Every Saturday, one of us will post a blog post from our past in order to let you really get to know us… and laugh at us. Over the past century or so, I posted many a corny joke. Here are some of my favorites:
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Every Saturday, one of us will post a blog post from our past in order to let you really get to know us… and laugh at us. Over the past century or so, I posted many a small life lesson/observation. Here are some of my favorites:
↓ Read the rest of this entry…
After having a rough week, month, YEAR; I decided to just have some warm, soothing tea to accompany my sad, cold soul. I heart tea.
I scrummage through our cabinet (not just any cabinet, a METAL cabinet), and lo and behold, COFFEE. I thought, “Coffee sounds really good right now.” With a huge grin on my face, I take the box off the shelf.
The label reads CAPPUCINO, but the rest of the box is in Chinese. The foreign Chinese characters should’ve been my first sign to stick to my tea. (I only know the basics; apparently I flunked out of Chinese school due to my tardiness; totally due to my family’s lateness, not me!). But, I’m Asian, so crazy lines and shapes don’t scare me!
My mom and sister are coffee lovers. But, my mom is hardcore. She pretty much drinks it straight up with very little sugar; but sometimes, her sweet tooth gets the best of her and she mixes in some condense milk or milk/sugar or cream/sugar. Excitedly, I get the water going on the stove, I grab my cup, spoon and marshmallow (yes, marshies are for chocolate milk, but I don’t care! Not today anyways!).
Now, my second warning should’ve been the realization that this is INSTANT ‘Cappucino’ mix.
Any of you know any good, delicious instant coffee mixes!? I do! There’s so many that’s it’s ridiculous! Is it good for you? Probably not, but it doesn’t matter! It’s coffee!!
The water is boiling hot by now, so I shut off the fire, pour half a cup of water into my cup, take out a package mix, rip it open and pour the contents in. I watched as the contents slowly melt and dissolve until it reaches its desired equilibrium. Mmm, coffee. Fresh (pretend fresh) coffee. I pour in the rest of the water and begin to stir the mix. I tasted the coffee, and it’s kind of bland. “Do I need to put other stuff in it?,” I wonder.
Stir, stir, stir, stir, stir, stir, sip, stir stir stirstirstir sip. Hmmm, this tastes o-k. Coffee drinkers, you know you have to sniff your ‘fresh’ brewed coffee because hot coffee smells good!! There’s just something comforting about hot coffee.
I tilt my head down and sniff, sip. Sip, sniff. “Hmmmm, what’s that weird smell.” Sip, sniff, sniff sniff. “There, that weird smell again; it smells familiar.” Sniff sniff sniff sniiiiiiifff, sniff sniff. sniff.
“GROSS!!!!!!!”
I toss the coffee down the drain and made myself a Folger’s instant coffee with condensed milk and marshmallow.
Can you guess what it smelled like??
PEE. Not just any pee. Not the kind where you drank so much coffee that your pee smells like coffee. Not the kind from your pet hamster because you’re too lazy to clean the cage. It smells like the kind where you walk passed a homeless person and you can’t help but smell the urine on him because the stench somehow creeps through your nostrils and fills your nasal cavity even though you hold your breathe.
So there you have it folks. I drank pee coffee.
Every Saturday, one of us will post a blog post from our past in order to let you really get to know us… and laugh at us. I submit to you this week, a little story I threw together a few years ago. It’s grammar is bad, and the spelling is worse, but hey, this is me, going out there, for you.
The wind had all but died on the dark, starless night. Two warriors stood, not making the slightest move, just 20 feet from each other in an open field of grass. The one on the right was dressed as a common magician. His dirty brown hair cut almost short waving in the wind as if trying to escape the impending doom. Covering his leather armor was his torn cloak, blowing feircely behind him. It was a light tan with an almost flame like darker brown along the rims. He wore a firey red dragon shaped crystal around his neck. His blue, almost glowing, eyes locked on his opponent.
On the opposite side stood a tall, dark warlock. The warlock apeared to have an obvious advantage over the mage for he was much bigger in size and mass. His armor also superior to the mages. It was a dark black the seemed to shine when the moon’s bright light hit it just right. The warlock’s face was hidden beneath the shadow of his helmet, but his glowing red eyes were easily seen.
