Goodbye

Well, I guess this was coming. I mean, I post about as regular as Jamie Lee Curtis. (Activia joke) I need to get a different forum and narrow the topic to a specific direction. While Veggiemacabre has been great, I am a different person than 2007. Maybe better or maybe worse but not the same. I loved this place and the people I have met through it.

I know Matt ended X-E and started DinosaurDracula. This is sort of the same thing but going forward you will see more of a media side since I have invested so much into software. I have a vision and as soon as the know-how happens you’ll see. Thank you for a wonderful five years. Watch below to get the skinny.

By the way, Veggiemacabre.tv will still be here. Just leaving this blog.

Good Journey!

Savannah Trip: The Good, The Beer, The Ghosts

Savannah, Georgia will always have a special place in my heart. It was forged years ago through countless family beach vacations, a middle school field trip where I discovered that girls where not as gross as I imagined, wild college road trips where I really discovered girls were not as gross as I imagined and finally my time stationed near there in the Army. I call it as much home as I do anywhere else and though I am not a current resident, I jump at the chance to bring anyone who hasn’t been. This past weekend I did just that and we hit a few “haunts”, even making time to get a royal sunburn at the beach. Eat it mid-October!

 

We started off for the five hour trek at around four in the morning so by the time we thought about breakfast we were well past the halfway mark. I am not really sure when this happened but somehow I became my parents and insisted we stop at a Cracker Barrel rather than a McDonald’s. I will admit, there is a certain charm about eating under the same roof that has a one pound Sugar Daddy for sale and more Christmas ornaments than the Whoville. I know this restaurant has had some bad publicity with their idiotic rule of not hiring anyone who is gay, but I will admit, their biscuits do make the Pillsbury Doe Boy look like he should be selling ratchet sets instead.

I get a little excited when I am traveling to some place I want to go to, especially cities of nostalgic meaning. Though I don’t recommend breaking the law by exceeding the speed limit AND trying to take a cellphone picture in reference to Back to the Future, in my defense, I saw a palm tree. We were close and by all logic, going 88mph would get us there sooner. Don’t worry, it didn’t last long. I am 3/4 of the way through Crime and Punishment. I get it.

Well look at that. I got us here safe and sound without rocketing back to 1955. Driving down this street brings back so many memories, I can’t even begin to start with the “no shit, there I was” stories and honestly, I am old enough now to realize no one cares. That’s okay because just looking at the cobble streets, historical markers, memorable bars and vibrant tourists traps I have too many warm memories that I don’t mind replaying them in my own head. But this tease of a drive was short because the girlfriend had other plans than being drunk pirates like I wanted. She opted for an afternoon at the beach. I obliged.

I am saving the Tybee Island part of the trip for another part of the blog. I feel that since this is the Halloween season and I had another purpose to come to Savannah, this should take precedence over summer fun. I came back to visit a few places and boy oh boy, they did not disappoint. Not in the least.

Years ago I wrote about a business trip I took to Savannah and the incredible experience that I had at a particular restaurant. I risked looking like a complete jackass and wrote how I saw a ghost.  A full torso vaporous apparition and over the years it has grown into a well sought after story. After that happened I started to become aware that I am not the minority when it comes to spooky happenings in Savannah and this place is known as the most haunted city in America.

Moon River Brewing Company in all it’s glory. This place has been on every paranormal show imaginable and each one has come through with some very creepy footage. What is equally creepy is how all the stories are so similar. It’s not like there are dozens of independent experiences and conflicting sightings. No, just about every person interviewed had like ghostly encounters in the same locations. And one of those location is in the basement where anyone can go, but no one does.

Getting a spot in this place can be tricky but luckily for us we managed to squeeze into a nice two-top just next to the basement stairs with more than an hour to go on the “happy hour” clock. The beers here are incredible and if we didn’t have places to go and ghouls to meet, I would have just camped eating garlic fries and wit beer. But even in beer heaven, my eyes couldn’t leave the dreaded basement stairs and after a couple drinks of courage, I asked our waitress if going downstairs was allowed. She raised her eyebrows, smirked and said, “sure…if you want to”. I did. It’s why I came. The girlfriend, however, was happy to stay with the fries and beer and who could blame her?

