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...or could it have been WHAT you asked me... ...maybe it's WHEN you asked me... all i know is that YOU'RE ON FUCKIN' CRACK... |
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May 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 August 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 February 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 October 2006 September 2010 December 2011 |
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Wednesday, August 20, 2003 |
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While sitting at your desk/table (whatever), make clockwise circles with your right foot.
While doing this, draw the number "6" ...in the air with your right hand. Your foot will change direction. |
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Monday, August 04, 2003 |
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[DISCLAIMER]
Please note that my writing skills leave much to be desired; I apologize beforehand. :) [PART I] I was back in the states a few weeks back, and I stopped by an old friend's house in Blackhawk while on my way down to San Jo from Sacramento. It turns out that an old college buddy (from muthatruckin TRIN.CAM.AC.UK) was there also, so I'm thinking this is very cool. A 3rd dood is there as well - he is my non-college friend's roommate. They're all sitting around doing less than Jacque Schitte playing some video game console I've never heard of, so I thought I'd be a good buddy and invite them to come down to my favourite white trash bar on all of Earth - Shooters Bar & Grill in Sunnyvale. Now, these cats look like the kind of deprived horn-dogs that still think with their lesser head (they have that glazed look that can be traced back to watching an unhealthy amount of scrambled-porn-channel), so I thought I'd be fair and warn them ahead of time that the kind of Nectar-Bottoms running around at Shooters are not the kind of girls you would necessarily define as classically attractive. Since these guys had that 10-mile-stare look about them I figured they'd be down for going anywhere, even a bar where the beef served is somewhere in the Grade-F dungeon - alas I was terribly mistaken. This threesome of non-pussy-getting fewls actually turned up their noses at my invite to the bar claiming that my description of the typical female Shooters patron was sub-par to their standards. WTF? If I were to take these same crack-heads to a bar where the Cherry Tree was ripe for the pickin' it's not likely that they'd actually get any fruit - they might hook up with a couple cucumber-lookin hoes, but there would be no cherry pie for these guys. So this begs the question - if, regardless of location and overall quality of female clientele, these guys will never shack down with anything greater than a 6 (or maybe 7) on the Female Nutrition Scale (FNS), why they gotta be all snobby about my favourite white trash bar on all of Earth just cuz the Beaver at this particular bar comes from the rough part of the forest? Why?, I ask! Well, I'll tell you why: They're obviously crack abusers. [Part II] In spite of the fact that these fewls had just dissed my offer to chill with me and an assorted variety of my favourite beers at my favourite white trash bar on all of Earth, I remained kind and considerate to them and proceeded to make small talk while I slowly moved towards the door. Somehow, and I don't remember how, religion came up in the receding conversation, whereupon I began telling a funny (well, I think it's funny) anecdote about my cousin's band: [me] You know, my cousin is in this band that has already done two tours of Europe [non-college friend's roommate] oh kewl, have i heard of them? [me] I seriously doubt it [me] anyhow, I'm really proud of him... he's this really great kid with amazing talent, and even though he's gathered enough fame to start getting sweet-lovin' at his shows just by passing out a few back-stage passes, he stays true to his beliefs and abstains from your typical rock star stuff like drugs, booz, and pukangkang-a-lang. [ncfr] sounds like a good catholic boy [me] ... well, not Catholic, but Mormon - I have an entire part of my family that is Mormon - anyhow, the lead singer of this band is this famous TV-show actor, and he's seen it all (or so he says). This one day I'm in London at one of their shows, and myself, the band, and some of my cousins are all chillin' in the back of this club (in what I thought was a storage area, but later turned out to be an active bar - go figure.. this Swedish byotch even accused me of helping myself to beer.. sløv Svenske...) while we wait for the opening act to finish up. I hear the lead singer make an interesting comment - he says, "You know it's funny... I think we are the only non-Christian-rock band in the world that tries not to cuss or bring home skank after the show". So it's kinda funny, and very cool I think, that my cousin has had such an affect on his band-mates. So that's not the most interesting story in the world, but that's not the point. The point is that after I had told this guy that an entire branch of my family is Mormon, he makes the following comment after some more talk of religion comes to pass: [me] [I've just said something about a book I've read on organized religion] [ncfr] You know those people [Mormons] are a bunch of weirdos... I mean they're not even a religion, they're really just a cult in disguise. [he says some more rude shit, but I don't really remember] I had just told this fuckass that part of my family was Mormon, and here he is calling them a bunch of weirdo cultists... What kind of an asshole would make such an observation? I could tell that he was confused by my revulsion to his comment - he thought that since I wasn't Mormon I would share the same belief as he... but you would think he would test the waters first... perhaps ask me what I thought of my Morman family members or something - you don't just voice opinions like that with people you hardly know. But that's not really the point either... let me give you another example of similar behaviour: [Part III] I can barely remember this story, but I'll try anyhow: While I was an undergrad at Texas Tech years ago I went to a store (whose name I can no longer recall) to take care of something related to my POS car ('91 Ford Tempo baby!! Reck-a-nize fewl). While I'm at the counter talkin to this employee who is assisting me, an older BLACK MAN (really more brown-ish, but nevertheless, he was what Amerikanen refer to as a "NEGRO") walks up to the register next to me and inquires about a service these guys had done for him in the past, and how he needed it to be re-done for some reason or another. I think he had it covered under warranty, but the guy at the counter wasn't feelin' it, and told the guy (very politely, mind you) that he'd have to pay again for the service cuz he didn't buy the extended warranty or whatever. So the BLACK MAN very politely (with a smile even) payed what the WHITE MAN (more brownish-pink I think) asked of him so that he could get his car properly fixed. As the BLACK MAN walks away he agrees to return within the hour to pick his car up after the work is done. Now here's the messed-up part: After the BLACK MAN leaves the store, the WHITE MAN turns to the other WHITE MAN (the one that is helping me) and gives him a knowing wink... then he turns to me and, with a smirk and a slight wink, says, "what a dumb NI**ER" ("NI**ER" er S?rlig-Amerikan av en svart mann). These two WHITE MEN began to talk openly about how the guy's warranty was totally valid, but since he was a NI**ER they thought they'd have a little fun and make him pay for something he'd already paid for - these guys were totally candid, it was as if they knew me to be a fellow KKKlansman, and I was in on their little joke - it never even passed their minds that I may not have the same belief as do they. So, after a few moments, I strolled outside and found the BLACK MAN (who happened to be sitting just outside the door), and told him what had just transpired inside - he knodded knowingly and said something to the effect of, "Oh, I know my warranty was valid; there are some things you just have to live with here." I could not believe my ears. [CONCLUSION] So what's the point? I doubt I got the point across, so to help you out here they are broken down into their constituent parts: Part 1: Bars are for the frivolous consumption of alcohol, not meeting your future wife. Part 2: Try not to be a religious zealot if at all possible. Part 3: Fuck Texas. Point: Say no to crack... otherwise you just might end up a religious zealot with a nasty-assed alcoholic wife in Texas. :) Hilsen fra Amsterdam, -spliff |
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