Well, Well, Well...Hello, Little Blog World. Have you missed me? I definitely don't miss you. May I be candid? I find that I am more comfortable without you. But here we are. All is the same.
You've been waiting and I've been hiding. You know me all to well. A sudden change in the cosmos and I'd come running back. Tail between my leg. Cowering at your feet. Afraid to live without writing non-sense. You may be correct. Indeed, I find it hard not to share with you.
Have I grown? Will I learn? Can I breath? Can I yearn?
Shall I run? May I heal? Can I run? Can I feel?
In this wide open space, I am vulnerable.
Confined I am inacessible.
Blogging, posting, tweeting, writing, typing, reading, eating, smoking, drinking, fighting, fucking, hating, loving, loving, loving. Perhaps a dream or the nightmare that festers in the guts. And what is the next step? The downward spiral or elevation? Do I have a choice?
Rituals, education, monogamy, career, diet, health, cleanliness, tolerance, patience, patience, patience. Slavery bounds us all. Quoting a famous woman, "Freedom is just another word for nothing else at all."
Am I free, Little Blog World? Can I breath?
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Friday, September 18, 2009
Fear And Loathing In Ann Arbor, MI
It was the middle of November in Michigan. The day was cold with a gray sky looming overhead. We were on the verge of leaving fall and entering the god awful winter of the north. There were four of us headed from Holland to Ann Arbor, a three and half hour trip across the state, from one coast to the other.
To protect the guilty, I will change the names of my three cronies. We will call them Nick, Brent, and Tim. The three amigos were broke. Money wasn't an issue for me however, and I needed these three in order to make the trip complete. So I handed each of them $100 and we were off.
We were leaving Holland when we realized that we needed gas. In order to conserve our money, we decided to steal gas. Now there is almost an art to stealing gas. Let me tell you it is not just as easy as pulling in, filling up, and leaving. You have to have a game plan.
We pulled over before the station and removed the license plate. We then pulled up to the gas tank, everyone wearing shades on this dull, overcast day. Brent, who was driving, got out and started filling up. Usually when you are done filling up, you leave the gas nozzle on the ground so that the employees don't realize that you are done pumping. It can easily buy you another minute for your escape. Brent forgot this golden rule and placed the nozzle back in its home, and took off like a bat out of hell. Fortunately for us it did not matter.
When pulling a crime off of this nature, you tend to go through a fit of laughter. Uncontrollable and beast like noises bellow out of your face. The veins and blood vessels in your head feel like they will burst. The stomach feels as if it is cramped. I love the feeling of a good hard laugh.
We were close to the border of the neighboring county. When we crossed the line, we hopped out and put the license plate back on the car. We were safe from the man and out of harms way. We were now Ann Arbor bound but we needed to stop for some strong drink.
We stopped and purchased a fifth of whiskey and stole a 2 liter of Coca Cola. We probably would have stolen the Jack Daniels if it weren't for the fact that it was behind the counter. Now we could make this boring journey across the flat, farm lands of Michigan.
The day that we arrived in Ann Arbor just happened to be the day of the Wolverines/Ohio St. Buckeyes game. If you aren't familiar with college sports, this is one of the biggest rivalries in all of sports. Ohio St has Michigan's number and they did that day as well, in the Big House.
We pulled into town with an empty fifth of whiskey and a strong desire to burn the locals. Screaming Ohio St. rules at the top of our lungs, from the safety of the car, was a good way to get everyone's attention. There was a mob of students chasing the car and throwing objects like chocolate milk, among other things, at the vehicle.
At one point we reached a red light and were forced to stop. A young Asian man opened the passenger side door. He tried to reach for yours truly. I pushed the savage bastard back, screamed a racial slur, and then the light turned green.
Bored and waiting for our female friend, Callie, to get out of work, we pulled over and decided to wrestle each other on the side of the road. People were driving by slowly like we were crazed zoo animals who had escaped captivity. We were the roadside attraction.
Feeling fatigued and drained from wrestling, it was time to get more booze and meet up with Callie. She had prepared 30 jello shots and they were waiting to be devoured. By the time we left her place to meet up at the bar with our other friend, Verde, we had eaten every one of those lethal treats. It was bar time.
