The other day, meand a buddy of mine were loadin a bunch of stuff from the side of my house and throwin it in a dump-bed truck. It was all going 2 the landfill.
There was all kindz of shit - Kidz toyz, broken chairz, and yard foliage.... sitting there 4 perhaps a year.... sum of it in garbage bagz, sum of it not.
My buddy came walkin out from the side of the house when a bag he was carrying suddenly split open, and spilled it'z contents all over his lower legz. "FUK!!" he screamed.
The bag was full of my dog'z shit mixed with a few rocks, and had been sitting at least 8 monthz beneath a roof that had dumped rain, snow, hail, and dust all over it that whole time. It was one of several bagz like it that I knew were bak there.
I laffed at my friend.
I had one shitbag explode on me, but it happened just after I flung it in2 the dump-bed, when it was in mid-air. I was unscathed. My buddy'z 2nd bag, however, wasn't quite so patient as it exploded on his propulsionary draw-bak; leaving him with shit and rocks all over his shoes, and me with shit in my driveway.
Fightin’ the homeless over chicken bones and banana peelz
Category: MySpace
Lately, I've noticed alot of shit goin on within this thing we call "MySpace". People are sending emailz, writing comments, and writing blogz (among other thingz) thru-out MySpace about otherz with rhetoric such as "Did U hear what 'So-and-So' said? How can they write that?", or "I can't believe U talk 2 'So-and-So' cuz I think he/she is such a fukwad. U should 2, and U're an asshole if U don't." and all kindz of other similar bullshit.
2 all of U immature, baby-like, broke-nek, bitch-made, childish, no life havin', hopeless, dikless, monkey-ass, no personality, player hatin', mark-ass, whining, crying, butt-hurt, headache-weed-smoking, asenine and insipid, non-creative, gutless, attention freak, plain ol' freak, asshole sniffing, teabag-taking, "Me, me, me, me!!!" screaming, anonymous cuz U're 2 big of a pussy 2 say sum shit like that 2 that person in a lokked room, bunk-ass sons-of-sorry bitches................ I don't care.
I didn't get on MySpace today 4 a soap opera update from U. I got on here 2 share some thingz with otherz..... who are not U.
I give a damn about what U don't like. I give 2 shits about WHO U don't like..... or even what U DO like.
Since U have no creativity or imagination, U try 2 destroy another'z. U have no friendz, so U try and corrupt theirz. U have no life except 4 sitting on your fat ass and crying about how sumbody said U had no life and sit on your fat ass.
There is enuff fukkin bullshit happening on this planet that we can do nuthing about. Yet when U have a chance 2 "do", U choose 2 attempt at humiliating other writerz and their workz. U can write about any idea, experience, or recent event U choose on this internet invention, and U choose 2 spit brainless wordz with the sour tongue of ignorance. I guess this comes from upbringing.
I have a simple philosophy 4 personal attacks, or harsh criticism aimed toward someone when it comes 2 the internet - if U were alone in a lokked room with the person(s) U so despise, would U say it 2 their face? Then shut the fuk up.
Stephen Hawking can claim Mike Tyson is a pussy on the internet, but Mike can assfuk the good ol' Professor in real life. Remember that, as real life can sumtimes hurt alot more..... ALOT more.
The politiks here on MySpace is ridiculous. I mean, it'z bad enuff that if sum dumbshit thinks they have 8994 friendz, it'z because they're "well liked". Or if they get 90% of the votes on sum blog contest, it'z because they had "the best blog". This kind of false confidence seemz 2 lead U haterz 2 believe that you can sway EVERYONE sumhow with your text and sentences. Oh but that'z where U have gone wrong.
I'm startin 2 come across this shit so much that I feel I need a "post no bills or face prosecution" sign or sum shit like that across my page 2 keep U ignoramuses from knokkin at my fukkin door.
Now chances are, if U're reading this blog/rant I'm probably not talking 2 U, but maybe. I do have sum friends who are ignorant clownz.
Just know that the bottom line is this - I'm sik of hearing y'all talking, and not sayin shit. Quit wastin our time with your wordz of emptyness, self-pity, and attention needyness. In fact, quit writing all together. You have about as much taste as my penis.
I don't know how much more of this I can take; the hazing, the belittlement, the attitude. It's becoming too much. According to many, he hasn't been the same since Robin left. No one really knows the mysterious circumstances surrounding his abrupt departure, but my guess is because Batman's an asshole.
