I’m a wiener!

So Trena over at You me and a Baby had herself a little competition. She had in her possession two Rachael Ray cook books which she no longer used/wanted, and decided to give them away. All you had to do was leave a kitchen related story in the comments, and it counted as one entry, and she would number all the entries and randomly select one on the cut off day, which was yesterday. Well, besides my love of Rachael Ray’s face/ass/cooking, I also have a wicked competitive streak. Most of the time I’m pretty chill, but once you get me competing in something, I tend to get carried away. I believe there were three other stories posted, and I posted something in the neighborhood of ten stories. I did not want to lose! And I didn’t, cause I’m a wiener. Sorry to everyone who got left in my dust, I’ll think of you while I’m eating all the delicious new food I can cook.

This will be a retelling of the entries I submitted, with a little more elaboration wherever I feel like it, cause it’s my blog, and I can do whatever I want dammit! Also, I apologize in advance because once these suckers were strung together, I realized it was a freaking long ass post. So if you have something important to do, or you don’t feel like reading right now, or you need to pee, save this post for a later date.

Entry 1:

This one time, I was at my brothers bachelor party, which was being held at his home. Everyone got pretty liquored up, and at some point in the evening my brother went sprinting across the back yard in bare feet. Well he lived in the ghetto, so there was broken glass everywhere. He got a small, I repeat small cut on hit foot and began bitching and moaning for half an hour or so.

well I got tired of hearing it and told him to man up and shut up. We were back in the kitchen taking shots, and there was this brand new knife set, I think they got it for the bridal shower thingy. Anyway, to illustrate that getting cut didn’t mean you needed to cry about it, I grabbed one of the sharp new knifes and slammed it down on my finger.

In retrospect, this was not a well though out plan. Fortunately, the bone stopped the blade before it chopped off my pointer at the finger nail, but I learned to respect cutlery that day, and now play around with sharp knives much less than before.

The best part was that Sami, his fiance, (wife now) called right then. And he was all like, “Oh hey baby. Yeah we’re doing good, yeah everyone is having fun. Hey look I gotta go, Josh is getting blood all over the kitchen.” *click* It was pretty funny hearing her side of the conversation when she got home.

Entry 2:

I was in high school, that lovely awkward gangly time between boyhood and manhood. I was high as hell and I needed something delicious in my belly. So I sauntered over to the fridge and peeped around for a while before I settled on some spaghetti. I picked up the pot full of spaghetti sauce which was covered only in plastic wrap, and as I turned to carry it over to the counter, I stepped in a puddle of melted ice and completely busted my ass. The sauce, which I tried mightily to save, landed flat on my chest and shot straight up. It made this perfectly circular splat on the ceiling, pausing only momentarily before it came plunging back down all over me. Despite the fall, I only really injured my pride. I might have even been able to laugh at myself if cleaning it all up weren’t such a pain in the ass.

Edit: this actually happened to my lawyer friend, Golden Boy, but in the interest of winning some cook books, I borrowed it for the entry.

Entry 3:

Oooh, I just remembered a good one from my early bachelor days living in this wild party house that my friends still give me hell about, four years later. I had been watching the Food Network a lot, and there was a documentary on sandwiches with Alton Brown I think. Anyway, I was all hot and heavy for sandwiches since I had been blessed with all this sandwich related knowledge. My head got big and I was sure I could make the best sandwich ever. So I began thinking about what sort of sandwich I could make that no one would have ever had, but would be delicious.

I eventually landed on lobster. I mean, lobster is really really good, but you never see it in between bread. What the hell! It became my mission, at least until I went to Food Lion and saw how much lobster costs. I was on more of a raman noodles and pbj sandwich sort of budget. So I splurged on a compromise. I went with crawdads. Now I don’t know anything about cooking crawdads. I had never attempted it before. In fact, until that day I had never even had one. But I figured crawdads were like tiny little lobsters, right? Wrong!

What I ended up with was only barely a sandwich. The crawdad was burnt to hell, with lots of guts and shell fragments all in the meat. (btw, how can a crustacean that large have that little actual meat on it? lame!) It stunk up the house like nasty seafood for a week, and my hell-wich was so greasy and gnarly that I ended up getting sick from it. And I was that bachelor dude who was famous for eating anything, no matter how old it was, and not getting sick.

Well I still haven’t ever made myself a lobster sandwich, but I guarantee you one day, I WILL sink my teeth into one. And it will be delicious, and no one who made fun of me for my crawdad catastrophe will get to try any. (that means you Kenny!)

Entry 4:

As a kid, come holiday time we would all help my mom with some of her cooking. She liked getting everyone involved, not because little kids are actually helpful, but because for some reason females enjoy children. Don’t ask me why, I have no idea.

So we were making some peanut brittle, and I measured out the ingredients. We go to cooking, and the smell of fresh sweets is filling the house. Our little kid mouths are sloppy with drool, and we’re bouncing off the walls to get something tasty in our gullets, like pronto.

The peanut brittle comes out, finally cools, and we all get a piece. Immediately upon entering our collective face holes, all of it is spit back on the counter/table/floor. Whatever was in front of us. That was the first time I learned you have to be very careful when reading the measurement of ingredients. I apparently switched the portions for salt and sugar. What came out was in no way peanut brittle, but more like something you would use to bait deer or melt ice off your sidewalk.

Entry 5:

I have worked at a plethora of restaurants and fast food joints in my time. The most notable of which was at Little Caesars. The thing that made that job cool was that my super good friend for many years, Kenny, was the General Manager. Once he got the position he just began hiring all of his friends to work there. And we screwed around a lot. I mean a LOT! Not that we slacked off, we were actually the best store in the district, but we had a lot of fun when we worked.

Namely we would create fun games and activities to do whilst the store was slow. We had dough ball HORSE. (I loved dough ball HORSE) Once we played I Believe in a Thing Called Love by The Darkness for four hours straight. And we forced all the employees to stop whatever they were doing and clap over their head when this one part came on. They eventually mutinied and told us to change the music or they were all quiting, but it was fun.

Edit: I fucking love this song. To this day I can still sing along to every word, and every note of every guitar solo. And the video is one of my all time favorites. And much like the Sponge Bob video I posted recently, this one has a guitar that shoots lightning. Plus there are monsters. And I don’t care how homoerotic the beginning is, I want a giant hairy monster to hand dry me when I get out of my space jacuzzi.

I started a trend where we would draw off color cartoons and elaborate line art all over our time card, to the point where it was difficult to read. Corporate put a stop to that though. We drank in the back. I put up a porn poster over the sexual harassment poster in the bathroom. Apparently you can get fired for that. But I wasn’t.

We had a hurricane roll through, and we constructed a sail out of LC signs. We then went out to the parking lot and shopping-cart-surfed in the hurricane. That was really fun.

But the most memorable game we created was one we called Pocker. That’s short for fiery pan hockey soccer, a fun indoor sport for the whole family. We had found this weird grate that fit into the top of our pans, but we had no idea what it was for. I guess it must have been a relic from some long discontinued menu item. Anyway, we would spray down the floor with water, so it was really slippery. Then we would fill the pan with packed up tissue paper, cover it with the grate, douse it in WD40, and light it on fire. then we would kick the Pocker puck around the kitchen until it went out or a customer showed up. Basically there was no points or rules, except try not to light anything else, including yourself, on fire.

Turns out Pocker is also a great game for that time of the year when your yard is covered in snow or ice. The pan really slides a long way. One of our privacy bushes met an untimely death that winter, but it was well worth it. Pocker: I salute you!

Entry 6:

My first bowl met his maker in the kitchen of a Chic-Fil-A. Yes, the drug paraphernalia kind of bowl, not the cereal kind. You see, I was young and cock sure and I wasn’t scared to tell anyone that I loved me some weed, and argue some of the finer points of the marijuana legalization debate. Well, I was working my first job then at the uber Christian chicken sandwich joint called Chic-Fil-A. And on a regular basis I would get into arguments about how pot should be legal and it wasn’t bad to smoke it and everyone should try. Blah, blah, blah.

