American Flag Masturbation, Madonna And The Jiggly Tits

When I was a kid I always thought x-ray vision would be a sweet-assed super power to have.  The ability to see through hot chick’s clothing…yeahhhhhhhhhh.  Heard on the radio this morning that some bastard has made my dreams comes true…well, sort of.

http://www.usatoday.com/travel/news/2005-05-15-airport-xray-bottomstrip_x.htm

That’s right…

In an effort to make us safer from those dastardly terrorists, the good ole U.S. of A has decided to ease their pants down, grab an American flag (ya know, for clean-up), look through our clothes and shoot one all over our suprised, yet free faces.  Call it democratic bukake, if you will. 

Well, I think this is a great idea.  We need to do whatever it takes to feel safe and if that means I have to show my junk to a dude in a stupid airport security uniform, so be it.  I mean, it’s not like all this added security, haphazard lawmaking, and unnecessary probing into our lives has been forced upon us based on nothing more than an isolated incident…oh wait.  oops. 

9/11…please.  What a fuckin’ hoax.

The U.S. has done everything in their power to spin 9/11 into the worst tragedy to ever occur here on our shores.  I think the American Indian might disagree.  Fairly sure the Mexican might have a bitch in all this.  Hell, the Civil Fucking War, for Christ’s sake.  But we didn’t have CNN or Fox back in 18 fucking 60 so I guess it simply never happened.  So infuriating…

I swear, this country gets more and more like a bad sci-fi novel every damn day.  Full body scans, people listening in on your phone conversations, chip implants under your skin to monitor your movement…when does the anal probing start?

I guess my last thought on this whole body x-ray thing is, how long before the images end up on the internet?  They say they’re not recording any of the scans but c’mon…you mean to tell me the dickhead running that thing out at LAX in Los Angeles isn’t gonna find a way to sneak a couple of camera phone shots of Salma Hayek walking through a fuckin’ x-ray machine?  Fuck, I would.  Why do you think it was my most desired super power when I was a kid?  We didn’t have internet porn when I was young…I had to rely on Madonna videos for my material.  Remember that scene in the ‘Like a Prayer’ video when she’s dancing in front of the burning crosses and her breasts and kinda jiggling around…ohhhhhh yeahhhhhh.

I’ll finish up by saying this:  terrorism is a fucked up sort of thing.  I understand the concept of stopping it before it occurs but it seems like this is taking it too far.  9/11 was, I guess, a tragedy.  But was it an epic tragedy?  Meh.  Go live in a 3rd world country for a spell and you might look at it a little differently.  Go to Colombia and watch sewer water run down open streets in the middle of the day.  Go to Nicaragua and work 12 hours a day for 100$ a month.  To me, that’s tragic.  9/11 was a bad day and looks to me to be little more than the perfect opportunity to keep the rich, rich and the poor, monitored 24 hours a day to make sure they’re not trying to find a way to get an of the rich people’s money.

Call me an asshole but all this shit just gives me a headache.

Drinks All Around, Balcony Soapbox, Sleep? Bahhhhh.

For me, it’s just nice to have a voice that people actually listen to from time to time.  I don’t know everything…damn near know nothing in the grand scope of things but believe me when I tell you, I trying my heart out for each and every single one of you.  It’s new age, up-with-people b.s. but it fits like a glove…it’s simply easier and healthier to love.  Getting older crystalizes so many things in my mind, none moreso than this fact.  There’s so much negativity in this world.  So many reasons to just middle finger the whole thing and bury yourself under a mountain of poorly scripted sitcoms and buffalo hot wing doritos and wait for the middle section of Revelations to jump and snatch us all by the sack.  But I find I’m now far less inclined to worry about if I’m being percieved as ‘cool’ or not and much more interested in coming off as sincere.  Because when I twist off this mortal coil and head to wherever I’m headed, I just want to make sure I leave this world knowing that every person I’ve loved KNOWS I loved them. 

Lots of issues get straightened out at 4am…especially when you’re drinking with friends.  Tonight we tackled blowjobs, work scene and illegal sex trade.  Next time:  gas prices, heatwaves and Barbara Walters’ ridiculous stretch head.  I love you all.  But tonight, I love three people just a little bit harder and a little bit longer.

G’night, kids.