I've been with him for over a month - 33 days to be exact - as his apprentice and he still treats me like dog shit. From the private namecalling... to the public embarassment. 33 days and he still hasn't called me by my God-given Supername that I've spent a lifetime attaining. He insists on calling me by that foul, fucking name that that woman we rescued the other night will forever remember me as, and that even I find myself answering to as of late... "Eggplant". I didn't sign up for this.
I didn't go $50,000 into debt with the Professor Xavier School for the Gifted to recieve my Bachelor's Degree in Superherodom for this.
At first, I thought it was maybe because of the purplish hue my costume would give off in JUST the right light. But I had Alfred construct me a new costume that's pure, metallic, candy-apple red... yet he still refers to me by that horrid name. So now I'm not so sure he's not simply referring to my African heritage... fucking racist prick. I have explained my grievances to Alfred in lurid detail, desperately hoping to gain at least some knowledge from his years of wisdom and insight only to be replied with "... The fuck you want ME to do about it? Shit, man, I just work here". Thank you, Alfred. Thanks alot.
It has been pure hell. I've done everything from clean up bat shit in the Cave to the bat shit in Bruce Wayne's drawers with not so much as a "thank you" or a "good work"... ungrateful bastard.
On Friday night of my first week, Batman made me dress up like Ru-Paul and ride a fucking tricycle - with pink and white handlebar tassels blowing in the wind - up to the Joker's nightclub, The Laugh Gasket, saying to the doormen as I approached "Where the big boys at?". I had to repeat it 6 times because they claimed they couldn't hear me the first 5 times... lying bastards. It was humiliating. And during all this, Batman only stood hiding in the shadows... laughing with that annoying, throaty, yuppie cackle he has and declaring "They can't hear you" everytime those bastards were asking "What'd you say?"... as they were bellowing with glee. The second week, he made me perform our 2 rescues in only my drawers, a pair of moonboots, and a baby bonnet. I also could only approach the victims and their assailants while loudly saying "I good guy, I here help you!" and banging metal trashcan lids together like a fucking retard. And then I'd hear his bitch-ass in the shadows, "Don't fuck it up, Eggplant"... and then the cackle... racist mother fucker...I know it's because of my African ethnicity. Weeks 3 and 4 were much, much worse. I cannot even begin to tell you the horror and unmerciful humiliation I suffered at the hands of Batman. I'm just not ready yet. But I can tell you this, I wish some thug would crush his damn larynx with a sudden blow from a pipe so he could never laugh again... or refer to me by that foul name. At least I have natural born Superpowers. You have to buy your powers you gadget buying bastard.
I didn't sign up for this. I didn't push myself and set records in Professor X's Training Gauntlet to get kicked in the nuts by young women in distress who are too dumb to know that the retard banging the trashcan lids is here to save them.
He embarassed me in front of Wonder Woman the other day. Her and I were having a lucrative conversation, alone in the East Wing viewing room. We were discussing politics, the War in Iraq, and increasing property taxes when, all of a sudden, Asshead appears outta nowhere. "Hey, Eggplant, you get all the bird shit off the BatWing and clean out that toilet scum in my bathroom like I told you to?"........... the laugh. Cockblockin' fucker.
I don't know what his fucking problem is. Maybe it's because Wayne Enterprises isn't doing so well lately. It's not my fault you hired illegal aliens, and when ICE raided 4 out of your 6 precious warehouses a couple of weeks ago you lost 60% of your laborers. Or maybe it's because he just can't get laid as Bruce Wayne. He has been wearing his Bat costume out alot lately; even just to the store to get his Hustlers. He's getting sloppy... VERY sloppy. With all his money, power, and fame I've yet to see one Honey walk thru that door and go upstairs with him. He WISHES he had an "eggplant".
He's lucky he intruded on Wonder Woman and myself in the viewing room that day. My plan was to take her up to his room, soil his satin sheets, and reset his alarm clock. That's okay, though. BatGirl will be over later to discuss "Strategy" with me, and she LOVES the viewing room... I'll show him.
Everytime I hear U say "We gotta fill those jobs that Americans just won't do" I wanna smash your fukkin dome in.
First of all, what the fuk do U know about "work"? Second, even though U claim this of ALL Americans, U don't know what type of work THIS American will do 'cause U never bothered 2 ask.