Well one evening when we were just about finished cleaning up the restaurant, one of my managers called me to the side and asked me if I had my bowl on me. And I wanted to know why, so he told me he was just curious because he had never seen one before and he wasn’t sure what they looked like or how they worked. So I pulled mine out and handed it over. He ooohed and aaaahed for a minute as I showed him how perdy it was, and how you would operate the thingamajig with the hoonanny.

He went to hand it to me, and since God hates me, my hands were all covered in grease and whatnot from cleaning. Poor old Baby Blue slipped right out of my fingers and fell to the floor, shattering into a hundred pieces. I then had to grab the biggest pieces, (to salvage the resin) and clean up the rest before the kitchen filled with the reek of stank ass resin. I didn’t get in trouble, but I did lose my Baby Blue. I’ll see her again in heaven. RIP Blue.

Edit: for those of you who don’t smoke weed, go smoke some and stop being such a square. For those of you who aren’t familiar with drug paraphernalia, or who aren’t familiar with american slang for drug paraphernalia, here is a picture of what my bowl looked like. Well, at least the closest I could find, but it’s almost exactly how I remember Blue. And hot damn, looking around at all these pictures of people smoking up to find this picture really reminded me how much I loved pot. I miss it. I’ll have to post about that soon.

Entry 7:

I lived at this party house out on the edge of the county for a while. And in our kitchen we had a lot of fun. Just imagine four or five alcoholic men in their early twenties living with no female supervision and doing whatever they wanted. It was awesome.

First of all, there was a kitchen couch. Not a table to eat at, a couch. I loved that couch. The guy who owned the house hooked up with this nasty succubus who stole his nads and had him pussy whipped like hell, so we changed kitchen couch to porch couch, and eventually bonfire couch.

Second, we had this gigantic pink rubber dildo on a stick called Wibbly Peen, and we would pull it down from the top of the refrigerator and chase people with it at parties. We even made a short movie about Wibbly Peen, where it bacame a zombie peen and ran around killing people to get revenge for being chopped off, sort of like Ron Jeremy meets Jason Voorhees.

Third, we had a wall for throwing knives at. Well, I should say mostly throwing knives at, and occasionally getting drunk and throwing other things at, or just tackling. The wall even became a news set for the Wibbly Peen movie, and we drew news blocks on it, so we could be filmed like news anchors.

Me and Kenny decided we wanted to cover the entire ceiling in beer bottle caps. That lasted about one square foot before the succubus discovered what we were doing and ordered our cessation. And again, that wretched woman told us we had to either fix the knife throwing wall, or cover it up. So we put up a twister board over it, and changed it to “Naked Ass Twister Yo”. She wasn’t really happy, but we kept it.

Lastly, I threw up on a lesbians face in that kitchen. It was sort of like 2 girls 1 cup, but less gross, at least for me. She was surprising cool about it.

Oh yeah, and a lot of illegal tattoos were given in that kitchen too. Good times, good times.

Edit: This was all back when I lived With my good friend Kato out in Fuquay. I’ll definitely have to tell some more stories from that house. Those were some crazy fucking years. Imagine Animal House, but with less regard for safety, and more drinking.

Entry 8:

In fact that same bachelor pad kitchen seemed to be a poon tang magnet. I saw no less than three vaginas in that room, just by asking. Seriously, some chick I didn’t know would walk in and I would say, “Hey woman, show me your *expletive deleted*”. I was joking of course, never intending to actually see any of those magnificent meat lockers. I mean, I wasn’t friends with these chicks, so who cares if they get offended right? They can go bang whoever they came around to bang if they don’t like what’s going on in the kitchen. But I was shocked at how well a simple approach like asking worked. Yes indeed, me and the stove saw a lot of pink tacos. It probably didn’t hurt that the beer was located there. (in the kitchen, not the stove)

Entry 9:

I overdosed on speed in a kitchen once. I was broke and at my friends house, and his drugs were laying out. So I grabbed some pills whilst he was relieving himself. Well it turns out the pills were wicked strong, and I overdosed. I barfed for a while and passed out and sweated and convulsed, and eventually woke back up and got myself a beer and got back in the foosball tournament I was missing. I lived, obviously, but I never stole any drugs again. All thanks to a kitchen floor and some mystery speed.

Entry 10:

And speaking of weird drug experiences in the kitchen, I also learned a cool trick at my friends home. You see their mom was sort of a bad person, so she didn’t really care what we did. Well it turn out that if you need to burn something organic, and inhale the smoke, all you need is a range top, two butter knives, and a two liter bottle. You cut the top 1/3rd off the bottle, heat up one butter knife to red hot on the range top, and touch it to the afore mentioned plant matter which is resting on the second butter knife. Then you just hold the bottle top, which should be in your mouth, right over the smoking mass, and viola, you’ve got yourself a ghetto fabulous, waterless, gravity bong sort of thing in the kitchen. Minus the gravity, or the bong.

Entry 11: 

Here’s a good unobjectionable one. My parents live near some woods, and one night we found a baby copper head next to the front steps. Well I wanted to save him, but my parents didn’t want poisonous snakes near the house, so me and my mom went to catch it. She pinned his head with one of those little hand shovels for planting flowers, and I grabbed the neck of the poor little guy. We threw him in a bucket filled with acetone to suffocate him overnight. I thought it was a pretty crappy way to die, but they wanted the body intact. Well the next day we pulled him out and examined the critter. It was definitely a bad ass little snake. It died in the strike position, with it’s fangs out, dripping venom when we squeezed the head. So My mom kept it in a jar full of rubbing alcohol on the kitchen counter, next to the sink, to show all the kids who came over so they could be able to recognize what a copperhead looks like. One day I’ll catch a live one and keep that, but copperheads are pretty dangerous, so it will have to be some time when I don’t have a girlfriend or children around.

Lost in the Television

So I went to court today and sat there for the entire afternoon. Many many hours. But they were too busy to get to my case today, so it got continued. You see, my last name starts with a letter way at the end of the alphabet. sometimes that’s nice, like when you get seated in the back of a class room. But sometimes, like when you have to wait in court, it is kind of lame. But I was glad today because that means I get to be a free man for the holidays! Woo hoo!

So I went out to celebrate tonight at Thirsty Thursday. But when I got there I was kidnapped to go deliver some pot, and I was gone for a half an hour or so. And when I got back, we only stayed about another hour before Nate and Sami decided they were ready to come home, and having no vehicle of my own (fuck you cops) I had to come back with them. And now they’re watching Lost in the front room, shit I haven’t seen yet, so I have to stay back here and occupy my time. So much for celebration you dream crushing bastards. Oh well, at least we have beer.

So while we were at the bar, I found out that my friend Lennon was in a nasty car wreck yesterday. He got in an accident somehow, and ended up rolling his truck five times. He was all fucked up. And he was supposed to play bongos and sung back up vocals for the live show. I mean, his ankle was all wrapped up, and his hand was swollen to twice the normal size with a cast and shit. It was sick. but he was a total trooper. He tried playing the bongos for a while (aka one song) and it was too painful. So he unwrapped his arm, put the cast on in a different position, took one ace bandage off his leg to pad his left forearm, and played most of his drums with one hand, only playing simple bass notes with his cast. It was awesome.

So anyway, I’m a big fan of the show Lost. I watched the entire first season when it originally aired on TV. But since I’ve been a slave for the last seven years, I missed the second season when it aired. I was washing my masters feet or cleaning out the stables or something, I don’t remember. But if you have ever seen the show, you will know that much like 24 or Heroes, you can’t miss more than one episode without being completely ,well, lost.