The mage was determined to win this match. He rushed his opponent, nearly blind, sweat and blood running down his forehead, one hand tightly gripping his staff, the other conjuring a spell. He took a few steps to one side, teleported behind the warlock and unleashed a fire spell so powerful and at such a dangerously close range, it cause his glove to melt right off his hand and the area around him to turn a dark charred black. A sulfuric aroma filled the air as the mage fell to the ground. It was over. He had finally triumphed over the evil that had plagued the villagers of Fisuka for so long. No longer did they have to live in fear of the menace that claimed so many of their loved one’s lives. Exhausted, he raised his head to the sky, but what he saw next sent a shock throughout his body.
It was him! The Warlock! He had somehow managed to survive the attack and now he was not happy with the mage.
“That was not very nice Reid. You could’ve killed me there boy.”
“I believe that was the intention you bastard!”
“Tsk Tsk, such language from a boy. Well then, I’ll have to teach you to respect your elders. Prepare to receive your punishment!”
What am I going to do? Reid panicked. He had used the last of his strength in that attack. He could not possibly continue to fight. He was done for… the warlock rush him, swinging his sword back, preparing his energy for the final, death dealling blow. Just as the sword was about to reach his forehead, Reid though to himself, it’s over… I failed you… I’m sorry. Then everything went black.
Elsewhere, the daughter of the Detusaki family was arriving at the docks of Vanguard. She wore a brilliant one hoop dress with floral designs on the skirt. Lucy was in the country for extra schooling due to the insistence of her mother. Being the daughter of such a wealthy family had it’s benefits. She had everything she ever wanted… almost.
“Welcome to Vanguard m’lady. I apologize for having you arrive at such a run down area,” said a man in black.
“It’s quite all right Gregory.”
By regular standards, Vanguard port was hardly run down. It was considered by most to be one of the more wealthy places this side of Vanguard. People were everywhere, things were clean to the point of shine, and the air was fresh. The port itself seemed to have a cheerfulness of it’s own. There were nine other dock apart from their own, all with busy people either loading or unloading cargo and passenger ships. Everyone seemed to keep themselves busy either through work or socializing with others.
“I still feel bad about this… but it’s the only port in the area.”
“I said it’s ok. I don’t mind. I like to watch the common people. They are intriguing.”
She sighed.
“Now lady Lucy, you know you are better than them. You come from a wealthy family of rich blood ancestry. You would do well to not associate with the likes of them. You know how your father feels about that subject,” Gregory lead her toward their caravan.
“I’m no better than they are! Please do not talk about people like they are lesser than me just because they don’t have as much money as my father.”
“I am sorry m’lady, but it is true.”
Lucy didn’t acknowledge that she heard him. She hated people being looked down apon due to wealth and status. Rank was something that she never understood.
Vanguard was a splendorous city full of well-dressed, proper people. Buildings of piercing bright white shinned all over the town. All of the buildings were huge, but one seemed to stand out more than the others. Lucy assumed that was the mayor’s office. This was certainly one of the most kept up cities this side of Hetroth. Lucy noticed that Gregory seemed to be relieved to be out of the “dirty” area of the port as he had put it. She wasn’t sure why he thought that. The port looked just as brilliant as the rest of the city. The only difference was that the people in the port seemed to be lower class or laborers.
Gregory seemed to notice a saddened look on Lucy’s face. “Cheer up m’lady. You should feel extremely privileged to be able to study abroad. Only the most important of people are allowed such an honor.” He said that with such spunk and sence of proud ness, she almost felt bad to be upset.
“I know Gregory, but at what cost?”
“Money is no object with your fa-”
She cut him off, “That’s not what I meant, Gregory! I meant that this has caused me to move so far away from my friends.”
“A lady such as yourself has no need for friends such as those scoundrels! You need to surround yourself with people must more civil than them. And look at this place! This is most defiantly the place to do such!”
Lucy shook her head and sighed. Why does no one understand… As she enter the caravan and they departed, her thoughts soon turned to the ones she had left behind.