Lemme inform your ass.
I had this job once working in a pipe making plant. We made piping for various industrial companies around the world. My company and one other company somewhere were the only ones in the world that could produce these pipe systems that could withstand the waste these industries produced (And U wouldn't believe how many fukkin companies there are… well, actually U would). I worked in the "Mixing Room" where the liquid resins that created the pipes was mixed.
The room was inside the plant, but strangely separated at the rear of it. It's opening was a big ass sliding metal door on rollers, just like the metal door of Leatherface's lair in the original Chainsaw Massacre but 3 times wider, and a million times filthier.
We didn't dress at all like the happy dude in the deceptive new-hire training video either, who was in a "normal" laboratory using beakers and a Bunsen burner. In order 2 even enter the mixing room, U were required 2 wear the company uniform inside a full body, chemical-resistant Tyvek suit on top of it with 4 fukkin pairs of gloves on, a surgical cap, safety goggles, safety boots, and a chemical respirator with all our limbs and openings taped completely up. Army Haz-Mat didn't have shit on us, son.
Inside the room itself was atrocious. It was so dirty and filthy it looked like an ancient tomb that pre-dated Christ that recently got taken over by Sigourney Weaver's "Alien" and his hive…. 2 the power of 10. No underground mine or anyplace else anywhere on this planet could fuk with that place in degrees of nastyness, and the mixing room was ABOVE ground.
U know how U can see dust in the air when it's floating in a ray of sunlite that comes thru your window? This is what I saw in the room WITHOUT the sunlite or windows, all day, everyday. It was a freakish dust that never settled. (I later found out the "dust" was a combo of this shit called "Cab-O-Sil" which has a 50 year half-life if it gets in your lungs, and fiberglass)
Anything in the room that was nakedly exposed would either get fukked up by chemical slime or just from being in the environment, so we used cardboard 4 everything. The floors, counters, and all the machines were completely covered with it, and all of our cabinets, stools, and speakerboxes were made out of it. The slime was a combo of reacted chemicals that had splashed or were spilled on everything in it's way. After a few minutes, it would harden and cure into a dark shell. Making everything look fukked up and grotesquely disfigured, the cardboard shield was changed after receiving several cycles of this.
We even had 2 use cardboard as paper 2 write on because 5 minutes after normal paper was brought past that sliding door, it would change color 2 where we couldn't read what the fuk was written. Ball point pens, even if brand new, didn't work after 4 minutes so only Sharpies would do, and even they only lasted between 10 and 12 minutes.
No one ever brought food back there. That was just plain ol' suicide.
The large, filthy Hobart mixing machines (like what a baker uses 2 mix dough and pastries) were twirling and spinning their blades inside these big red buckets that sat in the machines' holders. Every handle of every machine was wrapped in masking tape which was in turn, wrapped in the hardened slime.
Violence among workers was an everyday occurance. 80% of the plant's work force were convicts on work release; including 4 out of us 6 in the mixing room. Anybody that worked in there longer than 3 months got in2 at least one fist fight with somebody… even the Jehovah's Witnesses.
I watched guys come and go as few would last more than one or 2 days, then quit. Some would last maybe 2 weeks. One dude actually had a breakdown in the room and started cryin' on his 3rd day…... I shit U not.
Due 2 whatever the hell was in the shit we made, the soles of our feet and our fingertips were stained with this "orange" color that took 4 and a half months 2 go away after I left the job.
We had this chemical called "Furan catalyst". It came in a small, clear vile about the size of a lipstick tube. When the vile was opened, it turned everything in the room purple – including us.
We had this refrigerated storage room called the "XXX" room. It contained a chemicalthat if bumped 2 hard, or just simply got above 60 degrees, it would explode. And I was responsible 4 moving pallets of 55 gallon drums of that shit with a forklift every Monday, and Thursday.
Because it was one of the most dangerous, polluted, and absolutely frightening places 2 exist on this planet, no one that didn't work in the mixing room EVER stepped foot in there…. not once.
There was a sign by the entrance 2 the plant that stated "DAYS SINCE LAST ACCIDENT - ___" that was alwayz blank and never filled in. At 1st, I believed this was just due 2 laziness why it wasn't completed. I couldn't have been more wrong. We were lukky 2 make it 10 minutes without hearing painful screaming from sumwhere in the plant.
