Boring, Stupid Stories from my Life

Stupid Story Number One: There's some kind of linguistics experiment going on in our office today . . . everyone's taking turns reading into a tape recorder, this goofy story about a detective traveling up and down the coast, firing a pistol and trying to arrest drug dealers.

Stupid Story Number Two: Remember that post with the little gasoline pump man? Later that night, as I was driving home from Iowa City at two in the morning, my driver's side window slipped away into the rusty abyss of my door. I stopped at every rest stop on Interstate 80 to pull the window back up, becuase it was fucking freezing. I tried holding the glass up, but my fingertips turned cold and stiff and numb. I ended up tearing ass down the road with a hoodie and a jacket and a scarf and gloves, with another jacket pulled from my trunk and thrown over my legs.

Today I took my car in for repairs. They told me not to worry about it, that I could hang out while it was done, but then, after they took it, I was told it would take all day! All day! So I walked home at eight am, underdressed, bitterly cold.

The Bastard Child of Tim and Dave

So many years ago, as many of you know, a filthy street urchin introduced me to the world of manga. He was persecuted for this by holy radicals from an alternate timeline where it was still the dark ages. Years later a futuristic cyber ninja introduced me to Gunsmith Cats and the dank whole in the wall, where the aura ranked of rotten french fries and teenage angst, I began to precure said manga. So fastforward to modern times and I'm still into it. Finding something that me and the significant other can both read is rare. Well we do share an enjoyment of Ranma 1/2. So when she rented this weird love comedy from block buster, I gave it a shot and enjoyed. We now have the entire anime and almost all the manga, it only has eight books and three disk, so it didn't break the wallet open so all the presidents could escape. Now these manga artist like to sometimes put in mini comics staring themselves. And this dude is the Japanese bastard off spring of Tim and Dave. Read right to left like those wacky Japanese do.

CYBER MONDAY!!!

First there was racially insensitive Friday and now this. WTF? WTFH? WTFHIWWP? WTFHIWWPIA? By the way that was "what the fucking hell is wrong with people in America?". We have got to have the most bullshit made up days of any country, that's including the middle east who makes up a holiday every time there's a jihad. Well fucking jihad on Cyber Monday. I'm ready for the Y2K virus to finally kick on. Make them remember what it's like to walk 15 miles in the snow uphill both ways without shoes for a fucking starbucks and we'll see how much these consumer induced sueto-holiday shit last.

The Employee Handbook States that Employees are Allowed Three (3) Acts of Homicide Before Diciplinary Action

If you went shopping today (Day After Thanksgiving) and argued about the price of things on sale, you are very wrong.

I had to cater to a woman who came back THREE times to try to get a correct price of a couple sweaters. I would understand if the sale said the sweaters were a large chunk of change but NO: This lady argued about amounts less then $2.

That was not the only person.

Clearly labelled on the signs: Leather Coats originally $200 now $49. Leather Jackets originally $250 now $99. People either cannot comprehend numbers, words, or the combination of the two. I can't honestly tell you the difference between coats and jackets (probably weight) but COME ON PEOPLE!!! Read the signs. I had to explain very slowly to several freakin' idiots about how the sale works. But...people still tried to haggle. HAGGLE!! So freakin' dumb.

It continues.

We gave out gift cards. The Gift Cards clearly said "ONE CARD PER PURCHASE" but people still tried to pass off two gift cards. But wait: it was one gift card per party. How did people get multiple cards? They are liars and cheaters. I wanted to punch every person who tried to argue with me on this matter (mostly old people, uppity SUV moms, and people who oddly smelled of curry).

More? Okay!

Kids on escalators. NO. Especially the kids who don't speak english. They don't understand " DON'T PLAY ON THE ESCALATORS" and they stare at you like you're speaking the Moon Tongue. We told this freakin' unattentive dad's fivesome 4 times to STOP DOING THAT. I think universally a harsh, strict, and yelling tone means DO NOT DO THAT ACTIVITY. But no...they kept playing on them. Finally we got a spanish speaking associate to tell the dad to watch his kids. Of course, being an unobservant dad and not the TV, the kids ddin't listen. They proceeded to rip toys out of packages and knock displays over.

One last bit:

Grumpy McOldpants doesn't want to spend $3 on parking we don't monitor, run, or are completely associated with. However, we validate 90 minutes of parking. If our validation doesn't work BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T GET IT VALIDATED TO BEGIN WITH, it probably means it's not validated. Tell this to Stinky Pete in all his 30-cat-owning overalled Magesty. He sat there for 30 minutes while our boss tried to figure it out, saying such intelligent phrases as "Fucking shit" "This is bullshit! I ain't fuckin' payin' no Three-God-Fucking-Damned Dollars!!" and other swill that spewed from his decrepid mouth of ill repute.

If I take anything from work, it is the fact I am steadily increasing in patience. I will soon be able to withstand 30 hours of Chinese Water Torture at the rate people piss me off there.