Christian Porn, Celtic Pride, Mother Nature Shows Her Ass

Good Lord…

Can’t sleep…again.  Just watched a documentary on the Danielson Famile.  Tried to chase it with some porn but lost interest.  Porn does nothing for me anymore.  How I long for the days when a Kobe Tai hummer scene and an overused tube sock were all I needed to declare my night a success.  Actually, I don’t guess that’s really true at all.  Or is it?  No, it’s not.

Or is it?

Celtics took game one of the NBA Finals.  Paul Pierce pretty much eased his shorts down and tossed his massive balls out onto the table and asked if anyone had a bigger pair.  No one did…at least, not tonight. 

Just heard some rain hit the bedroom window.  A nice downpour wouldn’t break my heart.  I’ll bet Mother Nature is just cockteasing me though.  Sure tomorrow will be another hot day. 

Spoke to my wife today.  Missing her something fierce.  20 more days…fuck me.  Seriously, someone fuck me, please.  I’m so, so very lonely. 

Kidding.

Or am I?  Yeah, I am.

Or am I?

Chimney Headed Crack Mouth, Making Love To Readers, Sleepy Time Please!

One minute I’m watching a replay of the ‘87 Lakers-Celtics NBA Finals…next thing I know I’m coming to, neck wrenched, beard askew, dried drool caked onto the side of my mouth.  Guess the insomnia is starting to catch up with me.  I know it’s been affecting my mood a lot lately…surly surly surly.  That’s not to say that I haven’t been completely in the right for much of my attitude but perhaps there are more productive ways of handling the recent shitstorm.  Perhaps.  With that being said, I still say I’m getting one helluva sparkly golden dildo eased into my ass where my job is concerned.  I just hate the double standard.  I’m sick of bitching about it as much as I’m sure people are sick of hearing me bitch about it but the fact is, a good many of us are taking a stiff one for no other reason than to knock us down a peg and I feel like someone has got to be a prick about it.  Now, we didn’t get together, serve cake and hold a vote of any sort but I’ve gone on ahead and nominated myself and I figure, worst case scenario, I’m out an 11$/hr job.  Yeah, there isn’t a single other one of those out there…sure.  The slow kid working the Wal-Mart 10 items or less line is damn near banking 11$/hr.  Maybe the higher-ups are right in their estimation that all this talk about money is bad for morale…so.  Perhaps, if they had a few more fuckers willing to stand and call bullshit ‘bullshit’, I wouldn’t be getting hauled into an office and told to cool my jets.  Or perhaps I’m right on the money, honey when I say they’d rather have a store of short bus making 8$/hr than a store of fuckers like me who’ll command more money but get the job done 365 days of the year, error free.  Cut our raises…you cheap cocksuckers.  You should be taking money out of the potheads fuckin’ pocket and double-fisting it into mine.  Meanwhile, thanks to Smokestack Calhoun my sinuses close up at 2:30 on the nose everyday and don’t reopen until her patchouli-drentched ass picks up her 8th smoke of the day.  Never thought I’d be so happy to have someone reek of fag smoke.  Anyway, I figure I’m just bringing down a hammer in between my fingers at this point.  Soon enough, I’ll get one of ‘em and fit will hit the shan.  I really don’t care at this stage of the show.  I just don’t wanna be pissed off about it anymore.  Wish it were as easy as just saying it.  In other news, I’ve been a mix cd making Jesus the past few days so a few of you have something to look forward to.  The rest of you can eat a dick.  I kid.  If you’re taking the time to read this then you’re showing far more patience than I ever have…especially where someone else’s bullshit rants are concerned.  But there’s where my ridiculous ego comes into play:  I honestly think this shit I’m writing is actually WORTH reading.  Regardless of whether it is or isn’t is really of no great consequence.  The fact that YOU’VE taken time out of your day to read this garbage tells me you care enough about me to stick it out till the bitter end.  For that I say thank you and tell you without even a seconds pause…I probably want to make love to you.

Love In The Time Of Blahhhhhlera

Don’t let the mood fool you…

My life is an embarrassment of riches.  Sometimes I forget that but it’s truth in it’s purest form. 

I know I often go too far.  It’s how I’m made.  That’s not an excuse, it’s a reason.  I have zero issues w/ who I am and what I know is in my heart.  If I tell you I love you, I mean it until you don’t want me to mean it anymore. 

The thing that people should understand is that loyalty means everything to me.  If I go to the ends of the earth for you, and you can’t even get to the end of the block for me, what does that say about us?  One thing the past few days has shown me is that loyalty is found in very few these days.  That’s fine, it just takes a bit to rearrange the furniture.  Now’s there room for a loveseat.  But don’t backbite, whine, and pitch fits when a simple conversation 2 months ago could’ve cleared up any misunderstanding.  Sadly, we’ve now gone too far past that mile marker and dad simply ain’t gonna turn this car around.  You only get one shot w/ me. 