If Hell had an asshole this place was it, and this was my work environment 4 a year and a half.
But picking lettuce, tomatoes, and acorns is sumthin I won't fukkin do?? I know 6 mutha fukkers who were alongside me in that chemical shitstorm who would be insulted as much as I am. U callin me lazy? U sayin I think I'm 2 good 2 do an "Ag" job? Go nosefuk yourself Bush… U AND your ugly ass momma. Pay a mutha fukker his proper ends and not these bitched out slave wages, then maybe we would do those fukkin dead end jobs. Either that, or let each American U hire kick U in the nuts on their 1st day of work. Then, just maybe they would stop putting U on the front cover of Mad Magazine.
Get a clue bitch. Then after that, U can kiss my entire black ass.
4 those of U that don't know, there's a group of folkz in the world known as "Christians". These are people who believe in God, Jesus and such. There's also a group of folkz known as "Atheists". These are people that have no religious beliefs. (If U want detailz, U'll have 2 ask one yourself).
I have friendz on MySpace, and also in the real world, that are both of these. When U believe in sumthing, I can understand having sum kind of label 4 it. For example, if U like soccer (or football), U'd be called a "soccer fan". Or more detailedly, if U like a certain team like the Chicago Bulls, 4 instance. U'd be called a "Bulls fan".
I personally detest soccer, nor do I believe in it. Is there a name 4 that? If there is, I've never been called it. I've never been called an "Athesoccer", or "Anti-soccerist" when I share my belief of how fukkin boring I believe soccer 2 be.
I am, however, an "American Football fan". And 4 the record, I was only a "Bulls fan" when Jordan and Pippen played 4 them.
So my question is, why is an "Atheist", an "Atheist"? How did they get this label 4 NOT practicing sumthin? If sumbody walks up 2 them and asks "What church U go 2?" Shouldn't the answer simply be, "I don't believe in that."........?
Labels should only be sumthin "tangable" U can attach 2 someone. I remember when I was a kid, I'd hear the word "Atheist" occasionally. I would automatically think this was sumbody who worshiped the Devil cuz I thought everybody believed in God. Of course when I got older and a wee bit wiser, I figured it out. But U see my point.
I don't practice "felching", but no name 4 that. I don't practice, believe in, or follow in the religion of "Politics" our government leaderz try and sell 2 us. Yet, the closest they've come 2 assessing that label is "terrorist", or maybe "tree hugger". But since I ain't blowin shit up, and own a vehicle that only gets like 9 miles to the gallon, they have nuthin 4 me. But I'm not worried. I'm sure they'll come up with sumthin.
Happy Halloween, Bitches - A One-Man Blogfest
Category: Blogging
Since I was 2 damn lazy 2 write and post the blog I wanted 2 for Halloween, I decided 2 keep bein lazy by only reposting sum previous blogz I've written.
I chose 6 creepy blogz I've written thru-out my time on myspace.... all creepy in their own way. Read one, read a couple, read them all, or don't read any. I really don't give a shit which as I will be at a costume party 2nite anywayz, gettin my shwig on.
What Comes Outta Your Mouth When U Open It
Category: Travel and Places
I had a recent discussion with a "blogging buddy" of mine about "accentz" (Actually, I wrote a comment and she just answered it with another). I asked her if the Brits thought an American accent was as sexy as we thought theirz was. She stated that there was a few that thought so, but not many people pay attention 2 that over there. I guessed this was because of the huge amount of diversity over there, so they just don't notice it that much 'cause they see it everyday.
Over here tho, we mainly only see Americanz. So when an Australian, a British national, South African, French, or any of those people speak the King'z English and have an accent, everyone is captivated by it. If it'z a good lookin female, the American males all flock that way; trippin over themselves 2 be the 1st 2 talk 2 her. If they're male, same shit with the American females.
I realized however, the fact that we don't get many accentz was not necessarily true. Americanz have MANY accentz depending where they're from. Boston, New York, Tennessee, Florida, Oklahoma, and California are just a few examples of different accentz that can be recognized while sum are a conglomerate of everywhere they've been. Take me 4 example, a Black man that'z grown up in 3 states - California, Oklahoma, and Texas. My accent'z ALL fukked up, and I'm made aware of it everyday with "What was that U said?"