But I recently found out that my baby brother had both season two and season three on DVD. So under penalty of death I convinced him to let us borrow them so we could catch up. And for the last four days, both of the TV’s in our house have been airing different seasons simultaneously as I watched season 2 and Nate and Sami watched season 3. And despite the fact that I work a full time job, I have managed to somehow almost finish an entire season in three evenings. That’s a lot of Lost people, a lot.

And in the spirit of my overindulgence, I bring to you, an ode to Lost. Here are a few reasons I like the show, in no particular order. (aka, number of episodes they have appeared in, thank you IMDB)

Emilie De Ravin, aka Claire Littleton: Uh, she’s hot, she’s blonde, and as far as I’ve gotten in the show, she currently has no man love on the island. (Edit: nevermind, she’s back with that emo rocker junkie fag) Plus she’s rocking that Australian accent like nobodies business. And she’s had a baby, (in the show) which not only means that she was all sexy preggers for a while, but also means she’s putting out, and qualifies her well for MILF status.

Evangeline Lilly, aka Kate Austin: This vixen manages to not only look good fighting in the rain, but also blew up her dad and rode off on a motorcycle. Doesn’t get much more bad ass than that. Plus she was the only character who was actually a prisoner when the plane crashed, which makes her extra hot. I just wish she’d stop flip flopping on how she feels and just pick a guy to hook up with. Do I like Jack? Maybe. But do I like Sawyer? Sort of. Damn, go screw someone already, you don’t have much else to do lady. You’re stranded on an island with a bunch of attractive people. What’s your problem?

Maggie Grace, aka Shannon Rutherford: She may be a whiny, spoiled, self centered, rich beyotch, but she’s a hot one. And if memory serves me right, she was hooking up with her step brother at one point, which makes her both kind of gross, and extremely kinky. I’d wrap it up for sure, but this is one wasp I wouldn’t mind getting some honey from. (yes I know, wasps don’t really make honey, but I’m all hopped up on Tylenol PM, so cut me some slack) Unfortunately she’s dead now, thanks to my next hot chick, so bummer and whatnot.

Michelle Rodriguez, aka Anna-Lucia: So she’s been in a million movies and apparently she can only play one character. The incredibly tough but somehow slightly vulnerable bad ass hottie. She makes it a regular habit of kicking peoples asses, mostly men, plus she killed a bunch of people in the show. So apparently sex and violence do go together well. (duh) Hell, she even had sex with Sawyer just to steal his gun, so more power too you, you tasty little chalupa. The downside, she’s a cop. The upside, she lost her job for being too bad ass! The downside, she was shot dead. The upside, it’s Lost man, who knows if she’s dead or not. I’d like to see a zombie Anna-Lucia. I’m just sayin’. Resident Evil 4 anyone?

Cynthia Watros, aka Libby: She’s a little dumpy, kind of, but she’s also got that natural pretty thing going on. And yes, she may be a shrink, which I hate, but she’s a cool shrink. the sort with boobies and little or no standards. For instance she was about to hook up with Hurley, who despite having a great personality, was also crazy as hell, and fat, and had a jew ‘fro. None of those are attractive traits. Except in my case, cause I do like my women crazy. And I do dig the whole chubby thing. In fact, skinny just isn’t hot at all, eat a sandwich, damn. Anyway, I liked her because she boosted my ego. She made me feel like a crazy, pug ugly dumb ass with a good personality might be able to score with some hot chick, if we were stranded on a (sort of) deserted island with very few eligible men to choose from. Unfortunately she’s dead too, so fuck it all. Why are they killing off all the hot chicks instead of all the dudes? Where are the new hot chicks?

Also, there was an Asian chick, but that’s not really my thing. She was sweet though. And there was this old gnarly jungle lady. She was French. It looked like she might have been hot a long time ago before she was stuck in the jungle running from crazy ass “others” who want to kill her or do tests on her or whatever those weird bastards are up to. (don’t tell me) And there was her daughter, who is sort of evil, but sort of not, and she would be hot, but she looks a bit young, and, well, her nose freaks me out. I’m not into big noses, and hers is a bigguns. Maybe if I were drunk, then she’d be hot. Anyway.

Plus there’s that big ass African dude, Mr. Echo. He’s one scary dude! And that black fog, which is apparently electrical in nature. I have no idea whats going on with that. And whatever happened to all that electromagnetic energy that that chode of a turd mofo who was racing around the world released? where did it go? What did it do? And what’s up with the others? Are they savages? Are they evil scientists? Are they good guys? WTF? And will Mike ever get his come uppins? I’m about to start the third season, and maybe this season holds some of the answers, but I am about to burst with the anticipation.

God I love TV. I want to marry it and have infomercial babies with it. Of course they would air on late night TV, cause I’m just not a prime time guy. Except 24, Heroes, and Lost. And the UFC.

Destined to live alone.

So I find myself in what I suspect will be looked back upon as the terminal stages of a doomed relationship. I’m constantly surrounded by all the drama, and conflict, and that deepening feeling of loneliness that comes with the dying breaths of two people trying not to break up while they slowly admit to themselves that they need to. Every day becomes more stressful, and every new moment is filled with the sort of saddening music you might find in Donnie Darko. It’s a very very mad world.

And with no one to talk to concerning the problems in my personal life, I would maybe turn to my pseudo-girl to at least try and vent some of the stress of my legal problems. But alas, there is no relief on any side, so I come to my precious internet. This one place where even my close friends don’t hear what I say. The one place where I can vent without any worry about the repercussions. I stand alone, but I have my last frontier of personal expression, my writing. The only place where I can express my frustrations and not give a fuck who hears it.

Like for instance a little lady you might remember by the name of theblacksentinel. When I did my angry race rant she showed up to rag on the whole parade. Now, having been active on the internet for many years, I know how it is when you speak out on anything controversial. It won’t be long before you have some activist asshole tugging on your balls for attention and web space. I mean, I have occasionally gotten drunk during a really bad time in my life and even pissed off my internet friends, like Sundry. (if I can call her a friend, I hope so, I really respect her) But this hag was different, or should I say, much more common.

She did however do one thing that made me laugh my ass off. She posted an anti-me blog. And here’s the best part. It was titled, “Sprinting to Hell: with Gasoline Underwear”. How bad ass is that? I mean, no shit that is fucking awesome. I’ve had a lot, A LOT of internet trolls try and start shit with me, but this was by far the coolest. That should have been the title of my blog. I wish I had though of that. But it lets me know I’m doing something right. I wouldn’t feel like I were actually sprinting to hell if I didn’t piss off some folks along the way. I have a reputation to keep up. However the second best thing about this anti-me blog was the picture. I love it. Check this shit out.

Remember how I said you can’t fly a rebel flag without being labeled a KKK member? Well check out this real life photo of the people I work with. No, I’m kidding. I mean, I do know a few KKK members, but this is one of those ridiculous portraits of the south that has no basis in reality. There are definitely some racist white assholes here, and yes I have to deal with them, they have some good drugs. But almost no one who fly’s a rebel flag is racist. The rebel falg is all about loving dixie land, and not at all about hating black folks. I mean, without black folks we wouldn’t have the blues. And without the blues we wouldn’t have Rock and Roll. Or Aunt Jemima. Take your pick, they both rock.

So passing her by as a nuisance on the road of life, It comes right back to me and my relationship which may or may not be taking it’s dying breaths. I just got back from a birthday party for a friend of mine who turned 30. And I can’t help but ponder where I might be at thirty.

I saw a lot of the people I used to see with my last serious woman, and it made me kind of sad. I remembered the times we had, and the things we used to do, and you know, despite our breakup, I really did love that woman. She meant a lot to me before she left me. But time has passed, and that relationship is long gone. But I still wonder, how come I haven’t settled down like my friends? Why must I be the one with a personality too strong to match up? Is that part of me being me, or is it just me being an ass hole?

If I’m just one of those people who have a very strong personality, and that means I have to wait a lifetime to find someone who matches up well with me, then that is ok. I’m a very patient, self sufficient man. I don’t need anyone else to be there right now. But if many of my friends are correct, and their prediction of me being a man alone his entire life comes true, will I be alright with that? Will I be ok with missing all the things in life that people hold most dear?