Reid awoke with a jolt. He was alive! Was it just a dream? He looked around the room not recognizing his surrounding at all. He moved to get up but a sharp pain shot through his arm and head. What’s this? He though to himself. He had bandages on his forehead, left hand and right arm. “I-It wasn’t a dream! But… how am I alive? I should’ve been…” Reid shook the thought from his head.
He looked around the dimly lit room once more. To his side was a nightstand with some bandage wrap, thread, scissors and some pins. “Someone must’ve had a hard time fixing me up… I can’t imagine I was in any good condition.” Reid heard someone coming towards the room. He lay back down and just turned his head.
As the door opened he heard a soft voice, “Oh, I see you are finally awakening. You’ve been out for quite some time. I hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of patching you up”
Reid still couldn’t quite see who it was. “Huh… oh. It’s quite alright… Thank you. Umm. Do-”
“Oh, silly me, I’m sorry, I should have properly introduced myself. I am Velvadine Galandmyer.” An older lady walked into the light to be seen. Though she was an older woman, it was apparent that her once youthful beauty had not yet left her completely. She had a few wrinkles here and there, but for the most part her skin was still quite fair. Her hair was a dark brown with hints of gray here and there. Her clothes seemed like they were at least a hundred years old, seeming quite worn from years of use.
“Um… Hello Velvadine, I am Reid.”
“Just Reid?”
“Yes… I-”
“Don’t worry about it. I can tell from the look on your face it is a saddening story. You don’t have to explain.”
“Thank you Velvadine. You apear to be quite wise”
“Some would say that. So what did you do to get yourself all torn up like that? It isn’t good for someone to take so much damage to their body you know.”
“I-I was fighting this warlock… Vladmir… He was terrorizing the village I have been staying at. I went to try and stop him… and I thought I had won… but it turned out I fell right into his trap… I thought I was done for but the next thing I know, I’m waking up in this bed all bandaged up.”
“Strange indeed. We heard a commotion outside of our village so the men went to go check it out. When they got there they found you. Upon returning to town, they brought you to me. You were not a pretty sight. I have the gift of a healer, you see.”
“You are a healer? Wow, I’ve never met one. Not that I can remember anyway…”
“Not that you can remember? A young lad like you shouldn’t have a memory problem.”
“Well-”
Just then a child ran into the room. ” Mommie! Mommie! Is the man awake yet? He’s not dead is he?” Reid looked at the little girl. She couldn’t have been more than five. Her hair was long and dark with a shine.
Valvadine replied, “Yes, Jessica. He’s finally up.”
“Oooo! Hello!” Jessica waved and ran up to him. “How did you get so beat up mister?”
“Jessi!” Valvadine scolded, “Don’t bother him while he’s recuperating.”
“Awww… but mom…” Valvadine shot her a look.
“It’s ok ma’am. I don’t mind. Hey there little Jessi.”
Her face lit up. “Wow, you look like you were hurt a lot! But my mommie fixed you. She’s the best! One day, I’ll be as good as her!”
“Hehe. She’s got quite a lot of energy.”
“That she does,” Valvadine replied.
“Would you like to see something neat Jessi?”
“Oooo! Really? What is it? Huh?”
“Hehe, see that candle on the night stand?”
“Uh-huh.”
Reid pointed a finger at it and a tiny flame generated from the air and floated to the wick of the candle, lighting it.
Jessica was jumping up and down clapping. Valvadine just smiled.
“Woooooow! That was really neat! How did you do that?”
“Hehe, I’ll tell you but it’s a secret.”
Reid whispered something into her ear and she laughed.
“Ok Jessi, go run along and play with Beslin and Tiffany,” Valvadine said.
“Okay! I can’t wait to tell them what Mr. Reid did!” And with that she ran out the room excitedly.
Man it’s been a while since anyone has posted. One this week. We must all be busy.
Every Saturday, one of us will post a blog post from our past in order to let you really get to know us… and laugh at us. Once again, as the glue that holds the writing on this blog together, I present you my second classic post. This was a little story I wrote called “Dragons, Magic and Excessive Spillage”.
I wrote this story a few days after it happened. It was so unbelievable, I knew I had to immediately record it. Trust me, everything in this story is true.