I don’t know if all the stories are true and though the “evidence” of a short shadow creature jetting around this place are bone-chilling, I can see how the quiet and musty basement can prod the imagination. But the one thing that I reflect on now is how busy the restaurant was upstairs and I was the only one who was roaming around the famous basement that made shows like Ghost Hunters and Ghost Adventures so credible and popular. I stayed down here for quiet awhile and took pictures and not a single curious patron decided to come down. Weird.

Another strange thing is when I was taking these photographs I made an effort to take straight photos but so many came out crooked. I know that’s not paranormal but I am a little afraid that I may have a leaning problem.

After enough time passed to piss off a girlfriend, I headed up for more libations and people watching, scouring the pictures for orbs, demons, pirate ghosts, thumbs, and Bigfoot. I got nothin’. Luckily, before we left I was able to talk the girlfriend into a quick tour of the basement because I had a little experiment I needed to conduct.

I know that I can seem a little strange and I am thankful I have someone who puts up with me. I needed to have someone take pictures of me actually in this place. I don’t know, it bugs me that I have thousands of pictures and no proof that I was actually even there. Plus, I needed to show this entity the importance of physical fitness through the power of lunges.

Though this particular lunge is wickedly improper, I think that if there is a…thing in the basement, it got the point. What’s the point, you ask? I don’t know. Ask your mom. (Sorry. You don’t have to ask her.)

But did it work? I don’t know. What do you think?

Well, Moon River Brewing Company was a lovely experience, even if we didn’t “experience” anything. But I will say the atmosphere, people, beer and garlic fries makes this place a step up from any place I would want to be. I just like knowing that wit beer can be consumed while touching the ethereal plain.To the Pirate House!

Remember how I was telling you that Savannah was a dark and creepy place? Yeah, this is similar to a lot of the store fronts and this one in particular happens to be a greeting card and collectible shop. My heart sings knowing the fact that these mannequins are probably stored close to the bathroom and scare unsuspecting grandmothers when they search for a bathroom around April. Had it not been closed, I am sure we would be proud owners of magnolia covered greeting cards. Thank you for your window fronts and also for being closed.

The Pirate House. The last time I was here I witnessed a really strange occurrence that to this day I can not explain. There is no possible way to describe the feeling when I look at this place and going inside it was even more intense. When I left this bar almost six years ago my perception of reality was skewed a bit. Not drastically changed but definitely skewed. I really wanted to get skewed again. In a non-obscene way of course.

We barely made the last call and the bartender looked super annoyed which made me even more annoyed. I didn’t come over here to get the same service as an Applebees in Paducah, Kentucky. I was in an establishment that was older than most states, has tunnels that lead to the Savannah River to shanghai unsuspecting colonials, it is IN the book Treasure Island, famous pirates died here and, most importantly, this is where I saw a ghost. If this bartender wants to be pissy I was in no mood. Much like the guy who puts on the Mickey Mouse suit at Disney World and complains about getting hit in the balls every time a kids hugs him, don’t make the dick-face when we come in at last call. It was 10:30! Don’t be in the service industry of a tourist city and be a jerk. You bag of dicks!

Wow, sorry about that. Where was I? Oh yeah, The Pirate House, established when people lived to be forty and could die from a tooth ache.

I soon got over myself and made it clear that I am glad we were there and the bartender should be performing unicycle tricks on a corner in Pakistan. I observed that the bar changed a little from my last visit and the bar-top was no longer stainless steel but wood and they downgraded the size of their television. Other than that, it was like being right back in 2006. I peered at the corner where I watched some…thing race down phantom stairs and block the TV some years prior. But the mood was different. Too many people. Too many noises. So I excused myself to venture around the now empty restaurant.