So, fine.  I’ll play the part for now.  You can parade me in and ho-hum in my general direction until your mouth aches.  I take jabs like a champ and I’ll shrug these off in no time.  But thing will never be the same again.

The list just got smaller…meaning I just fell a little bit further in love w/ the people who matter the most.

Basketball Marketing 101, Drunken Ramble To No Place Special, Harrison Ford Should Mellow Out

So I find myself once again under the influence…

I miss my wife.  I’ve tried it on for size but this bed just doesn’t fit right without her next to me.  I barely sleep when she’s around…since she left I’ve hardly slept a wink.  Just tossin’ and turnin’ until my body gives in and crashes for a few hours. 

Nothin’ on tv tonight.  Looks like my choices are Patriot Game or a BET comedy show…wow, just a wealth of options here.  A bitter, old man or a bunch of hacks with shit punchlines and bad ‘white’ impersonations.

Didn’t take the NBA marketing machine long to run out those Lakers-Celtics clips…There’s Larry waving the towel from the sidelines.  Larry and Kareem jawing in the paint.  Magic hitting the baby hook over Parrish and McHale.  Kurt Rambis getting dropped on his ass going in for a layup.  I fell out of love with the NBA a long time ago…but even I have to admit I’m excited about seeing a Celtics-Lakers matchup for the title.

I’d fuck William Shatner…what the hell.       

The vision blurs and the head feels a bit light…but I type on.

The past few days haven’t been much to write home about.  Work issues have left me feeling underappreciated, my wife being gone has me feeling lonely, and I’ve been drinking a lot more than I should. 

Boo Hoo.  Boo Hoo.  Pathetic, ain’t it?

Well, fuck the world for one night only.  Tomorrow I’ll put on my happy face and make all of you laugh and tell how great you all are and how much I love you.  But tonight, I’m getting hammered, wallowing in my misery and passing out on the floor in front of my bed wearing nothing more than a sock on my left foot and an empty bottle stuck to the end of my….ummm, pinky. 

So This Is What Being Great Gets You

Many, many drinks into the evening…

Feeling very fucked around tonight.  Had a performance review today for my gig…shoulda been perfect…wasn’t.  I don’t like being told what to do…never have.  Especially when the shit you’re telling me I shouldn’t do is shit I’ve been been doing for 2+ years…to smiles and laughter…sometimes by the very person telling me to dial it back a notch. 

“Don’t talk about money, it’s bad for morale.”  Then pay us what we’re worth.  If I’m a badass and person B is a fuckup…doesn’t it make sense that I should get my pay raise AND his or hers as well?  But here’s the problem with that statement…it’s logical and there’s zero fucking place for logic in the company I work for.  They pay you shit and get all grumpy when someone asks them why…Personally, I feel like our bosses should be standing up for us and letting coporate know what bullshit it is that they cut raises from 13% a year to 6.75%…after raking in 151 million $ last year.  Someone mind telling me how that’s fair?  But why should the new district manager care…he’s too busy living high on the hog and forcing changes on stores that have been kicking ass for 3 years before he ever came around. 

Explain to me how they can justify paying me (in a manager-type position) what a cashier on their first day of the job at Whole Foods makes?  If I were working for some mom and pop bullshit little store or company I could understand it but c’mon man, 151 million $.  It’s bullshit, plain and simple and if they wanna shit on me for telling the truth, so be it.  Doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop.  And it damn sure doesn’t mean they’ll fire me cuz when it gets right down to it, they need me as much as I need the gig.  Their other manager options are an ex-crackhead (and perpetual fuck-up of the highest order), a pothead and a guy who’s super fucking cool but still has a tendency to get sick and miss days every now and again.  I don’t do drugs, I don’t have issues, I don’t get sick (and even when I do I shown up and do the gig), I don’t miss days, I don’t EVER slack off and I kick ass for our employees and protect them against asshole customers in a way that no other manager on our staff does.  Just ask ‘em.  Just ask ‘em.  Bottom line: bottom line. 