Turkey taste like chicken

Happy Thanksgiving to everybody who gets to eat turkey on this day off. I on the other hand get to go to work. Yes that's right. Autistic people don't take holidays off, though I wish they did. Got to be at work by 2 o'clock florida time. So Tim, make sure you eat a whole pumpkin pie for me. I won't get the chance today. Now I wish I'd taken advantage of the fact that there was no anti-drug policy in place befor. Some pyshodelic tea would hit the spot right now.

Rail Humping

I think the blog clocked another year a day or two ago. No one cares about the blog anymore. It's that child who grew out of it's novelty cute years and is currently in his awkward years and plays D&D all the time to increase his bad acne and be socially appauling, all the while everyone questions the sexuality.

I am not saying D&D is homoerotic or gay. I'm just making a point.

THE REAL POINT TO THIS POST: I found a 2 bedroom apt in walking distance from school, work, and the female friend. $99 deposit and 1050 squah feet. Pretty damn nice, I would say.

Oh, thats right: female friend. Not the type to squat at my place or make me drive 4 hours for nothing, either. The good type.

Youtube video

Poor Nikita.

But I crave brain.

Here's a photo I took at a gas station on the way to Iowa City last week. I know it's blurry as all hell, but the idea is: You're not supposed to leave the car while it's fueling up. I love how jaunty the stick man is as he strolls away.

Yep, I'm home...

I can tell the minute I get in and around my home. Every car you pass, the driver will wave at you. Do I know any of these people?

Nope.

Not at all. At least it's not very likely.

At any rate, I'm home for the week. Strangely enough, I've been digging through old notebooks and sketchbooks while trying to figure out what to write for my lit review. I've discovered my mind is a disturbing tract of land. I stumbled across one bit about a mad town and steak... I was a little confused. To be honest, I don't even recall writing the words, but they are definitly in my handwriting. It's got me feeling sentimental about the past. It's a stupid place to get stuck, I don't recommend it. In any case, being home feels more surreal than it usually does.

If I find anything good (amusing) in the mountain of notebooks and sketchbooks I might share it. Provided there's a scanner here. Not sure about that one.

Back to work with me!

Heart Home Depot. HEART IT!!!

Wii

That's all.

MS Booth Babe

Just try to tell me SQL Girl isn't hot.

Well, I'm almost through the second day of this conference, and I'm pretty much ready to go home. I'm trying to decide whether I thought every session I've been to today sucked because I'm in a foul mood or if I'm in a foul mood because every session I've been to so far today sucked. For my last session, I'm going to go to one that has a known good speaker. If I think this sucks, I'll know it's just me.

Anyway, I've been spending my breaks alternatingly reading news articles about the Cessna crash in Indiana that killed 4 employees from a Des Moines marketing company (two of them were active in the Des Moines .Net user group; I didn't know any of them personally) and the lines to get the Playstation 3. Some apparently started forming on Sunday nationally, and apparently in Des Moines, lines in Wal Mart started forming yesterday morning. I hear my brother is number 6 in line at a Target somewhere. So, he may actually get one for himself.

My underling apparently has a friend out here, so he'll be joiniing him this evening, leaving me free to roam Seattle on my own, at least as far as I can get on foot after this next session.

For those of you who don't know the Washing Machine from Hell story

So a long time ago in the small town of Albia, there lived an adolescent by the name of Nick. This pitiable boy had few friends, making the 7th year of school infuriating. Still there were a few who would associate with him and this is one such tale.

You could often find the boy at his home, the yellow house at the end of G Avenue, playing a current popular video game of the month, gorging on ice cream novelties from the Swan Man. For the Swan Man knew how to prey upon the insecurities of the pre-adolescent. That is a story for another time.

When one person feast upon mint chocolate chip ice cream cones, the over indulgence in dairy causes havoc on that persons digestive system. Now the boy's room is located in the basement of the yellow house, because of refurbishing, a place he could call his own was created with a adjacent bathroom and laundry room.

Now why if there is a bathroom so near does the kid retreat upstairs to use the toilet. Could it be because when ever the kid is home alone, which he often found himself every Wednesday for bowling night, he would catch a glimpse of a shadow from the corner of his eye, but when you looked directly at it, vanished. Perhaps this is the reason. Or the plethora of spiders that lived in the corners.

Before he could make it upstairs the laundry chore beckoned to be finished. Now the clothing in the washer he had leisurely time to go upstairs and become comfortable with the porcelain throne, with Nintendo Power in hand.

Able to lose oneself in their passions, they become less aware of there surroundings. So it is quite easy to become startled. BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG. From within the walls. BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG. Little time to evacuate. BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG. Grab the phone on off the wall on the way out. BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG. Standing out by the mail box, farest point from the house. The kid calls his friend Tim, hysterical at what just occurred.

Now this Tim kid has only know Nick for a year or two. A chance meeting of minds in the lunch line. Butt nuggets and butt cheese covered in butt cream with butt crust pie for desert was for lunch that day. (Inside joke.) Still Tim was compassionate enough to listen to the kids story, although not compassionate enough not to laugh at his misfortune. Once he had the kid calm enough to reenter the house to further investigate. BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG. It still continued. BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG. Coming from the basement. BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG. Coming from the laundry room. BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG. The washing machine was off balanced. With the push of a knob peace is restored to the yellow house, but not to the kids pride. All thanks to the washing machine from hell.

We now return to Showgirls ...on TBS

Crap.





I have a date tomorrow. This very much so means that the Universe jolted up from it's nap and has to catch up on it's furious "Fuck Dave Over" routine. To start off: Lets make Dave get a wisdom tooth! Pain! Then lets make him ride the most sketchy of buses littered with the homeless, the potheads (pronounced poth-heeds) and drunks in the middle of the night. Oh! What next? A fire? A blizzard? Giant robots spewing velociraptors with axe-wielding pedophiles that are covered in SARS? Why not!!!




We have to raise the Terror Alert from Crap, pass Piss and go straight to Fuck.



Fuck.

The Motherfucking PARANORMAL

Martin, I hope you found a proxy (I haven't checked the comments thread on that yet).

I'd be there, but I have the much funnner responsibilty of going to class and turning in a paper that I'm barely halfway through, and that's reaching down my throat and squeezing the life out of my very heart.

The subject: The State of Literary Journals

So far, I've got a rambling five page introduction.

But the reason I'm writing this post: for a final project in a different class, I might write an essay on the paranormal. Specifically, how everyone in my family claims to have seen ghosts, but who otherwise seem totally sane, competent, not-at-all-ghosty. Like, they tell these stories, then immediately slip back into their regular selves; they only mention these things when I ask.

If you have any paranormal experiences, I'd be interested in hearing about them. I'd likely only cover each one very quickly in my essay, so it's not necessary to describe your story with too much detail. Also, you don't need to leave your name unless you're comfortable doing so. Just comment on this post, with a descrip of maybe 20-200 words...basically I just want to know: was it ghost, alien, ouija board, demon, what. Also, how old were you, and if this is something that happens often.

I thought it was O.K

but radioactive waste covered ants just made it that much better. What started off as an interesting concept went over the top and now has achieved that level of funny that only can be reached by a two beer minimum. I want to work at William Street Studios so fucking bad now. I don't care if it is scrubbing urnals with a tooth brush, I just want to be there. I fucking love Frisky Dingo. Go to www.adultswim.com and click the Fix section and watch the latest episode repeatedly till your eyes bleed. Just do it damnit.

One of my roommates from Kirkwood killed himself this weekend. Not Neal or Marty, but Sam. Amish met Sam, I think...

Shit. Now I have to go see him in a very uncool manner. As in he's buried and I'm alive.

I want one, dammit

Anybody in Iowa want to make a few bucks? I want a PS3, but I'm going to be in Seattle most of the week, and I'll be damned if I'll pay the fortune those greedy bastards want on EBay.

Anyway, stand in line for however many hours and get me one, and I'll pay you $150 for your trouble. As a bonus, you can pick my first game for me and play it until I get back on Saturday to claim it. Yes, I know you could sell it on EBay for a frickin' fortune, but you don't want to be a greedy bastard, do you?

If you want to take me up on this foolishness, let me know pretty quick; I leave for Seattle early Tuesday.

My name is Gato. I have metal joints.

I bitch about Youtube postings..but damn it: It's Chrono Trigger!!!

Believe in the Heart of the Cards!

Life is like Taco Bell food: It will never agree with you no matter what the circumstance. There was a poet reading contest tonight at the Coffee Dive whence I hang out with a gaggle of girls at occasionally. This guy, called Ub, had this poem that was very badass about what life is. And he had another poem about Tamagotchis, which are hot as hell if put through a dryer. But he definately made the poetry contest worth it. After all, most modern and indy poetry is about cutting yourself, heroine overdoses, fathers mollesting daughters, and angsty Linkin Park Screaming Infidelities Lone Wolf $4 Girl Crapshitfuckcockandballzery. Yes, Crapshitfuckcockandballzery is a real word as of now. Now. Now. Right now. And ...now. Now. Any time after now. Now. Right this...now. Just then.

I suggest a good ol' Gregorian party. With Gin and Hawkeye.

So...I may or may not have found a penguin.

Not so deep thought.

Wes.
I saw this and thought of you.

Forgive me.

Deep Thought.

Thought.
Not throat.
Buncha sick bastards.

I've got a couple friends (yes, I have friends, dammit!) who happen to be firefighters.
They tell some absolutely wretched tales of death, destruction, chaos, and people being pricks.
But...
God help me...
I think I want in.


I mean, I'm in college.
Still have no clue what I want to do professionally...
But this whole fighting fires and being useful and saving people bit...
It kind of appeals to me.

Planet X Marks The Spot

You all should find this guy's music. And buy it for me. NOW. That's not a request that's a damn demand. Do it or your livers will get it. With my ...well you'll just have to see.

Yeah...you wish you were there.

My Halloween/Necro cotume.