I can't say that I remember much of the ride to bar. I can't speak for the three stooges, but I can't recall any of it. It's during black outs when the true animal surfaces. The body operates on instinct. A man becomes one with his inner beast.
However, I do remember walking into the bar. The place was packed full of our nation's young minds getting wasted and killing their brain cells. Some of the Wolverines were sitting in the back drinking and going over what had gone wrong that day.
It was getting late and last call was coming soon. Verde informed us that there was not much alcohol at his place. This presented a problem. We needed our medicine and were not about to go without it. Looking over at the bar, I spotted what looked to be a full case of Bud Light bottles sitting unattended.
This was going to be a well planned mission. I would grab the case of beer when the bartender was facing the other direction. Someone would walk in front of me to block the case and part the crowd of students. Breaking through these pack of wild dogs was not going to be a simple task. I needed a little bull. I needed Brent.
Brent parted the way and moved fast. He was working out perfectly until he lead me down the hallway to the bathrooms. There were two hallways that were side by side. The one on the left lead to the bathrooms and the one on the right lead to freedom. We had to backtrack. Walking back towards the bar and the crowd of drunken students, we pulled a u-turn and went down the hallway that lead to the street. We made it. It was time to wind down and drink in a safe place. Of course we wouldn't be at Verde's for long before we had the itch to go out.
Brent and Nick left for pizza and never came back. This left Verde, Tim, and myself with nothing to do. We could stay and hang out with Verde's liberal minded roommates from all four corners of the world, or we could go out and cause some chaos.
Verde was leading us to his old fraternity house when I suddenly changed my mind. His roommates may have been the kind of people who despised me and my Republican views, but a couple of them were females, and I was confident that my conservative ideas would not interfere with my chances. I headed back after fighting off Tim and Verde. They started dragging me when I told them about my change of heart...Bastards.
I was back on Verde's road when I realized I had forgotten which house was his. The fear of being lost suddenly hit me. I did not own a cell phone at the time and looking back I wish I had. I had to be in Detroit the next day to watch the Lions/Giants game and now I couldn't remember which fucking house was Verde's. I started walking around and randomly stopping people who had cell phones. I would explain my situation and then they would let me use them. However, nobody was answering their phones.
After awhile I realized I wasn't even on Verde's road anymore. Now I was really lost. I would head to the nearest hotel and work out all this bullshit in the morning. It was beginning to snow for the first time and all I wanted was a warm place to lie my head down.
There are three hotels in Ann Arbor and every one of them was full. I had forgotten that the big game was the same day. I thought to myself, "That's it, I'm fucked. I'll have to sleep outside on the first cold night of the year." I could picture gangs of drunken rugby players finding me and beating the shit out of me because they thought I was a bum. I had to get indoors.
There weren't many options when I came across a sign that read Hospital this way. I could walk in, sleep in the emergency room lobby. If anyone woke me up, I would make something up and split. The hospital was enormous, and it took me an hour to walk around the building to reach my destination. Upon entering, a large, black, security guard stopped me and asked me what I was doing there. I responded, "My sister is in there. She's sick and it's urgent that I get in there. Thank you very much for your concern."
Six hours later I awoke with a stiff neck and sore back from lying on the hospital furniture but I was warm. It was 10:00 A.M. I still had to find my friends and make it to Detroit which was an hour away by car. I wondered through town until I found a bar/restaurant. I ordered a Bloody Mary and was denied because it was before noon on a Sunday(state law). This experience couldn't get any worse. I was in purgatory, I knew it. Somewhere during all of the madness I died during a black out.
Borrowing the bartender's phone, I called every person I knew to help me reach one of the savage pricks who I had come with. Finally, Tim's girlfriend reached Tim. I ordered some food and waited patiently. Never have I been happier to see Tim. When he walked through the door of the restaurant I thought he was an apparition. I told myself, "You're hallucinating you fool." But I wasn't. He and Callie took me to her place. Nick and Verde were already in Detroit.
Fortunately, Brent drove me to Detroit, drinking and driving about 100 mph the whole way. I had finally made it to Detroit. It was my first time there, and I realized why everybody called it a shit hole. I had only missed half of the first quarter and my friends waited for me so that I could get my ticket from them.