So its July, a few weeks after my birthday and I was feeling a little low. Jack diddly was going on; there was a sense of nothingness around me. One day at work, this cute, cute girl named Megan came in to get some furniture through the finance company I work for. In no time, I found myself flirting with her. Now, I’ve been told I am a natural flirt, and I’ve been told I could have an eency weency itty bitty bit of charm, so if *I* am noticing that I’ve turned it on, I think I must be flirting pretty heavy. But she is reciprocating, so I keep going. At the end of our chat, we set a meeting for the next day so she can sign her contracts. The second she walked away, I started freaking out as to what to do. I was obviously smitten. Should I ask her out? Or do I not risk the rejection? The next day, I manned up, showed that ounce of confidence I can have and asked her to dinner.
She said no. She was taken.
BUT, she had someone she wanted to hook me up with. That in itself freaked me out because I had only talked to Megan for about an hour or so up until that point. But she was good looking, and I’m a guy (libido rules all!), so I said ok. Fast forward to date night. My date was a 20 year old 5’5” blonde with gorgeous fake green eyes (contacts) named Jessie Lynn (first/middle, not first/last name) that just moved back in with her parents in Bossier City (from Texas). The game plan was dinner at Ruby Tuesday’s then up the street to the Family Fun Center (think Celebration Station; go-karts, arcade, batting cages, putt putt, etc.). I’ve got a fresh fade; I’m rockin’ the gel; I’m rockin’ the contacts; I’m wearing this cool grey polo with some nice khakis; and dah-lin, I’m oozing machismo. My ounce of confidence has been multiplied by millions. I have a million ounces of confidence. A million. I go into the night thinking “first impression” and “if I fuck up, I’m never seeing her again, so why not have fun with it”. Boy did I not realize how ‘fun’ my night was going to end up.
Dinner started well. We introduced ourselves, I told a few jokes, I had her smiling. My ego, as you could guess, was inflating… until our waiter dropped my glass of water on my shoulder. He didn’t trip, he wasn’t carrying anything other than my glass of water, but somehow on the exchange from hand to table, it slipped out and right on my shoulder. I was doused. But I made a joke, laughed it off and I eased myself, the waiter and most importantly, my date. Dinner continued, and went fine… until, while cleaning our table, our waiter dropped her half-eaten plate all over her. She felt humiliated, especially because she could tell I was holding back a tidal wave of laughter. But I made another joke and eased the situation. Then, I did the cheap-o thing and weaseled out of there with a free meal, due to excessive spillage.
We went back to her place so she could change. She lived right by the restaurant so it was a short drive. I was sitting in the living room, waiting on her, when her parents came home from wherever they were. I immediately panicked, because that was one situation that could turn ugly quick. I was happy that they at least KNEW their daughter was on a date, and I was that guy, because random guy + empty house with daughter (generally) = pain, lots and lots of pain. But calmly, dad sat down on the chair next to the couch I was on, showing no signs of anger or malice. I was a little eased as I began to mentally prepare myself for the stereotypical, as-seen-on-TV “what do you want to do with your life” speech.
Instead, I got magic.
Her dad opened our conversation with “look what I found behind your ear” and pulled out a quarter. I was floored. He began to tell me about the wonders of magic. “Sleight of hand is the most powerful tool any man can have.” He pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket and showed me two magic tricks. I didn’t know how to react, so I just went along with it. Eventually, during the middle of trick #3, Jessie Lynn came down and stopped her dad. She was definitely embarrassed. She grabbed my arm as hard as she could and dragged me outside so we could go. On the way to the car, the conversation went a little like this:
Her: I’m soooo sorry. I think he had been drinking. My dad can be weird.
Me: Yeah, he is a little weird.
Her: You aren’t supposed to agree with me!
Me: Hey now, I only agreed because I know about weird dads. If that was my dad and you, it would’ve been worse.
Her: I doubt it. Your dad isn’t an amateur magician that likes to show off to his daughter’s dates.
Me: No, but my dad is an amateur drunk that likes to do hula dances for his son’s dates.
Her: (laughing) Hula dances? You can’t be serious.
Me: I’m not serious. (pause) He doesn’t drink.