What if I never have a wife. What if I never have a woman who tells me she loves me? What if I never have children, or experience being a father? What if never have anyone in my life, besides my immediate family, who ever loves me? What if I spend my life having sex, and never once make love? That would be harsh. I think I really don’t want to miss a woman, a wife, and fatherhood. I’m ok with spending time alone, in fact I need time alone, but I don’t want to be alone my whole life.

I know people who have never grown to the point that they could love someone. And I also know people who have always wanted someone to love, but never found them. And I also know peope who have married foolishly, and had the relationship blow up in their face. And I know people who have found their true loves, made homes, had children, and in the end, still not worked out, and split under bitter circumstances. I am hoping against hope that I can work through the problems that I am having right now, and that maybe this woman will be someone that I could fall in love with and spend my life loving. But honestly, every experience I’ve had says that’s a pipe dream and I need to worry about more immediate problems.

So how do you feel? Is there such a thing as true love. Does everyone have someone for them? Or are many of us just doomed to some half relationship with no love and no satisfaction? Is there a destiny of happiness, or should we look out for ourselves? And if we are destined to soulmates, what is your advise? And if we are destined to live alone, what is your advise?

Pink or Red?

Hey, so I’m not in jail which is pretty sweet. And that can only mean one thing. Time for some updates and a few cool stories.

Nate’s campaign for employee of the year has hit a road bump. He won, but the executives were pissed so they are voting all over again. And this time they took the responsibility away from the lady who was doing it, and have one of the vice presidents doing the counting. And the fellow who’s supposed to win this year just happens to be his right hand man. And they changed Nate’s last name on the ballot to a similar but completely different one. So Nate typed up this long ass email with copies of a bunch of previous emails he had saved throughout the campaign, and he informed everyone that he was in the running, again, but with a different last name. He even titled the email “WTF is up with this”. Now there’s an anonymous voting system, which kind of screams bull shit, but whatever. I wanted Nate to post up the link on myspace as a bulletin, and post it here, but he thinks he’ll get in trouble if he gets more votes than there are employees in the company, and he really wants that $500. So that sucks, but if he won once, and they play fair, he could win again. We’ll see.

The branch manager at my job got fired. He was lazy and never did any actual work, so we figured he would get fired for that. I mean, we were all expecting him to lose his job when the big dogs from corporate came down to visit. It turns out he lost his job not because he was a piss poor manager, but because the computer people caught him looking at porn … a lot. But wait, there’s more! He was also trying to pick up women on dating sites and talking to them through the company e-mail, and on his company phone. But wait, there’s more! He used to come back to our shop all the time to use our bathroom. We always figured he just didn’t want to shit in the office so he wouldn’t stink up the lobby where the girls work. But it turns out he was coming back there to jack off when he had gotten all hot from talking to chicks and looking at porn. But wait, there’s more! He was even soliciting prostitutes on Craigslist.

I mean, what a fucking idiot. I’m just a peon trade worker with jack shit for higher education, and even I know that the internet in that office is routed through a corporate server which you have to log onto in order to access the web, and that means that everything you do online is recorded and monitored by the watch men at headquarters. I mean Jesus Christ, not even a month ago corporate sent out a memo to all office employees clearly defining what the internet could and could not be used for, along with all the details from their rule book. How stupid do you have to be?

That means we now get to play the exciting game ofnew-manager-russian-roulette. God only knows what sort of jack ass mother fucker we might get stuck with. They are shipping in the first hopeful next week to meet everyone and see if he jives well with all of us. You have to understand that our company is a bunch of wild mofo’s. I mean I can’t even walk in the office without getting roped into some warped and disturbing conversation. Today for instance I had a conversation about how when I go to jail would I rather bang men, or get banged by men. They nicknamed our shop the “jack shack”. And we talked in length about having sex with dead babies before we throw them in the attic. No shit, I can’t make this sort of thing up. They’re some perverted twisted sickos. And not just the men either, both of the “ladies” are some foul bitches. They’re fun though. I like them. And I actually seem like a good person standing next to them.

We got the house painted. I think the walls are pink. Sami insists they are a shade of red. Take a look for yourself.

If you think that wall is red, like the rose, then you are wrong. If you think that wall is pink like the flamingo, you are also wrong. The wall is closest in color to the salmon in the center. I have outlined the fish so you can see exactly where it is, since it is an identical color to the wall.

I had an interesting experience the other night. I was out back smoking on the deck when I heard a thrashing about in the woods, like some blood thirsty beast was rummaging for human scent. I got a flashlight to see what it was, and lo and behold, there was a killer night cow in our back yard. Now, intellectually I know there is farmland on the other side of the woods, but I really wasn’t expecting to see cattle so close to the house. I didn’t have a camera available at the time, so I have taken a photo of the spot and superimposed another photo of the cow over top of it.

I was able to fight it off with my bare hands, but several villiages were leveled in the skirmish and many many civilians lost their lives. As you can see, I not only had to be wary of the traditional devil horns that all dairy cows have, but also lasers, fire breath, venemous rabies foam, and evil AIDS rays. I wish I had a photo of the actual cow itself. It was much much larger and moved with the quickness of the devil. Just imagine the cow I provided, but seventy feet tall, and next to that tree in the background, not in front of the fence. The fence is probably the only thing that stopped it from trampling our house into rubble.

I’m not a big fan of large animals. If fact, anything larger than a medium sized dog is probably untrustworthy and should be butchered for the safety of mankind. Especially giraffes, don’t even get me started on how much I distrust giraffes and their psychic mind powers.

Josh Q. Public vs. the Law

So I figured I should let people know what’s going on with me. Tomorrow and Thursday I have court in the morning, and again next week. I have a slew of charges still pending. I may very well be getting locked up tomorrow. If I disappear for a while, that is why. I am not dead yet, I might just be spending a little time in the Wake county Hilton.

I wish I could say that I am facing this all like a man, but honestly I am really stressed out about the whole thing. I will probably be able to get my job back when I get out, if they don’t give me weekend time. But even weekend time is hard. Your entire week becomes work and jail. It’s no fun. And my woman could very well leave me. I would be surprised if she sticks around, and I can’t blame her. She may have already written me off, I haven’t been able to contact her in a few weeks. That’s bumming me out. But I’m not really able to be there for her like I should be, due to all these legal problems, so maybe she’d be better off with someone else.

I’ve been facing all of this for a long time now, almost half a year, so I am ready to get it over with and find out my fate. It’s hard having your future in limbo, impotent to do anything about it. I’m ready to go back inside. I’ve mentally prepared myself for that atmosphere. I am ready for the violence and the tension and the never ending vigilance. You think my last post was racial? You should get locked up, it’s like a fucking race war on the inside. And the whole thing sucks. But I can deal with it. If I was strong enough to cope when I was eighteen, I’m definitely strong enough now.

My branch manager got fired today, so if I get weekend time and continue my job, we start the wait for a new manager. And a new manager is like corporate Russian roulette. This last one was an incompetent slacker, but he stayed out of our shit so we could do our jobs. The one before him was the bitchiest bitch in all of hell. Fucking micromanaging cunt rag is what she was. Not a day goes by that the people there don’t talk about how much she sucked and how they all still hate her. I really don’t want another one of those. So that’s exciting.

That’s all I have time for tonight. I’m going to jail, possibly getting dumped, and waiting for a new boss. If I’m free tomorrow night I might tell you the story about the night cattle in our back yard, or the haunted light in Nate and Sami’s room. God I wish I was still a stoner cause I could really use some fucking pot right now. That damn muscle tick started back up in my eye. Peace out Earth.