*Nick, Brent, and Tim are the real names of my three cronies, by the way, for those of you who don't know them.
*Fact: The Giants went on to win the Superbowl that year.
*Fact: The Lions lost that game. Not a big surprise.
*Tim also got lost and slept outside on a random porch. He was awakened by Verde's girlfriend. She just happened to live in the house where Tim had fallen asleep on the porch.
*Nick and Brent never made it back to Verde's. They were also lost and just happened to come across Callie's apartment by chance.
To protect the guilty, I will change the names of my three cronies. We will call them Nick, Brent, and Tim. The three amigos were broke. Money wasn't an issue for me however, and I needed these three in order to make the trip complete. So I handed each of them $100 and we were off.
We were leaving Holland when we realized that we needed gas. In order to conserve our money, we decided to steal gas. Now there is almost an art to stealing gas. Let me tell you it is not just as easy as pulling in, filling up, and leaving. You have to have a game plan.
We pulled over before the station and removed the license plate. We then pulled up to the gas tank, everyone wearing shades on this dull, overcast day. Brent, who was driving, got out and started filling up. Usually when you are done filling up, you leave the gas nozzle on the ground so that the employees don't realize that you are done pumping. It can easily buy you another minute for your escape. Brent forgot this golden rule and placed the nozzle back in its home, and took off like a bat out of hell. Fortunately for us it did not matter.
When pulling a crime off of this nature, you tend to go through a fit of laughter. Uncontrollable and beast like noises bellow out of your face. The veins and blood vessels in your head feel like they will burst. The stomach feels as if it is cramped. I love the feeling of a good hard laugh.
We were close to the border of the neighboring county. When we crossed the line, we hopped out and put the license plate back on the car. We were safe from the man and out of harms way. We were now Ann Arbor bound but we needed to stop for some strong drink.
We stopped and purchased a fifth of whiskey and stole a 2 liter of Coca Cola. We probably would have stolen the Jack Daniels if it weren't for the fact that it was behind the counter. Now we could make this boring journey across the flat, farm lands of Michigan.
The day that we arrived in Ann Arbor just happened to be the day of the Wolverines/Ohio St. Buckeyes game. If you aren't familiar with college sports, this is one of the biggest rivalries in all of sports. Ohio St has Michigan's number and they did that day as well, in the Big House.
We pulled into town with an empty fifth of whiskey and a strong desire to burn the locals. Screaming Ohio St. rules at the top of our lungs, from the safety of the car, was a good way to get everyone's attention. There was a mob of students chasing the car and throwing objects like chocolate milk, among other things, at the vehicle.
At one point we reached a red light and were forced to stop. A young Asian man opened the passenger side door. He tried to reach for yours truly. I pushed the savage bastard back, screamed a racial slur, and then the light turned green.
Bored and waiting for our female friend, Callie, to get out of work, we pulled over and decided to wrestle each other on the side of the road. People were driving by slowly like we were crazed zoo animals who had escaped captivity. We were the roadside attraction.
Feeling fatigued and drained from wrestling, it was time to get more booze and meet up with Callie. She had prepared 30 jello shots and they were waiting to be devoured. By the time we left her place to meet up at the bar with our other friend, Verde, we had eaten every one of those lethal treats. It was bar time.
I can't say that I remember much of the ride to bar. I can't speak for the three stooges, but I can't recall any of it. It's during black outs when the true animal surfaces. The body operates on instinct. A man becomes one with his inner beast.
However, I do remember walking into the bar. The place was packed full of our nation's young minds getting wasted and killing their brain cells. Some of the Wolverines were sitting in the back drinking and going over what had gone wrong that day.
It was getting late and last call was coming soon. Verde informed us that there was not much alcohol at his place. This presented a problem. We needed our medicine and were not about to go without it. Looking over at the bar, I spotted what looked to be a full case of Bud Light bottles sitting unattended.
This was going to be a well planned mission. I would grab the case of beer when the bartender was facing the other direction. Someone would walk in front of me to block the case and part the crowd of students. Breaking through these pack of wild dogs was not going to be a simple task. I needed a little bull. I needed Brent.