I love my work and I love the folks I work with (well, most of ‘em).  But I don’t care for the fact that I’ve been running my mouth around there for 2+ years, joking and b.s.ing and making people laugh at the crazy shit I say and do…and now all of the sudden I’m being told to tone it down.  Well, here’s my official position on the matter: I don’t get paid enough to be anything I’m not.  So, I won’t be changing.  Now, if they wanna shove 18$/hr at me, they can marionette me around the store like a fuckin’ puppet but until that day, I’m gonna keep on doing a better job than most, gonna keep making the staff laugh better than anyone they’ve ever have, anyone they currently have, anyone they’ll have after I’ve been shown the door, and I’m damn sure not gonna walk on egg shells for the select few who can’t seem to figure out the difference between me protecting a staff member and me supposedly showing favoritism towards someone who happens to be a good friend of mine.  I don’t show favoritism, I kick ass for everyone I care about…you morons who accused me of such included. 

Maybe some spiteful cocksucker will make sure a copy of this blog ends up on the bosses desk.  So be it.  I couldn’t care less.  I wouldn’t write and post it if I were worried about who might read it.  Because, love me or hate me, you can’t call me a liar.  I’m a son of a bitch, a prick, a mean bastard from time to time…but there isn’t anyone out there who can call me a liar.  And from where I stand, that’s more important than anything.

I finish this off by saying the following:  I love my job and I have a lot of really close friends at my job.  My boss is great to work for, the gig is entertaining and it comes with some pretty cool perks despite the low pay.  But tonight I’m venting because I deserve to vent.  I’ve always known I was underpaid…but I never thought I was underappreciated.  Now, tonight, at this particular moment in time, I’m not so sure.

It may be time to move on.  It hurts just thinking about that.

I May Be Old But I Can Still Pick Out A Jackoff From A Mile Away

“Yeah man!  I’m gonna throw on my 100$ Affliction t-shirt, my 300$ Ed Hardy jeans (which look like someone bedazzled the shit out of a pair of 30$ Levis), put on my pristine (cuz I don’t SKATE) BAR laced skater shoes(tying your shoes is soooo old man) and top it off with my black on black NY Yankees baseball hat.  Shit yeah, I’m so fuckin’ original and ‘now’.  All the bitches will be on my tip.  Oh shit!  I almost left the house without shifting the bill of my cap ever so slightly to the right, you know, so I look like a complete fucking jackoff?  Yeah, that’s it.  Now I’m set!  I’m fuckin’ allllll the bitches tonight!”

I Tie My Shoes While Strippers Bloody Their Noses And Wipe Them Clean W/ An American Flag

The longer I’m here the more I find myself getting sucked into the machine.  A big someone hands me money twice a month which I promptly spread around to 8 or 10 bigger someones who then take all my nothing and add it to a bunch of other nobody’s nothing which slowly turns it into something that they can then hand out to bunch of other never will be’s.  Rinse.  Repeat.  Rinse.  Repeat.  It amazes me how robotic the whole thing is.  I hate hippies and I hate the whole ‘the man is watching you’ vibe but when you really look at the U.S. and the way it’s set up, the entire design of it is to keep you showing up to your job for the next 50 years.  It’s certainly not set up for you to get ahead unless you’re as crooked as the letter ‘S’.  

Why do I need 8 pair of shoes?  Seriously, unless you spend your days chasing shit for a living or conversely, running from shit for a living you simply have no need for that many fuckin’ shoes.  But here I sit, staring at my closet and I can count 8 damned pair of shoes.  Even on the cheap that’s 200$ or so that didn’t need to be spent. 

I told myself I wouldn’t get caught up in the mix…that I’d pinch every penny.  I kept my word for 2 years but lately, I’ve fallen off the wagon.  Cuz how do you justify buying a comic book?  After you read it, what are you gonna do with it?  You gonna read the damn thing again?  Doubtful.  It just gets thrown onto an ever-growing pile of shit you didn’t really need in the first place and then you get ready to start packing up shit to move to a different apartment and it smacks you in the mouth just how much money you’ve been pissing away on garbage that, while entertaining, is simply not needed.  But you pack it just the same, and you hire a moving company because this shit is so valuable to you and you pay the moving company extra to move your extra shit so that they can have an extra drink at the bar that night, tip the bartender one extra dollar which he sticks in a g-string later on that night which then ends up going up some stripper’s nose which forces her to fuck some filthy old man for another stack of dollars.  But don’t worry about that filthy old man…his company is probably underpaying some dumb motherfucker just like you so he’s got all kinds of extra dollars to fuel stripper coke habits and keep Colombia afloat.  Phew.  Thank God Bless America The Beautiful People.