I could only find one suitable candidate 2 even come close 2 portrayin me and my accent 4 every situation when I speak.......
So, I present U with these questionz - Do U find foreign accentz attractive? Why or why not? And do U think U have one?
There are many thingz in this world that require "specialists" 2 build them, maintain them, then deal with them when they fuk up. Only thing is, these "specialists" know how 2 construct these thingz, but don't know shit about fixing them when they do fuk up.
Lately, a lot of my folkz have been havin car problemz and been forced 2 take their vehicles 2 mechanics 2 be corrected. A lot of 'em get their carz bak, and they either run worse than before, or the same shit is wrong with the vehicle that they paid $900 to have fixed.
I do all my own work on my car, but my eyes were opened 2 this when I was doin some recent "surgery" on my car. I had a couple of simple questionz that I couldn't find the answerz 2. So, I called the dealership and talked 2 a "certified technician" 2 see if he could help me. The conversation went like this…..
"Yeah, I got a '93 Mustang and I just put a new cam, pushrodz, fuel pressure regulator, and roller rockers in it. The cam has a 220 lift both ways. The lifters look fine and tested ok, but do U recommend I replace them due 2 the increased lift?"
His response….
"I have no idea."
"What? U don't know if the stock lifters can take a 220 lift?" I asked.
"No. I'd have 2 look at 'em."
"What 4? Ain't U a "certified" tech? U never seen the insides of a '93 Mustang?"
He was silent.
"Well lemme ask U sumthin simple, then." I said. "How big are my stock injectors? I'll eventually need 2 upgrade them, but I need 2 know where I'm startin from 1st."
"I don't know that either, sir, and I have no literature 2 find that out. U'd have 2 bring the car in 4 us 2 determine that."
Now I was annoyed.
"I ain't bringin this car in 2 U. 1st of all, it'z in no condition 2 drive and I ain't towing it….."
"2nd, I ain't paying y'all 2 tell me what I can find out 4 myself, so fuk that 'bringin it in' shit. I was just hoping that U would do one of your customerz a solid in order 2 save them a shitload of time and energy."
Silence.
"Whatever, man." I said. "U're about as knowledgeable in your trade as the fukkin janitor is at brain surgery." I hung up.
I ended up finding out what I needed after some leg work, but ran in2 a real problem later on that I just couldn't figure out. I was forced 2 call again…. a different dealership this time. I thought that the 1st mechanic I talked to before was just a fluke. But after the 2nd call, I found that they're ALL fukkin stupid.
I think he was a distant cousin or sumthin 'cause he knew about as much of this subject as the 1st kat – shit. It took the help of my girl from the UK, Beatrix, 2 hook a brutha up. And she doesn't even know shit about carz.
What I've noticed is the folkz that ask me what I might think is wrong with their car either find that they can fix it themselves, or don't get charged as much when they're armed with sum knowledge of it. I'm offering this 2 U folkz.
If U're havin a problem with that shitbox U drive, and don't wanna give up your life savingz 2 pay the cost of repair, U might not have 2. Leave a comment of the problem with the YEAR AND MODEL of your ride here, and I'll tell U what might be wrong with it.
DISCLAIMER: I'm NOT a certified mechanic, nor have I ever earned a penny 4 any auto work. I'm completely self-taught, so depending on what kinda car U drive I might not know a part name, color, or whatever; just what job it does. So, don't go runnin out spending money on partz and shit, then send me a bill wantin me 2 pay 4 your overanxious ass because that $100 part wasn't the problem.
At worst, U'll have 2 take it in, but U'll more than likely save a few dollarz if U tell them what U "think" is wrong with it….. even if U're way off.
The geniuses at NASA can make a kick-ass space shuttle that can fly 2 the moon and beyond. But they can't figure out how 2 keep the heat tiles from coming loose and slammin in2 the damn wingz upon take-off. Cellular phones are remarkable pieces of technology, but go behind a tree or over a hill and it'z about as useful as a paperweight made of dogshit, and no "specialist" can (or is willin 2) fix the problem. When it rainz, your cable goes out. And if it snowz, your satellite signal is lost. The worst one 2 date has 2 be the automobile and the "specialists" that people pay out the ass 2 do the work.
I think that everyone can see that we all must rely on each other -us UNcertified folk - 2 solve our problemz because the only thing I've seen that certified folkz can "specialize" in….. is these nutz.
