On random thoughts

-editorial aside-
****[I noticed that I actually got my first comments. It's weird knowing that someone I don't know is reading this, but also kind of liberating to know that you liked it enough to say something. If anyone else out there reads this and has any input/suggestions/ideas feel free to drop me a comment or an email. I'm all ears. Ok enough serious shit. Back to bullshitting.]****

During the course of the day, some really insanely random, crazy and highly inappropriate things occasionally flash themselves through my mind in the “what if I...” category, often causing me to squirt milk out of my nose.

I’m not sure if this is a universal thing or if it’s just a symptom of my insanely overactive imagination, but I supposed I should iron this thing out before I start trying to up my dose.

I’m not talking like, “the neighbor’s dog is telling me to murder kittens,” type crazy but more, “I wonder what would happen if I really ripped one right now,” while sitting in a meeting. Or, “I bet if I jumped off the roof of our house I could reach that tree in the yard over there.” Or what about, “I wonder if I hit a tree going 12 miles an hour if I’d be able to set off my air bags. That’d be sweet.” Or even, “how pissed do you think the waiter would be if I just kicked him in the nuts and ran out of the restaurant?” (Coincidentally, the answer to that last one is “very angry.” Steven, if you’re reading this I’d like to be allowed to see in inside of a Friday’s at some point in the future. I promise I won’t do it again. To you.)

Is this normal? Do other people have this as well? This may be part of the reason why I spent the better part of my younger years in detention and why I’ve now been to rehab not once, but twice. You really do need to go back for seconds to get the full feeling for how much you hate your parents. (That’s right ladies. I’m dangerous. I get drunk and say bad words. I also don’t smell like pee. Someone should date me.)

My whole life I’ve had to exercise an extra large amount of self-control. I tend to say/do things that can be really spontaneous and funny, but also horribly offensive if I don’t watch it. Like everything else in my life, my humor tends to run the line between appropriate and inappropriate, and sometimes I like to trip that little bitch and watch it fall flat on its face right in the middle of a huge pile of inappropriate.

This past Sunday when myself and some of my room mates attended a minor league baseball game is a good example of this. I’d spent all day Friday and Saturday in important work-related company, and as such had to bite my tongue often to keep from offending someone who I might need a paycheck from or who’s wife I’m trying to boink. (Not really. My Mrs. Robinson fantasy will never realize fruition. I’ve come to accept this as a fact and will simply resort to living it out in my head over and over and over and over an d ove efr

Sorry, I had to run to the bathroom for a few. I’m back now though. Anyhow, I acted civil all weekend and by Sunday I was ready to pop. Going to the game was just what I needed. There was plenty of low class low income fodder about for me to pick on, and plenty of beer to grease the tracks. (I was there with a buddy who’s work was sponsoring some sort of company outing. I ate AND drank beer for free.) Even on the car ride there I started to wind up.

Me: Hey dude, do you think fat chicks know that nobody loves them?
Friend1: Wha? What the hell?
Me: Seriously, I’d be willing to be that most fat chicks know that nobody loves them. Except for the ones that go to the beach in bikini’s they don’t know.
Friend1: Oh my god…
Me: Seriously though, I hate that, I always want to run up and slap a big flap of skin and then laugh. It’s soo gross.
Friend1: That’s horrible dude.
Me: Not as bad as being so fat that you make baby Jesus cry. Jesus hates fat chicks too. He was a dude, he knows what’s going on.
Friend1: I did not just hear that. (moves away from me.)
Me: Where you going?
Friend1: If God strikes you down I don’t want to get burned by the lightning.

So, that’s what kind of day it was. Funny but not fit for anyone other than me to hear.

Let me go right out on a limb now and assure you that I am the farthest thing from a true racist that you will ever find. I actually had a best friend who was black for many, many years and never thought twice about it. However, if there’s one thing that I hate, it’s politically correct bullshit. Being “p.c.” is an invention of our generation, which in case nobody has told you yet, are a bunch of sandy vaginas with credit card douchebags. My dad got beat up by riot cops for protesting Vietnam on campus. I got a letter sent home because I got too drunk and puked all over my RA’s bathroom before peeing in his closet. Big deal. Twenty years ago, in some of the Pink Panther movies he would refer to his asian sidekick as his “little yellow friend.” That’s some funny shit right there. Asians ARE short and they ARE yellow, we just aren’t allowed to talk about it any more.