Reverse Racism and Me

I was going to tell you all about my weekend excursions with Kenny B. But I’m not going to anymore. I’ll summarize it. I went out drunk. I got drunker. There were some super hot coyote ugly bartenders. Police roamed about. Large security force with metal detectors. Country music. Disco music. Rap music. Rock music. Super hot jello shooter girl. I suck at pool. I suck at wrestling games on PS2. We dug up worms. I suck at fishing. I chased a little kid with a decapitated deer head screaming “kiss the deer!” I suck at golf the worst. We got a Christmas tree. That was my weekend. Moving on.

My next topic: racism and why I hate your race. Ok, maybe I don’t hate your race, but I’m about sick and tired of hearing about how white people are keeping black people down. We aren’t. Black people in America: you have a culture based on ignorance and violence, so suck it and go to fucking school. And maybe if you have some extra time, learn to speak English.

Here’s what pissed me off enough to actually break the silence on this issue. It’s a dumb prick by the name of Tom Joyner. He’s this morning talk show host on one of the local black radio stations. I say “black” radio because it’s old school R&B, the sort that white folks don’t normally listen to. But I bet there are people out there who think that me labeling old shitty R&B music as “black” is a racist comment because it’s confining an art form to a race. Well fuck you. It is black music so kiss my ass, hardly any white folks listen to that genre. You know it’s true. And don’t even start with the whole “african american” thing. Screw that. Unless you were born in Africa, you aren’t “African American.” If I’m white, you’re black, end of story.

So Tom Joyner is the biggest racist windbag I have ever heard, and that’s including Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton, who I will get to in a minute. Now I have to listen to his show occasionally because Al, the black dude at work, always plays it in his trailer every day. Foxy 107/104, music for grown folks. Yeah, grown folks who can’t think for themselves and need some racist asshole telling them to kill whitey. No offense to Al, he’s actually a really great guy.

Anyway, I’m pretty used to the usual hypocrital bull shit that comes out of this guys mouth. He’s always talking shit about white folks and “the man”, which is also white folks, and how the poor black man is being held down. I can deal with that shit. I know he’s just a racist ass hole who has a job because it’s ok for black people to be racist, but not for white folks. But I recently heard some propaganda of the racial nature that made my jaw drop. I couldn’t believe he had actually said it. Not because it was obviously racist, but because if a white man in the south had said the exact same thing, his career would be over. But of course pricks like Tom Joyner have built careers on such ignorance.

He was talking about the campain race to be president of the USA. As you may know, Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama are at the front of the democratic parties hopefuls. Tom Joyner was pissed because at the time, Hillary, a white woman, was ahead of Obama, a sort-of-black man. He urged his listeners to go out and vote for Obama because, and I quote, “We got a brother in the race for President. Come on black people, we need to stand united as a community and support our brother in his race.” Whaaaaaaaaaaaat? Fuck you dipshit. You can at least try and make it seem like you support Obama for his politics, not his skin color. If you really wanted to help your black community you might urge them to go read up on the candidates and find out which one supported the views and topics that each one of them supported individually instead of building the black community up as some sort of unified front that neither needs, nor has any individual thought.

Can you even imagine if a white republican had said the same exact thing about Fred Thompson? Or fucking Bush for that matter. Forget you political affiliation for one minute and just imagine if Rush Limbaugh has told his listeners to vote for Fred Thompson because they should feel obligated to support their white community over any political views he might have? It would be a media frenzy. Rush Limbaugh would be fired. Shit, look at how Don Imus got fired for calling a WNBA team a bunch of “nappy headed hoes”. Am I the only one who sees a drastic double standard here. It’s ok for black people to openly promote racial allegiance and partiality, and not only wrong, but possibly illegal for white people to do the same? I’m not promoting racism, I’m just pointing out how incredibly racist the leaders of Black America are. And fuck that shit.

Now on to my two favorite people in America. Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson. What a bunch of transparent racist losers. They have made names for themselves by attaching their faces to every slightly racially charged current event since they were born. Let’s take for instance the Duke lacrosse rape case. A black stripper from the shitty, predominantly black college of NC Central went to take off her clothes at a duke lacrosse team party. She saw an opportunity to play the race card and falsely accused three Duke students of raping her. It turns out, if I remember correctly, she had seven male DNA samples in her rape kit, and none of them matched the 46 out of 47 lacrosse players who voluntarily gave up their DNA. The one exempt player was black. Sharpton and Jackson were all over that case, they even offered to pay for her college tuition. And the three innocent students were not only kicked out of Duke, but the lacrosse team was disbanded. Now you look stupid don’t you Sharpton and Jackson. Yeah, you jumped on her side cause she was a poor black victim, but it turns out she was just a trashy whore trying to extort money from the rich white boys from the next college over by playing the race card. I never heard a single word from either one of them after it came forth that she was lying. Tools.

Case two: the Jena six. Imagine a bum fuck country town in rural Lousiana. Now imagine that town is racially charged with bad shit happening on both sides of the race line. Ok, so one white kid starts talking shit to a black kid, so he goes and gets five of his buddies and beats the white kid unconcious because of the racial tension. Now imagine 20,000 black people from across the nation rally to try and free these six wrongly imprisoned black kids. Fuck you black America, that was retarded. If six white kids had beaten a black boy unconcious due to racial hostility it would have been labeled a hate crime and they would have been locked up, and you know it. And on top of that, you wouldn’t have found 20,000 white people stupid enough to travel across the nation to march for their freedom. Why? Because white people aren’t allowed to support each other based on race. That and the fact that those six thugs were fucking idiots who lost their temper and now have to pay the fucking price. Deal with it.

Here’s the deal. I’m not sorry your ancestors were enslaved. I’m not sorry your ancestors had to endure the civil rights era. I’m not sorry that shit in America is still tense. I couldn’t give a fuck less about any of the hardships your race has ever endured. Why should I be sorry that my ancestors were far superior to yours? In fact why shouldn’t I be proud of that? The Africans were chucking spears at each other when my people had guns and ships that could sail the Atlantic. My ancestors conquered the globe while yours degenerated into a continent devoured by civil war, and an American culture dominated by ignorance, violence, and the same tribalistic mindset that got you shackled and shipped over here in the first place.

If you really want to keep bitching, pay attention in school, work hard, and make something of yourselves as a culture. You were so close. Many of you succeeded. But the loud bitchy ones are the ignorant ones and I’m sick of it. I’ve put up with too much bull shit for way too long, just shut the hell up cause I don’t care anymore. I won’t be polite. I won’t take shit from you. And I’ll be damned if I’m ever a victim of your crime again.

What crime is that you ask? Well I’ll tell you. I have been the victim of black on white hate crimes. That’s right, white people are the victims now. I was jumped by a gang of black men, beaten in the middle of a convenience store, in front of a camera, and the police did nothing. And this same gang had been patrolling the neighborhood picking out white men and Indian men to beat the shit out of. I was messed up bad. And that wasn’t the only time. Clear cases of racial targeting have happened to me a lot. And not just me, but also to both my little brothers, and to many of my friends. And not only violent crimes either. Almost every time I or anyone close to me has been the victim of crime, it has been at the hands of black people. I’ve had enough.

If it were up to me, I’d get rid of welfare. I’d throw every gang banger in fucking prison on forced labor detail. I’d fix this fucking violence and shut down all the bull shit I’ve put up with for so long. And just once, I want to pop a mouthy bitch right in her fucking lip when she gets all sassy with me and starts wagging her damn finger and bobbing her head. People wonder why the south is full of racism. It’s because the black people are so GD frustrating it’s hard to deal with for long. I dated a girl from New York city who said it’s not the same up there. But that’s how it is here. Obvious racism from black people all the time. And I can’t even fly a rebel flag without being labeled as some KKK member. Screw it all, I’m just sick of the whole situation. I wish people would just leave me the fuck alone. Fuck this situation, fuck your racial pity party, and fuck the racist mindset black America has themselves mired in. Victims? Hell no. Cry me a river bitches.