Her: (laughing)
Me: But if he did….. (and I did some sort of drunken hula dance)
(While she laughs, we get in the car)
Her: Thanks, I feel a lot better. You really know how to run damage control.
(And then she kissed me on the cheek)
Me: JACKPOT!
(Yes, I did actually say jackpot out loud.)
——-
We laughed some more and made our way to the Family Fun Center. On the agenda there was go-karts, mini-golf and some friendly competitive arcading. We start with the go-karts. They were fast, fun and she whipped my ass. I don’t know if it was the karts having different speeds (which you know they do) or a natural NASCAR-like instinct that she had, but she lapped me. And I got to hear about that afterwards. But it was ok, cause I had planned on getting my win back at mini-golf. And it would feel oh so sweet…. except she dropped the ultimate bomb on me: “I’ve never played mini-golf before.”
?!? How in the…? How could she have never played mini-golf before!? But, I took that as the perfect opportunity for the classic ‘let me show you how to play’ move. So, still reeking of esteem, I set to slyly use this situation to my advantage. We make our way to the first hole. I did some cheesy ‘don’t stand like this’ poses that don’t really go over well, and hit a nice smooth shot. “See what I did, nice and easy,” I told her. She stepped up to the tee, placed her ball down and got ready to hit. I stood behind her contemplating if I should do the ‘get behind her and show her how to hold the club’ move (cause it’s all in the hips), and right as I was deciding that I’m not THAT cool or smooth, she took a hard back swing…..
Right to the jewels.
I went down. Hard. Fast. I’ve been clobbered in the cahones before, but this clubbing couldn’t have come quicker and more compact. I had a lot of quick decisions to make. Do I curse? Do I grab my little buddy and shake him healthy? Do I ask her to kiss it and make it better? Do I ask for ice? Do I tough it out? Or do I talk in a really high voice to make fun of what happened? I, of course, chose the latter.
After brushing myself off, we finish all 18 holes with me DOMINATING! Unfortunately, every time I tried to gloat, she would make a “don’t make me nut shot you again” comment or gesture. So we had a good time making fun of it.
In a weird moment, as we were heading back inside, some girl shot Jessie Lynn a dirty look. I mean, it was a nasty, filthy look. I thought nothing of it as we headed inside.
So we started arcading. It wasn’t necessarily anything other than us trying to spend another 30 minutes to an hour having fun. We picked games that were simple (like skeet ball) to just get some more potential QT in. All things considered, all wackiness aside, it was going great for a first date. Near the end when we didn’t have any tokens left, we went to turn our tickets in. We had 115. Unfortunately, there was this cute little dragon she wanted that cost 150. Since we didn’t have enough, she decided to just go ahead and save the tickets and give them to her little brother. It was time for her to hit the bathroom and we would head back home. I had a different idea.
I sprinted to the nearest token machine and put a dollar in. I found the classic spin and stop light game (that I wish I could remember what it was called, I know you remember it, it has the little light bulbs that went around and had four stop buttons). I hit 8, 10, 10, 8. I sprinted back to the prize counter, turned in my tickets for the dragon and sprinted to the car to hide it. I don’t know how long she was in the bathroom, but when I walked back inside, she was walking around looking for me. I told her I ran to the bathroom too and we headed out.
When we got back to her place, we sat in the car and chatted. During the middle of a conversation about lord knows what, I reached behind her seat and pulled out the dragon. The look on her face was magical. I knew I was in. I knew the potential that we had there. I thought the night was mine. In fact, the exact thought that went through my head, “If for some reason this actually did end up being the girl I married, what a great story for our first date.” And even though everything was telling me no; even though my natural instinct is to shy away; even though you know I could NEVER make the first move; even though you know how absolutely scared I was; I decided I was going to go in for a kiss. I leaned in, closed my eyes, parted my lips and met her…
Plush.
I had kissed the dragon. What a dejection. My body immediately went numb. After such a wonderful night, I blew it by going against everything I know. I was a moron, I was an idiot. How could I even think that this girl could ever like me? How could I think I had a chance? My best is never even close. I was self-doubting, self-depreciating, self-loating, self-pitying…
“I’m a lesbian.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry. But I’m a lesbian.”