Brent parted the way and moved fast. He was working out perfectly until he lead me down the hallway to the bathrooms. There were two hallways that were side by side. The one on the left lead to the bathrooms and the one on the right lead to freedom. We had to backtrack. Walking back towards the bar and the crowd of drunken students, we pulled a u-turn and went down the hallway that lead to the street. We made it. It was time to wind down and drink in a safe place. Of course we wouldn't be at Verde's for long before we had the itch to go out.
Brent and Nick left for pizza and never came back. This left Verde, Tim, and myself with nothing to do. We could stay and hang out with Verde's liberal minded roommates from all four corners of the world, or we could go out and cause some chaos.
Verde was leading us to his old fraternity house when I suddenly changed my mind. His roommates may have been the kind of people who despised me and my Republican views, but a couple of them were females, and I was confident that my conservative ideas would not interfere with my chances. I headed back after fighting off Tim and Verde. They started dragging me when I told them about my change of heart...Bastards.
I was back on Verde's road when I realized I had forgotten which house was his. The fear of being lost suddenly hit me. I did not own a cell phone at the time and looking back I wish I had. I had to be in Detroit the next day to watch the Lions/Giants game and now I couldn't remember which fucking house was Verde's. I started walking around and randomly stopping people who had cell phones. I would explain my situation and then they would let me use them. However, nobody was answering their phones.
After awhile I realized I wasn't even on Verde's road anymore. Now I was really lost. I would head to the nearest hotel and work out all this bullshit in the morning. It was beginning to snow for the first time and all I wanted was a warm place to lie my head down.
There are three hotels in Ann Arbor and every one of them was full. I had forgotten that the big game was the same day. I thought to myself, "That's it, I'm fucked. I'll have to sleep outside on the first cold night of the year." I could picture gangs of drunken rugby players finding me and beating the shit out of me because they thought I was a bum. I had to get indoors.
There weren't many options when I came across a sign that read Hospital this way. I could walk in, sleep in the emergency room lobby. If anyone woke me up, I would make something up and split. The hospital was enormous, and it took me an hour to walk around the building to reach my destination. Upon entering, a large, black, security guard stopped me and asked me what I was doing there. I responded, "My sister is in there. She's sick and it's urgent that I get in there. Thank you very much for your concern."
Six hours later I awoke with a stiff neck and sore back from lying on the hospital furniture but I was warm. It was 10:00 A.M. I still had to find my friends and make it to Detroit which was an hour away by car. I wondered through town until I found a bar/restaurant. I ordered a Bloody Mary and was denied because it was before noon on a Sunday(state law). This experience couldn't get any worse. I was in purgatory, I knew it. Somewhere during all of the madness I died during a black out.
Borrowing the bartender's phone, I called every person I knew to help me reach one of the savage pricks who I had come with. Finally, Tim's girlfriend reached Tim. I ordered some food and waited patiently. Never have I been happier to see Tim. When he walked through the door of the restaurant I thought he was an apparition. I told myself, "You're hallucinating you fool." But I wasn't. He and Callie took me to her place. Nick and Verde were already in Detroit.
Fortunately, Brent drove me to Detroit, drinking and driving about 100 mph the whole way. I had finally made it to Detroit. It was my first time there, and I realized why everybody called it a shit hole. I had only missed half of the first quarter and my friends waited for me so that I could get my ticket from them.
*Nick, Brent, and Tim are the real names of my three cronies, by the way, for those of you who don't know them.
*Fact: The Giants went on to win the Superbowl that year.
*Fact: The Lions lost that game. Not a big surprise.
*Tim also got lost and slept outside on a random porch. He was awakened by Verde's girlfriend. She just happened to live in the house where Tim had fallen asleep on the porch.
*Nick and Brent never made it back to Verde's. They were also lost and just happened to come across Callie's apartment by chance.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Strippers
I am a man with many vices. Even as a child, I knew that there wasn't much hope for myself. Many hours of my childhood were spent daydreaming about drinking, drugging, and sleeping with women. Perhaps I lack values, or maybe I am just hard wired to be a savage prick. It's probably safe to say that I'm on a highway to hell. This highway that I am on leads me right to my sanctuary...the strip club.