Top five celebrity crushes: episode 1

Right on, so what to post about today. Well Friday we had wintry weather unexpectedly and the bridges and overpasses got covered in black ice leading to a plethora of accidents during the morning commute. People died. Highways were shut down. Life in North Carolina was pandemonium. Today I wake up with a weather forecast that calls for a high of 64 and the temperature outside is seventy. Clearly the next phase of our weather will either be fire and brimstone or locusts and frogs. Either way I’m not going outside. Screw that. If my life were a movie, somewhere there would be a theater full of black people screaming at the top of their lungs for my honky ass to stay inside where it’s safe. This time I appreciate their theater yelling and comply.

Also, I’m banned from the kitchen. You know that room where all the food and liquor is. Yeah, I can’t go in it because Sami just mopped. Well she didn’t just mop my stomach with something delicious, I’ll tell you that right now. So I’m starving and I want a shot, and I pretty much just have to sit here for a while. So I figured I would post. And today is my weekend, I’m headed out to the honky tonk club with Kenny B later tonight, and I’m just not in the mood for anything serious. So how can I write a post without actually thinking or using my mind? The same way I make all my decisions without thinking or using my mind. I’ll use my penis. (note: not for the actual typing, that would be slow and aggravating)

Recently Romi did a post about British man studs she was lusting after. I’ve been thinking about it and I really don’t have any one type of woman that I am attracted to. I would say that I like thick girls more than skinny girls, but I’ve dated both. No wait, never mind, I’ve never even hooked up with a skinny chick. I take that last one back, so now I have one thing that I like, and that’s some meat on the bones. And I sort of like brunette’s more, but there are some wicked hot blonde’s too. I would say pink hair is the hottest, but that’s really hard to find when you aren’t in high school, which is illegal for me now.

So I’m going to give you a crash course in a variety of celebrities that I find hot, and a few reasons why. That way you’ll have a head start on becoming like them, moving to NC and seducing me, which I am sure most of my female (and some male) readers are planning on doing.

1) Jenna Bush. That’s right Jenna Bush is wickedly hawt! First of all, her name is hot. She’s named after the best porn star ever, Jenna Jameson, and that glorious little snatch decoration, the bush. Now I realize that not all poons have a bush, some folks mow the lawn, but still it’s a hot name. Plus, she likes to party like her dad. Politics aside, everyone knows the Bush family likes to drink, and I do too, so that’s a big plus.

Secondly, there’s always the fantasy of hooking up with the other bush ladies, who aren’t really that attractive, but add a fun threesome element to the whole banging-the-president’s-daughter concept. Not to mention that if her genes are good, then when I pump her full of peasant seed she can class it up with some money and power and looks. And with wealth like that we can hire plenty of sexy Polynesian nannies to watch our kids while we sail the world in our gold yacht.

And then there’s the skanky side to Jenna. She fights, she wears hoochie outfits, and apparently, she even strips in public. Does it get any hotter? No, no it does not. I did not know that this picture existed, but thanks to this blog, my life is now a little bit fuller. If you are a perverted horn dog like myself, and you want to see the first daughters meat locker, click the picture for a link. Since this is a family friendly blog and shit, I didn’t think it would be appropriate to actually show the goods here, you understand.

Plus I think in this last photo she looks a lot like the next celebrity crush I’m going to segue into.

2) Elisha Cuthbert. Ok, she is Jack Bauers daughter, and everyone knows Jack Bauer is the most bad ass dude who has ever lived. He easily rivals Chuck Norris and Bruce Lee. Plus she played a porn star in the girl Next Door.

Again, there’s plenty of good shots of her neked, or mostly neked or fake neked. It seems that all celebrities have naked shots. Hmm, something I’ll have to investigate closer. And as you can see from the next photo, she’s one of those really friendly chicks who are for some reason, harder to find than one would think.

3) Amanda Tapping. More commonly known as Samantha Carter from Stargate: SG1. Do I love her because she’s incredibly hot, maybe. Do I love her because she’s patriotic?

Yes, most definately. God bless America. Do I secretly love her because I’m one of those weird creepy convention going scifi fans? As Teal’c would say, Indeed.

4) Monica Bellucci: You remember the Merovingian’s wife from the Matrix two? well I do cause she had this insane dress on that pushed her boobies up to her chin and quite possibly crushed her pelvis.

I’m not even going to explain why that is sexy. It’s a no brainier. I would like to point out that apparently in Europe she’s some kind of supermodel, and since Europe wasn’t founded by a bunch of bible thumping prudes they are all cool with the massive amount of nude photos she’s taken. It’s nuts really, I’m a big Bellucci fan. Especially this picture which manages to be somehow perfectly clean and insanely mind meltingly vulgar at the same time.

5) Rachel Ray. Come on! She’s so incredibly hot. She cooks. All the fucking time! She’s like a tiny little super sexy cooking machine. and there’s not much that will get me turned on more than a chick who loves to cook. I love cooking. I love eating. And I especially love cooking with a girl. God I love it. I’ve heard a lot of women talk shit about Rachel Ray because they think the only reason she has a career is because men like her. Well you know what, maybe if you got off you jealous ugly asses and cooked some good fucking food once in a great while, and maybe had sex more than once a year, men would like you too. Here’s some photos from the spread that the angelic Ms. Ray did for FHM magazine.

Metalocalypse empregnated me with evil. Or visa versa. Visa? (sp?)

I found it. I found the most bad ass piece of animation ever created. It’s called Matalocalypse. Like Metal and apocalypse put into one sweet bloody soup of ball stompingly awesome awesomeness. I finally found it after all these hours of thinking about trying to find it! Woo hoo! I mean, you don’t have to watch it, you know if you really don’t want to. But that will make you the biggest loser pussy that has ever lived, and I will murder you and your whole fmaily and dance on your graves whilst performing pee circles in snow I made from the frozen magic of Santa’s bones. Watch this shit: (for real, it took me like six embed codes to find one that works sometimes, so if you see a fucking video, watch all eleven minutes of that shit!)

How hard did you come? Seriously. Was it as good for you as it was for me? Never mind, I have never really wanted to know the answer to that question. Let’s just suffice it to say that it was really really good for me. I came hard. Go get off on your own time if that wasn’t good enough for you. I’m going to sleep now. Be gone when I wake up.

We don’t need no water.

Alright, so I wanted to tell some stories about my work, since I told Nate’s story, but first I have to share with you the most kick ass two and a half minutes of animation ever. Well, not the most kick ass, there was this one web based show about this death metal band, but I can’t find it again. I’ll try and get y’all a link next post. Anyway, I was watching Sponge Bob square pants while I was surfing the net the other day and that little plankton guy had everyone in mind control helmets and they were going to kick Sponge Bob’s ass when he busted out with this incredibly gnarly shit.

Was that not cool? I mean Sponge Bob turned into a wizard and played a remix of Twisted Sister while flying and shooting lasers out of his fucking guitar. Twisted Sister on children television! A flying, psychedelic, laser shooting, solo thrashing rock wizard! God that was cool. What a goofy goober. Anyway, everyone may now turn their attention back to me and how much I rock.

I’m just going to focus on one of my coworkers for this blog. They are all pretty kick ass, and they all have cool stories, but Kenny and I get along the best and start the most shit. I should note that this is not the same Kenny that I am long time friends with, that’s Kato, aka Kenny P. The fella I’m talking about is Kenny B. and he’s a total redneck. I mean a full fledged, honky tonk, fishin, rebel flag havin, deep south, country ass red neck . The guy is racist as hell, but he’s married to a Puerto Rican. Fucked up right. You have no idea.

He used to work in the rodeo. No joke, the PBR rodeo circuit. He would help set up all the rodeo shit, and handle the bulls and all that good stuff. He originally was training to be a bull rider, but one of his friends was severely injured by a bull, and he decided maybe that wasn’t the career for him. So he stayed until he had banged his fill of buckle bunnies and came back to North Carolina and became a police officer.