You have to admit, even without the countless witnesses of ghostly accounts and the dark history of this place, it does look creepy, eh? I don’t know if it’s the low ceilings or the constant musty breeze but it is impossible to not have a feeling that unless you are carrying dinner rolls and menus, you probably shouldn’t be there. The human brain is a quirky thing but it does let you know that something happened in there. Think I am crazy? You wouldn’t be the first.

Well soon it was time to head out but the cool thing about Savannah (besides the three million other things) is you can get your beers to go. That is right, there is no open container law in this town so we got a couple of Ghost Ales and sat outside for a bit and man, it’s even macabre on the outside!

Well, it was getting late and though walking down River Street drinking Wet Willies’ Mind Erasers and brawling with frat kids sounded fun, I am old and it was time to head back to the room and look through pictures. Those days are long past. Today, I am about craft beer, fine food and folklore. I am an adult. Haven’t you read this blog? (har har har)

I No Longer Fear Hell…

…for I have seen Valentines Day.

Now before you ask, I did not plan on ever watching this abortion of a film but I was staying at a friend’s house because I have an office over one hundred miles away from my place (not exaggerating) and that forces me to be a couch hobo from time to time. So, when he informed me his girlfriend was in charge of the movie, I had no choice but to watch…in horror.

Usually I would never admit to seeing this, fearing embarrassment equal to having an involuntary bowel evacuation on the monorail at Disney World but this movie was so cliché’, unimaginative, woman-suffrage-ending, nauseating craptastic and utterly boring, I swear to God it cost me a penal inch. About half way through my fists were so itchy I took a swing at my buddy’s cat. Lucky for it, cat’s have a sixth sense about bad movies and it retreated for the closet. Quick little devil.

So where to begin? The movie follows a number of different people who are all having issues with Valentines Day, ranging from the sappy guy who loves the holiday to the kid who wants to get roses for his sweetheart to the old couple that is having their 50th V-Day. There is about as much creativity as a Christian Mad Libs book here. I am actually pretty impressed with how dumb Hollywood thinks we are and still gets away with it! I mean, fuck, I watched this!

The cast is a diarrhea mix of anyone in the mainstream that will piss off a moderately intelligent person. So let’s break it down one by one. There are a lot of them.

Ashton Kutcher plays a guy who owns a flower shop, loves Valentines Day, proposes to his girlfriend but in a twist gets dumped (when I say twist, I mean like when Scooby Doo catches a ghost and it turns out to be the maid) and ends up with his long time best friend in the end. And he wears pink through the whole movie. I can’t decide who is more annoying; him or his character. I had to be on my best behavior since this wasn’t my place but within the first few minutes of his debut, I telepathically dented my soda can.

I was worried the film would only have one black hole of talent but when George Lopez showed up I breathed a huge sigh of relief. It’s funny but I tend to fall asleep to Nick@Nite and for some reason the George Lopez show is always on infringing on all the good shows. So I change the channel while saying aloud in my best Mexican accent “click” (cleeeeek). Naturally I repeated that when he showed up as one of Ashton’s employees. I didn’t even explain myself.

Okay, so I just looked at the IMDB page and the cast list is so long, if I ripped on every character in this movie, this post would be about 10,000 words and I would be create such a storm of hate, I think my ora would turn a visible tie dye of puke-purple-green and cause a rainstorm in this cafe’. So I will point out a few.

The typical chick-flick cute boy who buys flowers for his fist love in an elaborate display of innocent affection without fear of ridicule from his fellow classmates. Of course it’s not for a girl but the teacher. Shock and twist! But then he gets shot down by the teacher and he is forced to give his $55 dollar bouquet to the Indian girl. If I was a writer for this movie, this kid would be a quadriplegic and bullies would disconnect the battery from his rascal wheelchair and roll him into the girls restroom.