It'z obvious U government leaderz are outta touch with us US citizenz. If U weren't, then U wouldn't say shit like "U gotta learn 2 save your monies", "Americanz need 2 save 4 rising health costs", "Make a budget 4 your families", "Plan your trips", and other brainless statementz of the like. U'd know that after puttin fuel in our carz, payin light and gas billz, gettin injured at work, and fallin prey 2 that terrible addiction we have of "feeding our families", there's no fukkin money LEFT 2 create a "budget". This is despite all the home loan, student loan, credit debt, and Viagra commercialz U thought would fix the problemz, but didn't.
What I haven't seen as of yet, is what U leaderz are doin 2 cut YOUR budget. We've all been doin our part, now it'z time 4 y'all 2 do yourz. Allow me 2 give U sum suggestionz……….
1)High Class Hookerz are expensive. Therefore, I suggest U switch 2 low-class hookerz during your next political "get together". There's a place in Tulsa OK right off the freeway near the airport called The Dollhouse. Lap dances were only 3 buks, and drinx were only 3 buks, so I'm sure they'd be MORE than happy 2 fly 2 U. Of course, U might get an 8 month pregnant one like I did, but face it, it'z more "bang" 4 your buk than your usual thousand an hour U normally spend. U will save thousandz per event.
2)SUV's burn a lot of gasoline. Therefore,might I suggest that U start rollin in a Yugo. They get like 1000 miles 2 the gallon, and gettin it bulletproofed would cost virtually nuthin. Besides, the armor U'd save could protect the people that need it now….. our soldierz. "But I need the space 4 my aide staff" U say? Buy them sum Schwinns 2 pedal they asses on. What the fuk U cartin 'em around 4 anyway?..... they're "aides". They're expendable.
3)Go 2 K-Mart instead of Versace. If U haven't noticed, K-Mart already has suitz on the rack 4 fat, unshapely people. So, there's no need 2 fly 2 Italy 2 have Oscar de la Renta size U, and personally tailor-make U a suit that costs a small fortune. And if U don't live near a K-Mart, I'm positive U live near a Wal-Mart. They offer the same shit at the same cheap-ass prices.
4)Stop Wastin' Our Tax Dollarz on bullshit Court cases. Why are we wastin millionz on dumb fukkin cases like suing the makerz of the video game Grand Theft Auto. A simple but firm letter 2 the offended parentz that pointz out their ignorance 4 givin their 3 year old the 50 buks 2 buy the game in the 1st place should be enuff 2 end their "concern". Each letter would cost 41 centz 2 mail vs. the trillionz of centz wasted on that one case.
5)Illegal Alienz Aren't the Cheapest Labor, Prisoners are. Why the hell ain't y'all figured that out yet?? U just can't get any lower 2 slavery than 15 centz an hour.
6)Half U Fukkerz Don't Even Have Hair. So why the hell is it costing us $400 2 get YOUR hair cut? Go 2 fukkin Supercuts; 8 buks 4 a haircut, half off if U're bald. And admit it, y'all bitches are bald.
7)Motel 6 instead of The Ritz. It'z way cheaper, and they even leave the lite on 4 ya. Also, this IS the Ritz 2 the Dollhouse girlz.
8)A Nation'z Leader should fite 4 his country. There'z a boxing ring in Cologne, Germany. Anytime 2 nationz want 2 go 2 war, the leaderz should meet here and have a switch-blade fite. The winner getz whatever he/she wanted from the other, and problem solved. The money made from the worldwide pay-per-view, the tikketz, and all the alcohol sold at the event would go 2 the winner, and war cost would be avoided….. billionz would be saved. On top of that, Ramstein Air Force Base is in Germany. It'z the best medical base in the world 2 stitch-up any pesky woundz 2 a leader.
9)Fly Southwest instead of a private plane. They have great service and cheap tikketz. Besides, U'd get 2 see and experience 1st hand the remarkable security U created at our airportz. Thousandz an hour would be saved.
10)Stop selling US weaponz 2 other countries. When U sell a $500 rifle 2 sumbody,and they turn around and kill one of our soldierz that costs around $100,000 with that same weapon, this just isn't good business sense. Millionz a year would be saved….. maybe even a few lives if we're lukky.