“Wait… what?”
“I’m so sorry Chad. That girl that shot us the dirty look, that was my high school girlfriend. She stopped me in the bathroom and berated me because she felt like I was betraying her. And honestly, I felt a little like I was betraying myself. I’ve been a lesbian almost all my life. I’ve had two boyfriends, but never had sex with them. Near the end of high school I just found I was attracted to girls… When Megan set us up, she had been hounding me about trying guys. She’s been my best friend for years, and has always supported me, but she has always tried to get me to try guys. And then, on a whim, she called me up and begged me to go out with you. She said, ‘I found some guy you’ll love. Just give him a try. If you do this, I’ll stop bugging you about it.’ So I had to. I just wanted to get her off of my back… I’m soooo sorry. I wanted to tell you. I should’ve told you, but the night was going so well I—“
“It’s ok.”
We sat in an awkward five second silence until I chimed in.
“You know, at least I can take solace in the fact that Megan thought I could turn a gay girl straight. I mean, that’s a compliment in itself.”
“And you almost did it. I did have such a great time.”
“So did I.”
“We can still hang out. I’d love to be friends.”
“That would be alright with me. I mean, if I need someone to help me hone my drunken hula skills I know who to turn to.”
And she laughed. We exchanged a few more pleasantries; she got out of the car and went inside. I sat for a second in front of her house in silence. It was a helluva night. I drove home, still in sort of a stunned surreal state, not sure what to do next. I pulled up to my apartment, stepping inside, grabbed my bottle of Makers Mark whiskey and poured a glass. For the rest of the evening, I sipped on my glass watching The Office until I fell asleep.
And that may be the craziest, oddest night of my life.
Every Saturday, one of us will post a blog post from our past in order to let you really get to know us… and laugh at us. Gerry thought it was going to be only him posting this, but then he promptly forgot the tradition he attempted to create. Once again, as the glue that holds the writing on this blog together, I present you my first classic post. This was a little story I wrote called “Alcohol”.
Alcohol.
Nausea.
Dehydration.
Humiliation.
Pounding headaches.
Ah, the beauty of a Hangover.
You know how it is. The night before, you start with something light.
A glass of Cabernet at dinner.
A beer.
A couple of shots of Jaeger.
You’re sitting in the bar with your friends talking about the tight ass on the chick you went out with last night, bitching about your Neanderthal boss, staring at the waitress’s ass, having a great time when said waitress comes back, leans over to show you her silicone udders, smiles and offers you another round of poison.
Sure, you’ll have another.
Why not?
You are gonna make it an early night anyway, got to get into the office tomorrow. Just one more and you’ll be in a cab, on your way home with a nice buzz in no time. Might as well make the last one a good one, so you order a nice Scotch.
Just as you’re taking your last sip, he walks in.
He goes by many names.
Tony, Mark, Matt, Bro- whatever alias he chooses for the night, his mission is clear: To get you loaded, stupid and in the worst shape possible.
The sonofabitch is grinning from ear-to-ear, but you know the deal. He’s the heavyweight champion of bad ideas, biting the ear off of any chance you had of leaving the bar in a respectable (or live) state.
Within minutes, you’re shooting the shit and remembering your hazing days. You are discussing one of your employee’s gay tendencies when, what is this? Tequila shots!
You refuse.
He calls you a pussy.
You tell him to shut the fuck up. You can’t do tequila shots!
You have to work tomorrow.
He looks upset and hits you a little too hard for your liking.
You refuse again.
He questions your tolerance.
He insults your manhood.
Finally, he gets desperate. “It’s Patron” he says.
Translation: This round just cost me a good portion of my unemployment, dude.
What can you say to that?
You promise yourself you will be out of the bar in ten minutes, toast Satan himself and down the shot.
Fade to black.
The next morning, you awake to a wet, sticky pillow and what feels like a singeing laser burning your face?
Man, you are hot. Why are your clothes so musty?
You manage to get one eye open and then the other.
You want to get up, shut the blinds and turn on the AC, but something will not allow you to move.
Fear?
Pain?