Ah, Jennifer Garner is the teacher of the sweet boy whose misguided crush leads her to her best friend Ashton Kutcher after she learns of her doctor/boyfriend’s double life marriage. She beats the shit out of a paper mache heart filled with chocolate (obviously women’s substitute to prozac on Valentine’s day) with an aluminum bat. God, who is the doctor that would cheat on that walking radar dish? Ooooo, she might hear me

Of course! It’s Dr. McDickless! How could one cast this movie any different? Wait…where is his counterpart, Dr. McDouche?

Oh good, there he is. I was worried that he would be left out from this all-star circus. He plays the quarterback that is in turmoil because he is gay and has to come out. That’s bad news for his agent…

Jessica Beil because she is a depressed single girl on Valentine’s Day that eats chocolate by the pound. Wow. That’s a hell of a character. Way to be an actress of discernment. but there is hope for her because she is falling for a sportscaster who is breaking the gay football hero story and it is none other than…

Jamie Foxx! Is it just me or does this guy look retarded? And by retarded I mean full on Oshkosh overalls and a helmet. I have always thought that and I feel liberated to speak my mind. But his powerful boss doesn’t think so. She is a strong stocky woman who could care less about Valentine’s Day because she couldn’t get laid in a prison with a fist full of pardons. That can only be…

Kathy Bates!

Man, I can’t do this anymore. The list is too long and the characters are too two-dimensional! The only way this movie could take anymore of a turn for the worst would be if Queen Latifah was in it.

Of course she is! Aaaaaaaaaand scene!

Let me end this on a good note. My buddy’s girlfriend cried twice during this movie and that’s okay. Different strokes for different folks and sometimes strokes make people retarded.

Good night folks!

To Get It

God. Life. Getting it.

It’s a wonder how we can stand up right when the winds of discontent and turmoil blow so hard. I’m not sure where to begin when I’m not even sure where it ends? That only makes sense to me but that’s okay; you’ll get it in the end too.

There is a choice you have to make, in everything you do. So keep in mind that in the end, the choice you make, makes you.” – Anonymous

A person I know was very close to me and infrequently visited this blog. I don’t know why but I can only assume it was to check to see what I write and see if she was material. Regardless the reason, she would state that sometimes it was less than accurate from what she experienced at the same event. Writing is a medium to translate how my brain works and what I think. In every situation I look for the humor. If I didn’t, what’s the point of this? It would just be an account of where I have been and what I am doing and even I don’t care about that. She doesn’t get it. And unfortunately never will. That’s a heavy-hearted subject.

“Uncle Bill”

Hello?

Come again?

Come again?

Stay?


Stay awhile,

Stick around awhile,

Stick around

For as long as you can.


Heaven help you,

God help you,

Jesus help you,

Everybody else help you.


Everybody,

Everybody make happy,

Make everybody happy,

Be a comedian.

-Bill Borchardt

I saw American Movie the other day and the elderly Uncle Bill let out a stream of consciousness that moved me so profoundly, I was actually in tears. It relayed hopelessness and hope, life, loneliness and companionship, sadness, humanity, and the conclusion to life, ending up the same we began: alone. Nothing in recent memory made more sense than this and it scared me. I see it all the time in the faces of the institute. People who are put away for a disease they can not control. I see it in the elderly who are left in “homes” and forgotten. I see it in myself when I ask the universal question of “why?”. Kind of funny how things like this mean so much to me, while to others, they basically glaze over. To get it.

I’m not what I ought to be,

Not what I want to be,

Not what I’m going to be,

But I am thankful that I’m better than I used to be.

-John Wooden

Can this be any greater of a poetic statement? It’s a motto and no matter where we end up, if we hold this close to the heart only better will we be. (What kind of Yoda speak is that?)

Well, I think I have made my annual “what’s this all about” post so on to bigger and better with a touch of the insane. Trust me, after this summer, I have a pretty good base of comparison. Someone recently told me they aren’t crazy just mentally hilarious. That is something I can respect. So I will now leave you with the greatest picture I found from an old online news article.

