co-peons ran to Mickie D's to harden our arteries. We were counting the minutes as we debated on whether to pick our noses as we sit in line at the drive thru or watch someone else pick their noses as we take our chance with the "special needs" wait staff at the counter. I decided to put this rush hour McLuncheon to the McTest. I darted out of the car dead set on placing my order, getting my goodies, and popping out the drive thru side quicker than you can say "Mayor McCheese on a popsicle stick"…not that you would ever really need to use that phrase in any situation for any reason what so ever, but I digress... As I jumped from the backseat and out the door, I heard someone say, "If you're not there in time, we're leaving without you…" Aha!!! Now we've got a true challenge and stakes worthy of a formidable effort!!!

The game is afoot!

I burst through the entryway and pounced anxiously toward the counter like a crazed cougar in heat. In hindsight, this may not have been the most appropriate movement to make, given the location we were in, Riverside and South Lamar…

After I had finally finished convincing the employees and security officer that I in fact was not trying to rob the place or bust a cap in someone's A-hole, I began to scour the menu for the combo meal deal of my choice. I completed my order and nervously awaited it's arrival. Would my hasty choice to order at the counter backfire (or Big Macfire rather)??? Or would I emerge triumphant, a frigging Einstein of fast food drive thru decision making???

I danced nervously in place while peering across the counter to the drive thru window. I was able to see an approaching car, what looked to be my competitors who were equally anxious to prove their hi-caloric hypothesis. Our glances locked for a short tense moment, as though old west gunfighters awaiting a signal for the fateful dual. I watched as the drive thru server bagged their goodies and began to take their money. At the same time, I saw my server walking to the counter with my order. This nail biting, test of intestinal (or indigestible) fortitude was going to be a close race to the finish.

I reached out and grabbed my order, then all at once, everything seemed to roll on in slow motion. I turned away from the counter and headed toward the exit, clutching my bag like Emmitt Smith on an end zone dash. I glanced over my shoulder to see the car in the drive thru now pulling ahead, so I put it in high gear. If I could bolt thru the door and leap over the railing, I just might be able to win this thing yet...of course I would have to lay a mean chop block on a gaggle of senior citizens herding in front of the exit, but that's beside the point.

I had gotten through the doorway in just enough time to see the car pulling away. I began to hang my head in shame…my theory crushed, and now I needed to look for a ride. As I turned to walk away, I glanced back at the drive thru and saw my posse perched at the window. I had mistaken someone else's car for ours. They had not been served before me, I HAD INDEED been the wiser…and now it was time to gloat.

I was sure to strut my stuff as viciously as humanly possible on the way to my peeps, just to let them know who "The Man" was. I opened the car door and took my seat. I opened my bag-o-yummies and began eating right there in the drive thru in front of them. While I selfishly enjoyed my food under the watchful gaze of hungry eyes, my friends were still waiting on "Shaniqua the Minimum Wage Drive-Thru McTroll" to bring out their meals. Mmmmm…a ketchup-slathered, gnarly meat, dollar menu double cheeseburger has never tasted quite so good.

It was a long ride back to work.

6:15 PM - 3 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Fried chicken and Chia People...

So I was at Popeye's the other day, because I guess I feel I'm lacking in my daily consumption of Ecoli, cholesterol, and harmful carcinogens, right? Anyway, I walk up to the counter and scan the menu…trying to decide between the 3 piece Bling-Bling and Wings Combo or the "Ghetto Mojo", Bucket-O-Necks & Gizzards Special and a Boones Farm Strawberry Hill on the side…Mmmm, both sounded equally tempting. After choosing my poisons, I approach the counter and wait to drop my dime. I was waited on by what seemed to be the entire cast of  "Geriatric Park". It was quite refreshing to see someone in a walker still flexible enough to thumb through a cash register till and then put a thumb in my red beans and rice.

Since I had ample time to wait, I decided to sit back and soak up my surroundings. I happened to glance toward the front door just as a large family with about a dozen sugar-charged kids came bouncing in. What caught my attention was not the fact that the children were bouncing off the walls like back-up dancers in an Usher video, or that if they had their fingers any farther up their noses they'd look like Unicorns, it was the frickin' hair, man! Every single one of these kids had like and eight-foot afro…there were 300 lbs. of hair squeezing through the door right there in front of me… Now that's something you don't see everyday. (unless of course, you're bumpin' uglies with ole Bob Ross and whatnot)

I sat and gazed in amazement while this highway of hairage…this causeway of curlitude…this freeway of fro…this veritable family of human Chia Pets, meandered on by me. I couldn't help but stare! It was like the hair had a mind of it's own…it was hopping to and fro (no pun intended) as these little beings waddled in and danced around the booths. They looked too damned top heavy to be stable, like little bobble-headed kid-er tots flopping through the Popeye's entryway. And if staring at them in amazement wasn't awkward enough, the entire time I had been watching them I had that Chia Pet jingle dancing around in my head. Only it was more like, "Cha-Chia-Ne-Gro…". Wrong?...maybe so, but catchy none-the-less.

Peace!

5:46 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment