I have hit a wall as far as writing goes. Normally I have an endless amount of bullshit that I rant about, but for right now I'm stuck and fucked.
The one thing I really want to do is continue that short story, "To Hell", but I have no idea where to go from there, not too mention I fucking hate the title now too and want to change it. It seems my creative spring has dryed out.... or there was an oil spill or something in it, at least.
So, instead of my normal stories, I will put up this ranting list about Myspace.com. Don't sign up. Please. There's enough fucktards on there that I think should off themselves already.
On Myspace:
1. If I see one more motherfucker that "TyPeS LyKKE dIs!!!" I will punch someone in the cunt. This doesn't make you cool- it makes you a fucking idiot. Learn to spell, and whatever thing you're doing that makes the capitals turn on and off, stop it. If I could, I would break all the fingers on your left hand so you would have to type normal, like the rest of us.
2. Bitch, you ain't a diva. Know what a diva is? A woman who is eccentric but can sing really well, and so we put up with their bullshit because they can create beautiful sounds. Sorry, you're a nineteen-year-old girl from some shithole town in Jersey who wears too much makeup and has an accent that sounds similar to the noise a cat makes if you stuck a blowtorch up it's ass. On top of that, you think the fact that you are stuck up makes you a diva? No, it makes you a bitch.
3. Hats off to the one dude I saw who just had a picture of him shirtless puking in a toilet, and his display name simply said, "I DRINK GIN". Fuckin right you do, buddy.
4. If you're a woman, and you are so damn insecure that you have to steal another woman's pictures and claim that it's you in the hopes of men thinking you are cool before they find out you're ugly, then you got problems lady.
5. Your band sucks. Seriously. You will never be my friend.
6. I like it when women put up damn near naked pictures of themselves on their profiles. Why? Cause I like naked women. However, don't wonder why men don't respect you after you have a picture of your ass in pink panties pasted all over the internet. Even better is when you have the tramp stamp tattoo right above it, and it says, "Daddy" with a little rose or something. Yes, I bet he's proud of you for that one.
7. Guys who 1) go tanning, 2) get their eyebrows waxed, 3) have steroid acne all over their shoulders, 4) wear sunglasses at night or 5) use umbrellas, you must immediately find an egg slicer, put your balls in it, and be rid of them. We are ugly, mean, and unclean, and once you start using wax to remove your hair, you don't deserve your boys anymore.
8. My song does not run right. It's choppy as hell, and it really takes away from the aura of my page. This pisses me off more than I can tell you.
9. Don't complain about how much your boob job hurts on a bulletin. I have to scrape together quarters tomorrow morning so I can buy a pack of smokes, but you've got enough money that you can get huge fake cans? Yea, your life sucks... I wish my life sucked that much. Give me a break.
***(The only time this is admissible is if you post before and after pictures. Naked. While wearing a cowboy hat.)
10. No, I don't want free ringtones. I hope every one of you that steals my password for that garbage gets ass cancer.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Free Beer from Perverts
I've got nothing really to write about, so I'll put this comic up that my buddy Harry made. It's a bastardized version of "Peanuts" where the characters are actually me and my compatriots. They're pretty funny...especially considering he does all this with just Paint...no photoshop.
"Free Beer from Perverts" -This comic came to me after watching a program on TV with a buddy of mine. The program focused around Cops who pretend to be little kids looking to get funky with weirdoes from the Internet. I took it one step further figuring with my buddy we that can get these Perverts to show up with beer in tow... the rest became Legend.
"Free Beer from Perverts" -This comic came to me after watching a program on TV with a buddy of mine. The program focused around Cops who pretend to be little kids looking to get funky with weirdoes from the Internet. I took it one step further figuring with my buddy we that can get these Perverts to show up with beer in tow... the rest became Legend.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Wino...Soon you got to choose
I call him three times on the way to the house to find out if we need beer. Three fucking times. I figure that being as he said we could pregame there, he'd have beer, but I just wanted to make sure. Fuck it.
I walk in the house, and see him empty handed at his computer.
"Motherfucker, don't even tell me you don't have beer."
"I thought you were getting it."
"I called you three times to ask you dick, and you didn't pick up."
"Oh. I lost my phone..."
I light a cigarette and pace around the room, because I really don't want to drive back out to get beer, even though the place is only maybe five minutes away.
"Well, I got a lot of wine."
"I hate wine."
"Yea, but it's free...and it's here."
I grimace...but it's free, and it's the only thing that we have. "Alright. Fine. Get a fuckin bottle."
He goes into the garage. "What kind you want?"
"I don't know. Red stuff. Who cares?"
He grabs a bottle, and then goes unpstairs to find a corkscrew. Like the pictures of absolute class that we are, he pops it open and takes a huge swig, then hands it to me. I do the same, and shake my head after it to
"Man, I fucking hate red wine."
"We got white, too."
"I hate that more."
We've got to get a ride to the bar, which is a little over a half hour away, because neither of us will be in any shape to drive later on and we're both cruising for #2 on DWI's if we take the chance. Of course, we've actually got to be already drunk to get any sympathy from anybody. Eventually a girl I know tells me she'll give us a ride in a half hour, and suddenly it dawns on me that we're not drunk like we've been telling everyone.
"Paul, if we're telling her that we're wine drunk, then we better be drunk when she gets here."
"Shit, you're right." He looks at the clock. It's 9. "Damnit, we better get moving."
In between pounding this stuff, somehow James Joyce comes up. We agree that Portrait of an Artist As a Young Man is one of the best books around, and also that though Finnegan's Wake was complete bullshit, we both wish that we were 1) smart enough to write a book in half Latin, half French, and half Gaelic, and 2)famous enough that people would study the book for years trying to decipher our bullshit like scholars do with that fucking book.
By 9:15 the first bottle is gone. He looks at another one on the table, then looks at me.
"Shall we?"
"But of course."
He pops the second bottle, and we're both feeling a little...merry.
The girl gets there with her compatriot, who is having a tough time believing that me and Paul are 1) on our second bottle of wine in fifteen minutes or 2) arguing about literature of the Irish Renaissance period because neither of us look like we're all that educated, and you certainly can't tell from our vocabulary that revolves around the words, "Fuck" and "You".
Paul's eyes are bloodshot when he hands me a medicine bottle. "Take some of these."
"What are they?"
"B12. It'll make you feel better tomorrow when you're hungover." He looks at the empty bottles. "Cause we're gonna have a hell of a hangover."
I take a few and wash them down with wine. Ten minutes later this bottle is gone. As we get up to walk to the car, I light another smoke and feel my stomach twisting into a knot.
"Paul, I think that B12 is bothering my stomach."
"It's probably the wine."
"Nah, it's definitely the B12."
Later on, we will add this bar to the growing list of those that the NJBA is banned from after we almost get into a Braveheart-esque brawl with the bouncers, who threaten immediately to call the cops because they're outnumbered heavily (although the odds are they would have killed us, because I watch my two of my buddies yell at the bouncers, screaming and threatening...and then just fall down because they're hammered).
Anyway, I don't want to get into specifics, but certain people (the bouncers) are fucking cocksuckers at this certain bar in North Jersey (Park City Bar in Rutherford). Don't go there.
I walk in the house, and see him empty handed at his computer.
"Motherfucker, don't even tell me you don't have beer."
"I thought you were getting it."
"I called you three times to ask you dick, and you didn't pick up."
"Oh. I lost my phone..."
I light a cigarette and pace around the room, because I really don't want to drive back out to get beer, even though the place is only maybe five minutes away.
"Well, I got a lot of wine."
"I hate wine."
"Yea, but it's free...and it's here."
I grimace...but it's free, and it's the only thing that we have. "Alright. Fine. Get a fuckin bottle."
He goes into the garage. "What kind you want?"
"I don't know. Red stuff. Who cares?"
He grabs a bottle, and then goes unpstairs to find a corkscrew. Like the pictures of absolute class that we are, he pops it open and takes a huge swig, then hands it to me. I do the same, and shake my head after it to
"Man, I fucking hate red wine."
"We got white, too."
"I hate that more."
We've got to get a ride to the bar, which is a little over a half hour away, because neither of us will be in any shape to drive later on and we're both cruising for #2 on DWI's if we take the chance. Of course, we've actually got to be already drunk to get any sympathy from anybody. Eventually a girl I know tells me she'll give us a ride in a half hour, and suddenly it dawns on me that we're not drunk like we've been telling everyone.
"Paul, if we're telling her that we're wine drunk, then we better be drunk when she gets here."
"Shit, you're right." He looks at the clock. It's 9. "Damnit, we better get moving."
In between pounding this stuff, somehow James Joyce comes up. We agree that Portrait of an Artist As a Young Man is one of the best books around, and also that though Finnegan's Wake was complete bullshit, we both wish that we were 1) smart enough to write a book in half Latin, half French, and half Gaelic, and 2)famous enough that people would study the book for years trying to decipher our bullshit like scholars do with that fucking book.
By 9:15 the first bottle is gone. He looks at another one on the table, then looks at me.
"Shall we?"
"But of course."
He pops the second bottle, and we're both feeling a little...merry.
The girl gets there with her compatriot, who is having a tough time believing that me and Paul are 1) on our second bottle of wine in fifteen minutes or 2) arguing about literature of the Irish Renaissance period because neither of us look like we're all that educated, and you certainly can't tell from our vocabulary that revolves around the words, "Fuck" and "You".
Paul's eyes are bloodshot when he hands me a medicine bottle. "Take some of these."
"What are they?"
"B12. It'll make you feel better tomorrow when you're hungover." He looks at the empty bottles. "Cause we're gonna have a hell of a hangover."
I take a few and wash them down with wine. Ten minutes later this bottle is gone. As we get up to walk to the car, I light another smoke and feel my stomach twisting into a knot.
"Paul, I think that B12 is bothering my stomach."
"It's probably the wine."
"Nah, it's definitely the B12."
Later on, we will add this bar to the growing list of those that the NJBA is banned from after we almost get into a Braveheart-esque brawl with the bouncers, who threaten immediately to call the cops because they're outnumbered heavily (although the odds are they would have killed us, because I watch my two of my buddies yell at the bouncers, screaming and threatening...and then just fall down because they're hammered).
Anyway, I don't want to get into specifics, but certain people (the bouncers) are fucking cocksuckers at this certain bar in North Jersey (Park City Bar in Rutherford). Don't go there.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Winter and Not working
When your job is nearly completely dependent on the weather, it can make for some boring times. Right now, there is a blistering ice storm outside that is raining BB's on New Jersey, and I, again, am out of work for the day. When you only work for three days a week to begin with, and you've been going stir crazy for the last couple days anyway....
Winter is like jail. I have little to do except eat, sleep, and lift. While this might not be a bad thing for me, I can't wait until Spring.
Did I ever tell you fuckers that I hate winter?
Winter is like jail. I have little to do except eat, sleep, and lift. While this might not be a bad thing for me, I can't wait until Spring.
Did I ever tell you fuckers that I hate winter?
Monday, February 12, 2007
The Return from Montreal
Sometime in January
We were an hour into the thick New York state night when I began hallucinating. I hadn't done any drugs in at least three days, but I had been drinking heavily and not sleeping more than four hours at a time, and so now, here, I leaned against the cracked window of Chud's terrible smelling Hyundai SUV with a cigarette dangling from my mouth listening to the comedy station on Sirius. He is half awake in the passenger seat, and he's already driven for four hours, three and a half of them being through customs because Canada sucks.
He burps, and a tremendous wave of nuclear gas rolls out of his stomach, and now I know how the people that lived next to Chernobyl felt. I look at him, and I'd be glaring if I could open both bloodshot eyes at the same time. My kids will have three legs and four fingers because I breathed that in.
"If you do that again, I swear to Christ I will run us right into a tree and kill everyone in the car. You don't want to be responsible for that, now you do you, Chud?"
"Sorry dude." He makes a funny noise, then settles back into his disgustingness.
I am trying to focus on the road. Chris Rock is making fun of white people and some crowd made up of mostly white people is eating it up. I love Chris Rock, but hate the people that think he's funny. It's exactly the opposite with Dane Cook.
The sign ahead is green, glaring, and large; a city is coming. I want to look, but if I look it will take me four seconds to focus on the road again, and that means we may all die when I miss the lines. I t's 8:30...FUCK I looked at the clock, I may as well look at the sign because if we're going to die, it's going to happen anyway now.
Albany. 136 miles from New York City. We live about 30 miles from New York city, so that means it's 106 to where we live. If I go 60 miles an hour, it will take around two hours and we will have traveled 120 miles. Fuck, that means we overshoot home.
- Dumbass you wouldn't overshoot home
- Oh.... right.
If I do seventy, it will take less time, but the math is too complicated for me to figure out and all I know is that we may be back by 10 if I can keep going 70 but if I go 80 we may somehow end up in Atlantic City (don't argue). I look at the clock and it's 8:32. FUCK.. LOOK AT THE ROAD! NOT THE CLOCK, THE ROAD! Damnit now you can't see anymore.
Four seconds later my eyes refocus. Good. We're still on the road. I really don't want to kill all of us. Chud wouldn't care, but the two in the backseat would and I, for one, would be mortified.
Chud wakes up and burps again, and I start yelling and swerving.
"What the fuck did I tell you motherfucker? Do you want to die? Is that what you want? Because I will drive this motherfucking car right into that motherfucking tree. See that one?" I'm pointing at a big dead thing that towers over the highway. "Yea, that one."
Fuck, I looked away and now I can't see the road again.
"Sorry dude."
I light another cigarette.
This must be what acid is like, minus the green leprachaun that I am sure would be hanging out with me if I was on it. He'd be a better conversationalist then Chud.
By the time we make it home at 11 o'clock (I have no idea how this happened, because my math and ETA's were flawless), I had drove for three hours, my eyes circulating between the clock, the road markers, and the chalkboard in my head figuring out how long till we got home.
Eventually, I can't see the signs anymore and pull over, and make one of the other guys drive, telling them that if they like living they will get my exhausted ass out of the driver's seat.
We were an hour into the thick New York state night when I began hallucinating. I hadn't done any drugs in at least three days, but I had been drinking heavily and not sleeping more than four hours at a time, and so now, here, I leaned against the cracked window of Chud's terrible smelling Hyundai SUV with a cigarette dangling from my mouth listening to the comedy station on Sirius. He is half awake in the passenger seat, and he's already driven for four hours, three and a half of them being through customs because Canada sucks.
He burps, and a tremendous wave of nuclear gas rolls out of his stomach, and now I know how the people that lived next to Chernobyl felt. I look at him, and I'd be glaring if I could open both bloodshot eyes at the same time. My kids will have three legs and four fingers because I breathed that in.
"If you do that again, I swear to Christ I will run us right into a tree and kill everyone in the car. You don't want to be responsible for that, now you do you, Chud?"
"Sorry dude." He makes a funny noise, then settles back into his disgustingness.
I am trying to focus on the road. Chris Rock is making fun of white people and some crowd made up of mostly white people is eating it up. I love Chris Rock, but hate the people that think he's funny. It's exactly the opposite with Dane Cook.
The sign ahead is green, glaring, and large; a city is coming. I want to look, but if I look it will take me four seconds to focus on the road again, and that means we may all die when I miss the lines. I t's 8:30...FUCK I looked at the clock, I may as well look at the sign because if we're going to die, it's going to happen anyway now.
Albany. 136 miles from New York City. We live about 30 miles from New York city, so that means it's 106 to where we live. If I go 60 miles an hour, it will take around two hours and we will have traveled 120 miles. Fuck, that means we overshoot home.
- Dumbass you wouldn't overshoot home
- Oh.... right.
If I do seventy, it will take less time, but the math is too complicated for me to figure out and all I know is that we may be back by 10 if I can keep going 70 but if I go 80 we may somehow end up in Atlantic City (don't argue). I look at the clock and it's 8:32. FUCK.. LOOK AT THE ROAD! NOT THE CLOCK, THE ROAD! Damnit now you can't see anymore.
Four seconds later my eyes refocus. Good. We're still on the road. I really don't want to kill all of us. Chud wouldn't care, but the two in the backseat would and I, for one, would be mortified.
Chud wakes up and burps again, and I start yelling and swerving.
"What the fuck did I tell you motherfucker? Do you want to die? Is that what you want? Because I will drive this motherfucking car right into that motherfucking tree. See that one?" I'm pointing at a big dead thing that towers over the highway. "Yea, that one."
Fuck, I looked away and now I can't see the road again.
"Sorry dude."
I light another cigarette.
This must be what acid is like, minus the green leprachaun that I am sure would be hanging out with me if I was on it. He'd be a better conversationalist then Chud.
By the time we make it home at 11 o'clock (I have no idea how this happened, because my math and ETA's were flawless), I had drove for three hours, my eyes circulating between the clock, the road markers, and the chalkboard in my head figuring out how long till we got home.
Eventually, I can't see the signs anymore and pull over, and make one of the other guys drive, telling them that if they like living they will get my exhausted ass out of the driver's seat.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Keep on keepin on
Well we started shooting hoops,
Now we're sipping Black and Tans
From the park to the pub
Was the course we ran.
The times have changed, but friends remain
My heart and soul's with you
Cause one thing's for sure, i always swore,
I'd never turn my back on you-
Never turned our backs,
Stuck together through and through,
The times have changed,
But my heart and soul's with you
Wouldn't turn your backs
And you didn't walk away
We'd never run,
We'd stand as one,
And this is what we'd say:
Times were tough,
But the memories remain
Situations rough,
But we overcame.
Side by side, one for all,
Together we grew
Cause when it's said and done,
I'll look back on friends like you
When I was down and I was out
And no one liked my games,
One too many fights and bloody night
For which i was to blame
But you wouldn't turn your backs
And you didn't walk away
Cause we'd never run We'd stand as one
Until this very day
Never turn our backs
Together through and through
The times have changed,
But my heart and soul's with you
Wouldn't turn your backs
And you didn't walk away
We'd never run, we'd stand as one
Until this very day
I just watched the Green Mile for the first time in a long while, and am stunned by it. The first time I saw it, I may have been too young to truly appreciate what was going on, or maybe I didn't want to hear the message.
That message was that no matter what happens, there is hope. Hope for everything. For happiness. For freedom. For strength. For humanity...and for me. There are times when life beat me down so much I didn't know if I'd ever be the same. And I wasn't... but then that's the trick. I'm not supposed to be the same, I'm supposed to learn, and take away things, hard lessons that I would not have learned or taken to heart if I hadn't been hurt so badly.
There are some out there that are seriously worried about me. Don't be. Like anything else, I will put my head down and keep on going. I fuck up a lot, and hurt a lot of people when I do, but I'm learning. I'm much weaker than I thought I was, and the fact that I'm still alive now is a testament to the strength of those around me, and the indominable spirit that has been infused into me in the last few years.
We fight the good fight.
NJBA- Never Alone.
Yes, I'm getting very sentimental lately. I must be on the rag or something...don't worry, I will get over it soon.
Now we're sipping Black and Tans
From the park to the pub
Was the course we ran.
The times have changed, but friends remain
My heart and soul's with you
Cause one thing's for sure, i always swore,
I'd never turn my back on you-
Never turned our backs,
Stuck together through and through,
The times have changed,
But my heart and soul's with you
Wouldn't turn your backs
And you didn't walk away
We'd never run,
We'd stand as one,
And this is what we'd say:
Times were tough,
But the memories remain
Situations rough,
But we overcame.
Side by side, one for all,
Together we grew
Cause when it's said and done,
I'll look back on friends like you
When I was down and I was out
And no one liked my games,
One too many fights and bloody night
For which i was to blame
But you wouldn't turn your backs
And you didn't walk away
Cause we'd never run We'd stand as one
Until this very day
Never turn our backs
Together through and through
The times have changed,
But my heart and soul's with you
Wouldn't turn your backs
And you didn't walk away
We'd never run, we'd stand as one
Until this very day
I just watched the Green Mile for the first time in a long while, and am stunned by it. The first time I saw it, I may have been too young to truly appreciate what was going on, or maybe I didn't want to hear the message.
That message was that no matter what happens, there is hope. Hope for everything. For happiness. For freedom. For strength. For humanity...and for me. There are times when life beat me down so much I didn't know if I'd ever be the same. And I wasn't... but then that's the trick. I'm not supposed to be the same, I'm supposed to learn, and take away things, hard lessons that I would not have learned or taken to heart if I hadn't been hurt so badly.
There are some out there that are seriously worried about me. Don't be. Like anything else, I will put my head down and keep on going. I fuck up a lot, and hurt a lot of people when I do, but I'm learning. I'm much weaker than I thought I was, and the fact that I'm still alive now is a testament to the strength of those around me, and the indominable spirit that has been infused into me in the last few years.
We fight the good fight.
NJBA- Never Alone.
Yes, I'm getting very sentimental lately. I must be on the rag or something...don't worry, I will get over it soon.
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