My address is so boring!

2.0

I want to be forgotten,
and I don’t want to be reminded.
You say “please don’t make this harder.”
No, I won’t yet.
“-  The Strokes

So I just got back from a wonderful trip to Seattle which I will post about later. Promise. But this post is about something different. It is about a change in direction. 2.0

Anyway, here is my favorite song of the week. Just rocked an 8 mile run with this on repeat. Very spiritual, especially the end. Enjoy!

Finally. Self-Aware.

At exactly 11:34pm on the 8th of March, 2010, I finally became totally self-aware. I believe it to be like a dog who figured out that his shock collar finally ran out of batteries and he is free to roam around and roll in anything he wants to. And it only took an incredible amount of pain, misunderstandings, drunken forgetfulness, white lies for fear of being labeled something totally opposite of what is and anger. None of this is me. I was never raised to be this. But with this new found awareness comes the responsibility to be more proactive than reactive.

To be more proactive than reactive has not reached complete consciousness with me but I know I have switched gears by my subconscious actions. It’s a feeling and one I am familiar with. Much like the same as when I stopped being panicked when shot at but slow and methodical with calm and a weird peace. I wish there was a word for it. Back then I used to say it was “divine stupidity; commonly mistaken as courage”.  No, I think a real switching of gears happen without control and without objective knowledge. It just does.

So, with that being said, I am now going to tell you about my TA in the class  Neuroscience: Clinical and Behavioral Study. He has a neurological tick that causes him to make high pitch chirps every few seconds. It is mostly like a mild case of  Tourette’s. And I find it funny. Boy, I wish I didn’t. There has been so many times we would be studying his certain neuro disorder and he is in the back of the classroom trying to muffle his “YIP!” every few seconds. I do feel for the guy but irony is my kind of humor. I am now self-aware enough to know I am an incredible asshole.

So, I needed to get that off my chest. I always let you know what is on the noggin. Sometimes I feel the people who don’t know me at all, know me the best. Talk about irony! Waa ha ha ha!

A little something to keep you up at night

I’m In A Mood

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Most of my life I have been in a pretty good mood. I always try to see the bright side of life and even in times of strife, there is usually a tinge of happiness to be found. Call it optimism or call it stupidity, I call it a survival mechanism. But even us “glass half full of beer” people can have moments of “fuck my life”. (That’s my new exclamation. Like it?) Here are some resent MRAAHHH’s!

I love NPR. For those who don’t know what NPR is, it stands for News…ahem…National Public Radio and most liberal arts universities have a relay for it on their campus. I particularly enjoy the evening program, “All Things Considered” which along with news, they have stories on topics rarely discussed in the crap we call news on TV. You can be driving in the most desolate areas of the country but in mind, you are in a hospital far off in the Congo or a kitchen in south Bronx listening to a 15 year old girl who raises all her siblings in the midst of gang violence. This program allows us to understand what many choose not to.

But there is a segment that makes me want to jerk the wheel into a goddamn bridge abutment. It is when they allow authors and poets to read their own work. People who write shouldn’t be allowed to read their stuff, especially those who All Things Consider’s, well, consider. You wouldn’t want Stephen King narrating his stories, would you? He’s as close to a human beaver as it comes.

A particular poet/reader had me fidgeting like a day three meth-trip. She spoke so softly I had the radio volume turned all the way up as she over enunciates every single word. I could only liken this to a woman trying to teach a deaf person to read lips by repeating “EGG! MC! MUF FFFF FFF IN!” This made my patients dip so low I took a huge swig of my boiling coffee, completely forgetting I just bought it and still, as I type, I taste only cardboard. Oh! I forgot, you could hear her nose whistle come through loud and clear. Fuck my life!

I know this is petty but still, given the choice between listen to a smug poet read her work from the next room of a recording booth or having a fat guy eat an apple out of anger over a megaphone in a small bathroom, I would choose the latter.