Now I don’t mean the good natured, protect and serve, Andy Griffith kind of police officer. I mean a small town, lazy as hell, mostly in it to mess with people and carry a gun sort of pig. He didn’t really do any police work, he just enjoyed car chases and screwing around late at night in a car he didn’t have to pay for. Apparently with two metal lunch plates, an e-brake, and an empty parking lot, you can easily add the nifty effect of sparking metal to your car as you peel out and do donuts. They had this stretch of highway that ran through his town, and a road running perpendicular to it. If you floored it down the entire straight segment of the side road, you could hit the bump in the highway fast enough to catch air in their police cruisers. So he and his buddy cops would post one guy half a mile down the highway on one side, and another half a mile the other way, and they would all switch over to a non regulation frequency and keep a lookout for cars coming in either direction. Then the cop on the side road would floor it and jump the highway and they would all laugh and go get some donuts and find Mexicans to mess with.

Now Mexicans are the funniest because a lot of them know some English, but pretend not to when it’s to their advantage. For instance they would pull a truck full of them for speeding or no inspection or whatever, line them up on the side of the highway, and begin questioning them. This one time, Kenny and his buddy found some dope in the vehicle. So he asked them who the weed belonged to. “Ahhh, no speaky English” they would all say. So he turned to his friend, unstrapped his gun, and in English said, “I don’t really care which of these bastards had the dope, I’m gonna shoot the one with the white shoes.” Then he turned real fast and yelled, and every single one looked down to see what color their shoes were.

He ended up having some real problems with this one hag on the city counsel. Apparently she didn’t want him speeding through the down town district. And the day after she called him out on it, he chased a speeder through the 35 mph zone doing sixty or so. I mean, you have to drive faster than the person you are chasing to catch them, you know? Well things escalated between him and the administration until finally he quit. (or got fired and just tells everyone he quit, I can really see it going both ways)

He has also worked for most of his life since age eighteen doing night and weekend work for honky tonk bars and strip clubs. He’s not a huge guy, I mean he’s several inches taller than me, and probably fifty pounds heavier, but he’s not gigantic. He is however volatile and violent, and he doesn’t give a flying fuck about offending anyone and everyone, so I guess he’s a natural at dragging folks out of bars and whooping their ass. I remember I almost started a fight with him when I was just a green newbie at our current job. I had been there for just a few days, and we watching Jerry Springer, and some dumb ass red neck was pissed because his stripper girlfriend, Candy, was sleeping around. I spouted off with, “well that’s what you get for dating a stripper named Candy you idiot!” Turns out his ex wife is a stripper named Candy. What are the odds right? Talk about awkward. I really should have learned not to say that sort of judgmental crap by now, but if I had I wouldn’t be me.

So anyway, whenever me and Kenny get together and have free time at work, something crazy is about to go down. In fact we aren’t supposed to work together at all, our boss has forbidden it, but neither one of us really cares, so we do it almost every day. Two days ago we had one of those slow days. One of our two salesmen has been out for a month due to surgery, and the other one is newer than I am, so we are completely caught up and stocked with ready to sell/rent trailers on the ready line. In fact, my boss has never had this many ready to go at one time before.

Well we had finished everything we could do without supplies or a fresh trailer, and I’m the sort of guy who can’t just stand around with his thumb up his ass. I have to keep moving, doing something productive. So we’re standing around, and I walk over and grab a mapp gas torch and a spare VCT tile. I’ve had this idea to try and half way melt one and shape in into a human face, and let it cool off, and it would sit around the break room looking really cool/creepy and displaying my incredible prowess with the torch. Kenny of course asks me what the heck I am doing, and I tell him and he looks at me like I’m a retard. Then he gets that grin over his face that lets me know we’re about to have some serious fun.

Usually this involves destroying something with power tools, however today his mind was running more along the lines of fire. So we hike around to the back of the lot where our piles of scrap metal are stored until we can take them around the block to TT&E recycling and turn them in for a big ass bonus to split with the crew. We’ve accumulate some serious piles of copper wire over the six months or so that it takes to build up enough scrap to warrant a trip to the scrap yard. Now since most of you probably aren’t familiar with scrapping metal for side cash, let me illuminate you. Dig this.

Copper is wicked expensive. Like incredibly expensive. Even copper wires with the plastic still on them will get you a buck and some change per pound. We may have a hundred and fifty pounds or more of wire by the time we turn it in. But if you can get clean copper, as in no plastic sheath, you’ll be making an extra dollar or more per pound. Almost double the cash. Sweet right? But stripping wire takes forever and isn’t cost effective. How might plastic be removed from metal in a quick, efficient and incredibly fun way? By burning that shit, that’s how!

So we don’t have a metal barrel anywhere, which is a set back for our little project, but no serious obstacle. We toyed around with building something from the spare siding, or possibly parts from an old filing cabinet, but all of that would involve effort, and we wanted to get right to the cool part with the fire and the burning and possibly an assortment of accelerants. So we start wandering around grabbing metal objects that could withstand high temperatures. We drag it all back to the middle of the yard, because it’s gravel and dirt there. Safety first you know, we don’t want to start a brush fire or anything. After a few moments fooling around we come up with the combinations of three old wheel rims and a security grate we pulled off of a window. Then we hacked apart a palate to get some wood to burn. Now we’ve got a fire proof container with a grate to keep in flying debris, fuel, and plenty of wire to burn.

Before any of you start chastising me, or clucking your tongues in reproach for our dangerous activities, I would like to point out that not only were we about ten feet from a huge freight box with ten or so spare fire extinguishers, but I even walked all the way across the yard and dragged the hose next to out new fire pit. We had safety written all over us. You may have had to squint to see it, but it was there.

As you can imaging, we made a pile of wood, and commenced to trying to light the bugger. The only problem was that we were experiencing some rather strong winds as a result of an incoming cold front. So we couldn’t really get the fire going well. So I grabbed some spray paint and soaked the wood. We have a very small, well contained fire starting up at this point and across the yard fate foils our plans once again.

My boss Drew was moving something with Al, our yankee coworker, and Al smelled something. “Do you smell wood burning? What is that?” Of course the first thing Drew says is, “Dammit! Where the hell are Josh and Kenny?” (side note, we knew the fire extinguishers work because we had thoroughly tested one or two of them the previous day back on the end of our lot. Trust me, not only do they spray very well, but it is a noxious, throat burning spray that coincidentally looks a lot like thick smoke when it starts rolling over the roof and becomes visible from the rest of the yard)

So drew comes running around the trailer and jumps right on us. “What the fuck are you two doing GD it!”

us: “We’re putting money in your pocket man. You’re welcome by the way.”

Drew: “Really? Because it looks an awful lot like you are starting a fire in the middle of my yard.”

us: “I would hardly call this the middle. And we’ve got a hose and shit, what do you want? Don’t you like money?”

Drew: “How the hell does burning down our place of employment make me any money?”

us: “Uh, we were trying to start a decent fire before you interrupted us. We’re gonna convert all of our copper wire to clean copper, that’s a lot of extra money for you and everyone else here. We’re trying to help. Do you just want us standing around?”

Drew: “So by ‘convert’ you mean burn, and by ‘help’ you also mean burn.”

us: “Pretty much. It’s contained see?”

Drew: “Yes I fucking see you bastards. You are ripping shit off of our trailers to start fires!”

us: “Well just the one grate, and it was rusty anyway. What, you don’t think burning is a good way to clean the copper? We’re almost positive this will probably work. And we’ve got the hose see? Safe! We can get safety glasses if you want.”

Drew: “Why the fuck would I want you to get safety glasses? How’s that going to put out these trailers when you ignite them. Put that shit out right the fuck now and I’ll think, THINK about how to safely do this, maybe like on a day when there aren’t GALE FORCE WINDS! And what the fuck are you two doing working together in the first place. Damn, I leave you for five minutes and you’ve got a GD blaze started up and shit all ripped apart. Give me the torch Kenny. From now on you guys have to ask me before you are allowed to use fire.”