11)"An execution costs our state more than it would 2 house and feed that same prisoner for 10 years". This is what I hear from state leaderz that are in states of capital punishment. How'z that? Bulletz at Wal-Mart are around 5 buks 4 a box of .22 roundz, and maybe 30 buks 4 a box of 50 cals, and U only need one round. Hell, a slingshot at close range would probably do it. And if U use the chair, who the hell are U buyin your electricity from? I suggest U either switch companies, or ground the chair 2 the nearest power line. And 4 U Lethal Injectors, a syringe of Drano would do the same job as that 3-mix cocktail U spend thousandz on 2 develop. 4 fuk's sake, use your brainz.
12)Fuk the NSA. Hire me and 10 of my homeboyz 2 hunt down and deal with Bin Laden. We'd only be half the price, and we'd guarantee sum fukkin resultz. See? Now we're ALL makin sum endz.
13)At the next White House black tie party, invite at least 5 random common folk from all around the country 2 attend. This wouldn't save U any money, but it wouldn't cost U shit either.
I know it'z easy 2 spend sumbody else's money, so "saving" ain't really a word y'all know. But just these 13 suggestionz would save this country billionz , if not trillionz, of hard-earned dollarz. U just have 2 be willin 2 sacrifice what U're used 2….. like the rest of us have.
This is in remembrance of those that lost their lives and their loved ones on this horrible day. We remember U and won't 4get.
September 11, 2001
I was just gettin outta bed 2 make sum coffee when my wife said "Holy shit!! A plane just crashed in2 the WorldTradeCenter in New York."
"What?" I asked.
I put my youngest down from receiving her morning sloppy kisses, and walked over 2 the TV 2 watch the news as they covered the story.
I'm not sure how long I stood there before I saw the 2nd fukkin plane fly in2 frame (live), and crash in2 the other tower. Right then and there I knew it was no accident. I was witnessing a tragedy in the making.
That day was the most memorable of mine as I can remember everything I did that day. I also remember what HE did that day…..
"Maybe I should ask her what SHE would do if she were president? Nah, 'cause then I'll just look stupid."
The sad thing is, I got outta bed, kissed my kid, and made coffee that morning and had already done more than our President 2 combat the terror our country was facin'. Tell me, what were U doing at that tragic moment?
Around 1989, a company named CAPCOM created a video game called "Street Fighter". This gamepopularized competitive fighting games with it'z unique characterz, fast action, and bad-ass settingz. But it'z sequel "Street Fighter II" revolutionized them. If I had 2 guess, I would say at least 90% of my fellow Generation X'erz know what I'm talking about. This game had grand status all the way from Asia – where it was created – 2 here in the US. We took the competition so serious, that sum of us even played 4 money at times. This is a story of the first tru master I ever met in this game, and the last tru warrior I ever faced.
Summer 1994 – Houston, TX (12:40 PM)
I walked in2 the Galleria Mall about 20 minutes early 4 work. I wanted 2 get a few games in me before I began my shift. I walked past my store, went downstairz 2 the arcade, and went straight 2 the game.
It was way more pakked around the game than normal… WAY more pakked. And everybody was jockeyin' 4 position 2 see the on-screen battles. It was odd 4 a weekday.
I announced I was "gonna play, so bag bak", got 2 the machine 2 place my quarter on the bottom of the screen where it met the control console, and was surprised 2 see that there was only 8 or 9 quarterz ahead of me…. considerin all the people. I stepped bak and watched.
The reason 4 the lak of challengers was there was one Asian kat destroying everyone that stepped up 2 battle no matter who they picked. He picked different characterz as well, but seemed 2 be his best with Ken. I don't think anybody even won a single round against him.
He was really good, and he was clearly in another realm of skill compared 2 his opponentz he was stompin. They were falling 4 his fakes, the "neck kick", getting "all-U-canned!!!" all day, and worse, they had no offense. Hearing the voice on the game say "PERFECT!" was heard like every other round. I hadn't seen anybody as good as him since Jon-Jon.
(12:55 PM)
It was finally my turn. Knowin I was gonna be late 4 work now, I couldn't pass this challenge up. I took my quarter from the crease and put it in the red-illuminated entry 4 it. I heard the clik from the quarter, and then the musical signal that the machine took the credit. Right then, one of the 4 dudes that appeared 2 be hangin with my Asian opponent said sumthin 2 him in their language. And even though I was sure he said sumthin about me, I wasn't offended.