Text messaging is a great invention. Those of you who read this and actually know me in “real life” know that I abuse texting. To me, it is to the point and it leaves out opportunities to be stuck in a conversation about how someone’s dog ate blueberries from the kitchen table and shit a Jackson Pollock on the living room carpet. But there also is a time and place.

Recently I went out to dinner with a friend. She’s a good person but she is also one of those people who have little regard for other people. I guess everything has come easy to her and it doesn’t occur to her that there are other people on the planet. I tolerate her.

Well, about halfway through dinner she gets into a texting battle that lasts the rest of the meal. My phone went off at least six times but I would never think of that disruption at dinner. She just didn’t get that when two people are at dinner and one is on the phone, that makes the other feel bad. And look bad. By the time she was done I had drunk two shots, had three beers and spelled “suck my ass” in peas upside down on my plate of Pad Tai. Like I said, she can’t help being who she is. That’s why I tolerate her.

Nonverbal facial gestures with eyebrows from someone I don’t know makes me want to reply with nonverbal hand gestures with my middle fingers. I was next in line at the bagel shop and when it was my turn the tattooed, pierced, blue haired dude gave me an eyebrow gesture as if to say, “You are next retard”. I didn’t thank him after the transaction. Showed him. Wait a minute…he didn’t thank me!

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Got my car totally fixed! But in the waiting room I had to watch “The View” on their TV. Don’t even get me started and don’t get me wrong, I am all about women and 100% equality but this show actually removed very important brain cells. When the mechanic was finished he asked for a form of payment and I responded, “Yes. Have some.”

If this makes some people angry, I am sorry. I just lied to you. I’m not and I don’t care. Whoopie needed to stay in the 1980’s. I am still disappointed in Ted Danson because that’s gross, man. That officially killed Cheers.

It just hit me that I am a 31 year old guy, living by myself with a cat in Idaho. I am Jon Arbuckle. Fuck my life.

*Back on track with the Fall theme tomorrow folks! I’ll be in a better mood by then. ;)*

Is This Seat Taken On The…

totg-short-bus2 copy

That’s rights folks, I am back on the short bus going straight to Hardee’s, er, Hades with a front row seat reserved. I guess it is just a perfect end to an amazingly shitty-ass week. I mean, this week was a humdinger. Let’s recount this for posterity sake, shall we?

I have been having tire trouble with my right front for a while. Every so often it loses pressure and though I have had it checked, there was no indication that a hole was in it. So, I concluded that gremlins sneak air out of it in transit because any other explanation could only lead to ridicule from the Les Shwab tire dolts.

gremlintz

Well, I came back from a trip to find it completely flat in the parking lot. Mother fucker. At that point I knew I had to call it quits with the mystery tire and just change it. So I proceeded to get to work. The only issue was that I had a hell of a time trying to get the jack off (haha) the tire mount resulting in a great gash up the wrist. No biggie, I have had worse.

Long story short I managed to get the car jacked up and took the flat tire off. But before I could put the spare on I noticed a strange creaking sound. While I was trying to pinpoint the odd sound there was a terrific POW and the car came crashing down on an empty wheel rotor-thing, nearly severing my flip flopped wearing foot. The jack completely buckled and busted.

Holy shit I nearly shit a shoe! I kid you not that was more nerve racking than getting into a moving accident. Not only did I almost cut/crush my foot in half but now my car was crippled on pavement with a bent brake and tire mount. I have never heard of a jack completely failing like that. Have you? It’s nice to know that 28K car has a $5 jack in it. Someone is getting a letter!