My job on this earth is to break the P.C. boundaries for you, because nobody else is going to. Plus the looks that you get when you openly say something that everyone else is thinking are hilarious. And chicks never have really dirty sex with nice guys.

*edit* I cleaned up the comments section and turned on some of the safety features so I don't get junk comments again. Enjoy.

Things not to do on your weekend

Sorry about the lapse in new material. I'm still new to this whole "posting with a purpose" thing and need to get better at coming up with material and a more consistent basis. With that in mind, here it is.

Things not to do on your weekend:

1.Get drunk enough to break a chair and then throw the broken chair across the room.
2.Get drunk enough to break a chair, throw it across the room and then not remember any of it in the morning.
3.Get drunk enough to spend the entire day following the alleged “chair incident” either throwing up, or looking for places to throw up, or finding something soft to eat so you can throw it up again later.

Now I’ve had my fair share of testing my limits in the past, and generally know exactly where I stand in regards to them. What I mean by this is, I’m more often than not, under control of the situation that I’m in, even while drinking alcohol. I pride myself in not having many (as in I can list them on one hand,) experiences where people would say things like, “holy crap, remember when you got drunk, lit a cat on fire and then rode the neighbor’s German Shepard bareback down the street while peeing in mailboxes?” However, unfortunately, I had one of those weekends this past weekend. Lucky for the German Shepard, it was hit by a car recently and won’t have to carry me any longer. Unless I get really really drunk.
Let me say right off the bat that this alcohol consumption isn’t something that I’m proud of, nor is it something that you should strive to achieve. Mostly, because I’m much more of a man than you are, but also because you feel like human garbage soaked in alcohol the following morning. I learned very early on in my relationship with mister alcohol that to spend too much time with him is not necessarily a wise personal move. As funny as those stories are, you aren’t going to stand an asian’s chance at an indy race of scoring with the chicks if you keep peeing in people’s mailboxes.

I think my undoing was the white russians that I was drinking all night. Actually, I KNOW that my undoing was the white russians that I drank all night. I don’t exactly have any numbers as to how many I consumed because, due to goading by one of my room mates, who will remain nameless but whose name rhymes with “Len” and starts with a ‘B,’ played a mean trick on me wherein I ended up drinking a large quantity of white russian late in the evening, and far too quickly. After this, things degenerated rapidly.

I know for a fact that I had a pizza in the oven at the point-of-no-return “Len” trick. I don’t know:
1. Who took the pizza out of the oven.
2. How I managed to eat ¾ of it at two in the morning while full on milk and alcohol.
3. Where most of it ended up in the hours following.

But there is “evidence” of this pizza’s existence and consumption at various places in the house. As well as some corn, which I don’t remember eating either. (No seriously.) It was while I was consuming this pizza that I don’t remember,r that the alleged chair breaking and throwing occurred that I also don’t remember. To be fair, the chairs we have around the house aren’t that strong. However, I’m not a little person and was also several white russians and three quarters of a pizza into an otherwise decent evening. In any case, the chair’s demise came about (allegedly,) through me sitting down “heavily” and the having it dump me unceremoniously onto the floor after cracking and breaking in more than one place. I, feeling badly for the chair, then attempted to piece it back together with nothing but my wit and bare hands. Maybe some pizza sauce was involved, but by and large I don’t think I had any tools with me. After failing to fix the chair, I’m then told that I launched it across our dining room and into the living room.
Content that I wasn’t going to drink any more or kill any more furniture, anyone who was still awake must’ve gone to bed at this point. Another one of my housemates who claims he got home at “four or five” in the morning, reports that when he walked in the front door, I was still wandering around the upstairs, alone, drink in hand and ignoring everything he said to me.

So, this weekend, if you happen to swing by our house and see me with a white russian in my hand, slowly back away and make sure that I’m not eating a whole pizza. I don’t ever want to have to wash pepperoni out of the dog’s hair ever again.