My opponent waited 4 me 2 pik my guy 1st. I chose Guile…. he chose Sagat.
I made a lot of stupid mistakes and lost the 1st round terribly. I jumped at him one 2 many times and got combo'd 2 death. Round 2 went better. I won. Round 3 was a little closer, but I won that 2 with one of my patented moves I alwayz saved til the very end of a close fight. Our match was over.
The dude didn't get angry or butt-hurt, but he looked real fukkin surprised that he lost…… as did the crowd. He slowly stepped bak, and one of his other compadres stepped up.
He waited 4 me 2 pik my guy, 2 - I chose Guile again. Then he picked…. he chose Vega. I beat him twice in a row as this Asian opponent was pretty much identical 2 my 1st one. He fell 4 the same fakes, and I ended the match with my patented move again when he tried 2 "roll" me. I did change the combo up a little tho; just 2 show him that what happened 2 his friend wasn't an accident. Again, I saw the surprised-ass look on an opponent'z face that he lost. Then, like his friend, he slowly bakked away from the game.
After a few secondz of the Asian katz talking amongst themselves, a 3rd guy stepped up 2 battle. This one spoke English, and after an exchange between him and the last dude I just thumped, he turned 2 me and asked "U play wit anybody else?"
"Yeah"
"I pik Ken" He said.
"U can play with whoever U want" I said bak. I pikked Ryu and the crowd rumbled.
1991 – Dallas, TX ----- The Beginning
I was at my girlfriend'z house one nite talkin 2 her brother when sumbody knocked at the door. Her brother got up and opened it 2 reveal 4 Vietnamese katz standin there. One of them I knew – his name was Bill. He was in my English Comp class, and spoke hardly ANY English. Yes, a Vietnamese dude in my English class that spoke NO English named "Bill".
We acknowledged each other, then my girlfriend'z brother, Francis, introduced me 2 the otherz. I can't remember the other'z names, only Jon-Jon who spoke as gooda English as any American. I already knew who "Jon-Jon" was tho. He was pretty well-known 'round town as bein part of a Vietnamese crew. I'd just never seen him before.
He wanted Francis 2 go with them 2 grab sum brew, and play a little Street Fighter II at the 7- Eleven down the street. Francis didn't wanna go. He was workin on sum class project and wanted 2 finish, so, he suggested they take me. I have 2 say I wasn't 2 happy he did that. I knew nuthin about this crew – who they had beef with, or where they could, or could not go without a problem. I didn't want 2 get caught up in sum life-endin bullshit over a fukkin video game with folkz I didn't even know….. but I went anyway.
At the 7-Eleven, I played Bill and the other 2 katz I rolled with in the Street Fighter II game while Jon-Jon just watched. Since it was the original "Street Fighter II", I had picked Ryu and couldn't switch characterz till I lost a match. I scraped those dudes up and down the screen for 6 or 7 matches; never losing. Then, Jon-Jon stepped up 2 battle me. He picked Guile.
The last time I got my ass kicked that bad was the very 1st time I ever played the game (It was against this kid who'd obviously been playin longer than me). What happened with Jon was about the same – I hit him maybe 5 times…. Outta 2 whole rounds.
Bill and the otherz just laffed and told me 2 try again. I stuk in another quarter and got the same result… Another quarter, different fighter this time, same result. I got more change, inserted another quarter, switched sides so Jon-Jon could pik a different character…. Still met the same fate. I was stunned at what was happenin before my eyes; although I seemed 2 be the only one who was.
He frustrated me with his ability. He had counter-moves 4 everything I threw at him with every fighter I chose. He knew what I was going 2 do even before I did. I even resorted 2 doing what was known as "cheap" fighting, and still lost horribly. He performed attacks on me that I had not only never seen, but shit I'd never even heard of. Not only all that, but he made kickin my ass look "easy". I quikly saw I was a mere molecule in Jon-Jon's universe of Street Fighter.
I viewed myself as being one of the best playerz anywhere at that game. I had annihilated hundredz of children, and even sum of their parentz in hundredz of Street Fighter matches. Anywhere I went 2 play and challenge otherz, I rarely lost. U got 2 keep playing 4 free as long as people put THEIR money in 2 challenge U. I could make my quarter last for hourz, but that nite, I damn near went broke. This was how my teaching began.