So, yay for triple A. Car is in recovery and I am in credit card debt.

office-space

I like to say that I am a professional firefighter but in the spring, hours and shifts became hard to get so I was forced back into corporate America as an office solution consultant. This week the “said” boss from Vegas took off for his cabin and left me with the glorious responsibility of firing two people. And anyone who knows me, knows that if I, so much as bump into your shopping buggy at the grocery store, I feel like I should load your car, so one can imagine how much I have been looking forward to canning people who look at me as the “wiffleball tony” of the office. (wiffleball Tony is the guy at the picnic that everyone loves and is the one to start the wiffleball game)

One of the guys I really didn’t mind letting go because, to be honest, he sucked. I have about as much use for him as I do a 4 foot novelty monkey wrench and while that sounds harsh, it really is not. He told a client her breasts didn’t look real while fixing her copier. I fired him with extreme prejudice.

The other, it was difficult and when ever I am in a position of awkward difficulty, I get the giggles. Yup. It’s awful and I am definitley bus-bound to the 7th circle. But even though I handled that like a roller skating party for the Nealy School of the Mentally Challenged, I managed to find him possible employment from a competitor. Don’t ask. People owe me favors I suppose.

To cap it all off, yesterday sealed it for me that this week ranks high on the one out of 52 to forget.  I was walking downtown and past a large window front of a small office space. On the window were pictures and at first glance I thought they were employees showing off how much fun it is to work there. I then stopped and focused in on a particularly funny photo that look much like this one:

awkward

I couldn’t help myself. I let out a thunderous laugh that scared birds from trees. It was one of those contagious laughs you see and while you don’t know what is funny, you find yourself laughing to share their joy. But soon my joy was replaced with a cold sweat of embarrassment and shame as I browsed the other photos and looked past the pictures to see people staring back at me with a look of disgust.

Remember how I mentioned earlier about the Nealy School for the Mentally Challenged? Yeah, I was standing infront of their school. When the realization hit me of what I looked like laughing at these pictures I would have rather been in these ten other places at that particular time.

  1. Driving a Baptist Bus around Baghdad
  2. Having a “meet in the middle” banana eating party with 62 year old Russian prostitute.
  3. Farting in a yoga class full of girls
  4. Setting up a PETA booth at the Idaho State Fair
  5. Having a moped accident on live TV
  6. Watching Boogie Nights with my Mom
  7. Getting a job as a stage hand for the Hannah Montana Tour
  8. Cursed with permanent sand grain in mouth
  9. Teaching T Pain grammar lessons
  10. Eating this laptop

I swear on all that is holy I did not know they were retarded. I really thought the guy was just caught in a bad picture. That didn’t seem to matter and any other week I would apologize and make amends but this week proved to be too much. So I ran. I ran hard and fast with tie flapping in the wind. I think karma owes me an IOU for this week.

Think less of me?

The Traitor Pants Died

Typewriterguy

Again, this program is brought to you by the letters “S”, “H”, “I”, and “T”.  Today is a day when we need to salute our shorts in the name of pants-past. I don’t know if you recall, but some time ago I had a favorite pair of pants that, for a brief second, betrayed me in a most egregious way. Well, my motto is to live let live and we soon became friends again; understanding that going commando would never again be an option. I wore them anywhere and everywhere and for an article that was over 6 years old, they held. The funny thing there was never a condition the pants were not suited for. I could wear them on a hike in 90 degree desert climates or trudging through five feet of snow up Mt. Will and be protected from any element. But I killed them.

Usually I have a washer and dryer. A washer to wash and a dryer to dry. But I also am one of those who irons the clothes with the dryer. Since I have moved I have not had the opportunity to get the appliances setup yet so I do it old school and break out the iron and board. That’s where we went wrong.

The traitor pants are made of magic material woven from the finest fairy goo and unicorn mane and most definitely not cotton. I, out of habit, had the iron set to linens. Right when I proceeded to iron them there was an acrid smell and I stated allowed, “Fuck! Smells like monkey burp!”. Then there was smoke.

I killed them. I killed them dead. The hole was instantaneous and not in a place that could be covered or patched. Ironically it was in the same place where I was betrayed by them to begin with. It’s a strange universe we live in folks. Strange indeed.

tombstone

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