The pounding of a sledgehammer in your head combined with the burning sensation in your esophagus?
Yes to all of the above.
Unable to learn from past mistakes, and who are we kidding? You have been here before.
You attempt to move. Your head won’t budge. Are you really trying? You think you are.
Again and again, you lift a little and plop your throbbing skull back onto a pillow covered in a gooey wetness you are praying is just drool.
Finally, you give up and close your bloodshot eyes and start praying for recovery. If God will just let you feel better, you swear, you’ll never do this shit again. Oh, and you’ll throw in no more hookers as an added bonus.
You know. This time you mean it.
Really. C’mon, it is an even exchange.
He gets to have you sober and whore-less for all eternity and you feel better.
Wait. What if you are already in Hell? Hell would definitely feel like this! Come to think of it, you are boiling! Feeling like you are about to gag, you start fantasizing about water.
Anything to stop hacking up all of those cotton balls.
Eventually, you roll yourself over enough to fall off of the bed, and after a good half-an-hour of hugging onto the floor while the room took you for a ride, you manage to pull yourself up.
You vomit.
You moan.
You fall.
You cry.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Unable to peel your semi-urine soaked pants off your body and desperate for relief, you crawl into the shower, half dressed and treat yourself to a good ol’ fashioned convict hose-down.
You are just not going to make it this time. You are not as young as you used to be. How did you make it through college?
Eventually you clean your sorry ass up and get dressed.
You order in some eggs, bacon, pancakes, hash browns, coffee and OJ from the Korean deli down the street and agree to pay them their thirty-dollar ransom. You drink your roommate’s Gatorade (you’ll replace it) and lay on the couch, waiting for your greasy remedy.
The phone rings.
It’s Him.
Yeah, you know, last night was nuts.
Yeah, you kind of remember her coming in.
No, you don’t remember saying that.
Or that.
Oh shit, you definitely did not do that.
Suddenly, the wooziness returns and you are told to expect many-a-phone calls where random girls will be calling you a list of names that is reserved for an absentee father.
Yeah, as a matter of fact, your eye does hurt.
You hit who? What? Over a cab?!
You have to go.
This is too much.
You are done with drinking and with him.
It is time to grow up.
You were supposed to work today.
Overtime.
Catching up.
You hang up the phone and your food arrives.
You watch some “SportsCenter” and “Surreal Life”. By six, you are feeling a lot better. By eight, you are back at 100%.
You are playing air-guitar to some Zeppelin when your old high school pal calls.
They are having drinks at the local hangout.
Naw, you’ll pass.
No, you drank last night.
You are just now starting to feel better.
Okay, okay.
“One drink,” you tell him.
“Cool,” he says, “I have to make it an early night anyway, I have to go into work tomorrow.”
Every Saturday, one of us (probably just me at first, but maybe I can convince the others to join in sooner, riiiight?) will post a blog post from our past in order to let you really get to know us… and laugh at us. Seeing how winter is right around the corner, I have the perfect post for you. Without further ado, I present, The Boring Olympics.
That’s right. I said it. The Olympics are hella boring. The same thing every four years. Well, My I3D professor and a few of us have come up with ideas to make the Olympics much more entertaining. If you don’t like these ideas… well too freaking bad. They are awesome, as are we. We are great. Now, on with the suggestions.
First off, the luge. They should have 4 starting points that merge about 1/5th the way down. As if that wasn’t enough, hockey sticks should be given to the luggers to fend off the others when they all meet. Said sticks could be fastened to the side of the luge and easily detachable to beat the living shit out of their competitors. Also, on the way to the finish line, the competitors must collect as many flags as possible.