Kenny: “What about lighters?”

Drew: “Only for cigarettes, no fires!”

Me: “Kenny, I have one of those torches at home.”

Drew: “That’s right, and that’s exactly where it’s going to stay. Don’t let me catch you starting any more fires!”

us: “What about when it’s not windy?”

Drew: “Maybe. You need to soak them in kerosene and then the plastic melts right off.”

us: “So tomorrow maybe?”

Drew: “We’ll see.”

Us: “So it was a pretty good idea right? Besides the wind and all?”

Drew: “No the fuck it wasn’t. Everything about that was stupid. Get back to work, both of you. And on different sides of the yard.”

us: “There’s nothing left to do without supplies.”

Drew: “Well I don’t fucking care, go turn over some gravels or something!” (yes, gravels, like the completely made up plural form of gravel. Drew makes up words when he’s pissed)

We’re still trying to sneak another fire past him, but that old bastard is vigilant as hell.

This weekend Kenny’s going to take me out to the club he and Drew work at as bouncers. Expect an AWESOME story from this weekend. Trust me, especially if we can convince Drew’s old lady to drag him out with us, there will be a lot of debauchery and mayhem. From all the stories they’ve told me, this place is sort of like that bar from Road House. Stabbings and constant fights and lots of pretty red neck girls. It could be trouble of the finest kind. Don’t worry I won’t cheat on my woman. This is, after all, the same club at which Drew found that one legged girl he banged. Another long story, for another post. Let’s just say he likes big women with limps.

Race for “employee of the year”, on the campain trail: the true story!

Yeah, I know, I just posted this morning. I usually try and limit myself to one post per day, at the most, but I know I will forget this if I don’t post it soon, and I think it is super funny. Now before I start the story, you need to know a little bit about my little brother Nate. He’s really good at smooth talking his way out of trouble, and he’s really good at finding loopholes in the rules. It’s sort of a family tradition to buck the authority. My parents pretend to be good obedient little Christians, but I can state clear examples of how they’ve been sticking it to the man all the way back to my early childhood. It’s in our blood. We can’t help it.

Nate has this knack for landing himself in situations where he has to deal with overly politically correct ass holes. The kind who love red tape and order and never breaking the mold. For instance, he got kicked out of high school for dealing drugs. I think, or maybe it was selling candy in the caffeteria, I can’t remember. One of those two. [Edit: Nate wants me to clarify, after reading the blog, that both of those were in fact true. He was selling Jolly Ranchers laced with acid in the cafeteria. And he didn’t get caught, he wants me to point out that he was only busted because his nut-job goody goody Christian pseudo-girlfriend ratted him out to the principle. Sami said something catty about the bitch and then racanted because she doesn't want to look like a troublesome woman] Anywho, he gets sent to the only other option in Garner, a private Christian high school. Hah! like that wasn’t a dumb idea from the start. Of course he’s going to hate all the preppy little rich kids and immediately find the few cool ones who only encourage his rebellion. I can’t remember for sure, but I believe there was something around a total of ten new rules the administration added to their official rule book during the year he was there.

For instance, all collared shirts must have the collar sewn on, not safety pinned or stapled. In school suspension must not be payed for in pennies. All verses for bible class must be memorized in English, not Spanish. Boys are not allowed to wear girls clothing to school. See through pants are not permitted. Any student sent home early must be picked up, and never leave on foot. (that one was a riot, omfg) And the list goes on. He was the first and only student to be permanently banned from his study hall. He was actually forbidden from reading notes in his bible class. You see, if someone is caught passing notes, they were forced to stand in front of the class and read the note aloud. Well Nate being the smart ass he is decided to just start writing notes that he thought would be funny to read aloud, and continue passing them around until he, or someone else, got caught. It would go something like this:

Teacher: Nathan, I see you! Stop it right now. Read that note to the class!

Nate: *ahem, ahem* Mr. Douchbag needs to stop being such a fat bald ass hole and unclench his ass enough to pull the giant stick out that he’s had lodged up there since some time around 1969.

Teacher: Nathan, you go to detention right this instant, how dare you speak like that!

Nathan: What, I didn’t want to, you made me stand up and read it! I was just following directions.

And of course he would not get in any trouble. He just stayed in constant half trouble with the administration. He actually had to go work with the janitor and the luch lady every single day. Of course this just gave him more opportunities to fuck around. You see, the lunch lady loved him to death, it was one of his friends moms, so that gig basically just landed him with an unlimited supply of rotting food, which he put to good use. I distinctly remember a ten foot tall replica of the digestive system that involved standing on a ladder and pouring buckets of rotten food down a slide like display, finalizing in the excretion of waste out the plus sized chocolate starfish, to the dismay of the teacher and the repulsion of the entire class, who had been marched outside to see Nate’s project because, “it couldn’t fit through the doors.”

Then there was the janitor, a deaf man who absolutely hated the administration, and all the little rich kids. He would let Nate smoke when he helped him. And of course, it didn’t take Nate long to figure out that it’s really easy to take the governors off the janitors golf carts so they go really damn fast. Of course they burn out really fast as well, but he didn’t really care. Once, he was supposed to take all the trash from a huge line of those green dumpsters with the wheels at the back. Well in stead of loading them up and taking them one at a time, he just bungee tied them together into one long trash train. And of course, he was hauling ass through the parking lot and didn’t slow down for the speed bump. Half of them went flying off the train, but they were strapped shut, so screw it. He got back and all the trash carts were completely scraped up down the sides. And they couldn’t prove that he had technically done anything but what they had told him to do, so he got away with it.

Well now he works as a shipping clerk for a very respectable wireless communications company. And his latest tricks had me bent over laughing today. You see, it’s that time of the year where the employees vote for the employee of the year. And every year that they’ve had it, they upper echelon of big wigs has always won. The prize is 500$ and a plaque that permanently gets displayed in the front lobby. Well, upon receiving an official copy of the rules and qualifications, Nate found out that according to the terms, he was actually qualified to be a runner, and his name was not on the list. So he sent an email to the woman in charge, a woman who he just happens to have a running feud with. He pointed out the error, and due to the highly conservative politically correct atmosphere of the office, he talked her into negating any votes that had already been cast, and sending out a new memo with his name included.

You have to understand that he packs boxes in a warehouse, and he’s going up against the vice presidents of the company. So directly after she informed him that a new vote would be started, he sends out a memo to every person in the district that went something like this:

“Hello fellow employees of TechPhoneCom Wireless, I just wanted to introduce myself. My name is Nathan Q. Public and as you have no doubt noticed, my name was recently added to the registry for employee of the year. I would much appreciate your vote, mostly because I really need five hundred dollars. Now if you are anything like my boss, you have already decided not to vote, and may have even deleted this email, because you think the election is rigged, and only the big cheese higher ups can win. If this is the case, or maybe you are just feeling lazy and don’t want to take the time to vote, I have included in this email an easy cut and paste vote for myself. If that is too much for you, you may even simply forward this email to Nancy with the title “my vote”.”

She was pissed off. She in no way agreed to do that at all, but since it is her responsibility to tally the votes, she pretty much has to. Then Nate printed up posters that had this picture with the hand drawn message:

Maybe not that original, but hilarious none the less, especially since he posted them all over the corporate office. He also took a bunch of company pins and scraped off the logo, then wrote his own message, “Vote for Nate in 07!” and “Employee of the year: Nate!” or “if you love America you will vote for Nate!” and handed them out to the office folks. In addition to this, he hired his bosses boss as hes new campaign manager, in exchange for half of the prize money. Everyone pretty much refuses to vote because like I said, they think it’s all fixed. So with this mid level manager running around telling everyone that Nate would be a great choice for employee of the year, people actually think there may be a chance for the little man. And since they all hate the bosses, he may actually win. How insane would that be? The guy who builds box forts in his spare time might be employee of the year. This is why my family kicks ass. Sometimes we outdo ourselves.