Let’s jump ahead a little bit to the closing ceremonies. This one is more interesting anyway. First they have the main reception for the winners. Gold is happy, Silver is excited, and Bronze… well bronze sucks anyway and he’s disappointed in his inability to preform. He probably feels like an impotent man on valentines day or quite possibly his anniversary. Oh hell, how he feels anytime his wife is aroused and is disappointed by this limply hanging dick. Anyway, you get the point, bronze is a limp wiener (get it? wiener, winner? hahaha) *ahem* So anyway, that’s going on and everyone who’s there is yawning. Meanwhile, the real show is across the street in a roman era colosseum. The losers are brought into the center of the colosseum and everyone is cheering. They think it’s because, even though they lost, they gave it their best. But this is the cool, fun, and hip Olympics Obviously, they are cheering because the gates holding back the lions were just opened. Well, it would be boring to just watch them run away in fear right? Of course. So to toy with their emotions, the lions are wearing gold medals. It’s so much more interesting to see them die trying to get what they’ve worked their whole life for isn’t it? Did I mention that they were thrown a losers celebration before hand where they get drunk off their ass?
You only get one chance to be a winner in THESE Olympics. No trying again in four years. As Yoda would say, “Do or do not. There is no try.”
Now, back to the events. Next we’ll take a look at curling. Let’s watch two guys brush a path for a disk to travel over ice to land it in a radial target. Yawn yawn…. You know what that disk looks like it should be? Give up? Let’s try a time bomb! Give them seven seconds to get it in the target area or it explodes. It adds extra excitement to the game. Not only do they have to be careful to not make it slide too far, but they ALSO had to get it to the designated area. Or how about this. Make it a proximity bomb. Let’s go over how a prox bomb works. It’s dropped in from the air usually, arms are spread to slow it’s decent. When it lands, the fuse is armed. It sets up a magnetic field. The field detects the amount of metallic objects in the area. The counter for the objects can go up an infinite amount. The problem is when the count drops. When it does, BOOM. The idea is when a convoy drives through the radius, the front passes through ok. As the ones behind it come in, the counter on the bomb goes up. And the end enters though, since nothing is following it, the metal count drops and the ass end of the convoy is no more. Back on to explaining how it helps curling be more interesting. As the bomb gets closer, there is more metal objects the are moved into it’s field. the maximum amount is when it reaches the target area. However, if it moved beyond that area, BOOM! That’s what makes it interesting because you also have 7 seconds to make it to the area or BOOM as well. A most awesome idea.
Well do one more for the winter Olympics. Ski jumping. Quite possibly the most boring event of ALL TIME. Well, how about this. We add a flaming hoop just as they jump off the ramp. Sure you can swerve to avoid it, but then you’ll fall into the conveniently place canyon between the jump and the landing area. And just to FURTHER make things interesting, we add ANOTHER hoop just before the landing. Guaranteed excitement! It would be like watching car racing, only better. People only watch NASCAR and the like for the crashing at the beginning, then go home and probably get fat or BBQ or if you’re a loner, masturbate to pictures of the crashes you download from the internet when you get home. Ok ok, I kid. They all skip the BBQ and go masturbate to said pictures. Really the only way to tolerate NASCAR is to have a fetish for it. It’s understandable I guess. Everyone has a fetish. Some foot, some Asian, some German shiza videos…. What am I kidding, those NASCAR fans are FUCKING FREAKS man! masturbating to NASCAR crashes? Ew nasty you sick bastard. Now I’m too disturbed to come up with more to the ski jump.
Let’s stop with winter and go to the summer Olympics. Let’s start with something truly boring. The marathon. Everyone is gathered near an obelisk. They’re just standing around waiting for the race to start. Oh, I’m forgetting something…. what was it… hmm… oh well, probably wasn’t important anyway. So the gun is fired and the runners begin. The distance to run is three miles. A minor trek for an experienced marathon runner, be assured. Oh wait, I remember now what was previously forgotten. Remember the obelisk at the starting point? Good, cause it’s got a nuke in it. It’s set to go off 5 minutes after the start of the race. You may say, but doesn’t a nuke have a blast radius of about 500 miles? Well, at the end of the race are bomb shelters. But how could someone ever run 3 miles in 5 minutes? Well, knowing that your about to be fucking obliterated on the atomic level might encourage you to run faster maybe. Maybe…
finally, there’s the diathalon. Well, forget about it. It’s been thrown out. It’s replacement? The Decapithon. But I grow weary now. We’ll get to that another time as this is getting long as it is. Hopefully you’ve enjoyed our ideas to make the Olympics better for all. Ok, well, maybe just better for the viewers, but dammit all, we’re the important ones here right? That’s what I thought.