The strip club is actually a very unique place, and not because of the fact that the girls are in their birthday suits. There is a certain freedom that one feels upon entering the club. A feeling that no matter what happens in this life, everything is going to be OK as long as young, beautiful girls are willing to dance nude.
There is a strange sense of honesty that a man shares with an exotic dancer. The stripper craves money and the man craves a naked, warm body. There is no hiding the truth. Anybody who thinks that these girls are going to fall in love them is simply lying to themselves. However, it is very easy to fall in love with them, with trashy names like Jasmine, Star, and Angel. Who wouldn't fall in love?
The female body is the most precious thing on the planet, more than money, diamonds, or power. I see nothing wrong with women dancing in the buff. In fact, I think that if there were more strip clubs people might be happier. Imagine what would happen if we opened up a chain of strip clubs in the Middle East. Sure, some of them would get bombed, but after awhile the Arabs would jump on board. Spreading Democracy through strippers, I like that. In a world full of violence a man should be staring at a couple of breast, not thinking about how fucked we are.
The strip club is actually a very unique place, and not because of the fact that the girls are in their birthday suits. There is a certain freedom that one feels upon entering the club. A feeling that no matter what happens in this life, everything is going to be OK as long as young, beautiful girls are willing to dance nude.
There is a strange sense of honesty that a man shares with an exotic dancer. The stripper craves money and the man craves a naked, warm body. There is no hiding the truth. Anybody who thinks that these girls are going to fall in love them is simply lying to themselves. However, it is very easy to fall in love with them, with trashy names like Jasmine, Star, and Angel. Who wouldn't fall in love?
The female body is the most precious thing on the planet, more than money, diamonds, or power. I see nothing wrong with women dancing in the buff. In fact, I think that if there were more strip clubs people might be happier. Imagine what would happen if we opened up a chain of strip clubs in the Middle East. Sure, some of them would get bombed, but after awhile the Arabs would jump on board. Spreading Democracy through strippers, I like that. In a world full of violence a man should be staring at a couple of breast, not thinking about how fucked we are.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Channel 4 News- Pennsylvania Man Saves Strippers
Local man in Pittsburgh, Pa saved 10 exotic dancers from a fire at a downtown strip club. Apparently, an electrical fire caught and within seconds the entire club was up in flames. Customers rushed for the door trampling and injuring dancers. One man, named Abe Young, stood alone and helped the strippers escape by staying behind to make sure everyone made it out safely. We caught up with Mr. Young and were able to ask him how he found the courage to become a hero.
Reporter: Abe, I've got to ask, what possessed you to help these injured women when the walls were literally burning down all around you? You must have been thinking about your own safety.
Abe: Its simple, I didn't want to see that beautiful T and A go to waste. I mean look at these chics. Could you possibly think of yourself when there's a chance that hot pieces of ass like these could perish. Maybe it's me but I couldn't run away.
Reporter: Did you find that the young ladies were grateful?
Abe: Holy horse shit, did I ever. I can't say that I've ever been rewarded for my bravery like I was after saving the girls.
Reporter: Can you elaborate?
Abe: I don't know, is my Mother watching? (laughter in the background) Let me put it this way, I could die right now with a smile on my face.
Reporter: Thanks for the interview, Abe. You truly are a hero
Abe: Thank you
Reporter: This is one reporter who is in awe. If there were only more men like Abe Young. Back to you Bob.
Reporter: Abe, I've got to ask, what possessed you to help these injured women when the walls were literally burning down all around you? You must have been thinking about your own safety.
Abe: Its simple, I didn't want to see that beautiful T and A go to waste. I mean look at these chics. Could you possibly think of yourself when there's a chance that hot pieces of ass like these could perish. Maybe it's me but I couldn't run away.
Reporter: Did you find that the young ladies were grateful?
Abe: Holy horse shit, did I ever. I can't say that I've ever been rewarded for my bravery like I was after saving the girls.
Reporter: Can you elaborate?
Abe: I don't know, is my Mother watching? (laughter in the background) Let me put it this way, I could die right now with a smile on my face.
Reporter: Thanks for the interview, Abe. You truly are a hero
Abe: Thank you
Reporter: This is one reporter who is in awe. If there were only more men like Abe Young. Back to you Bob.
Andy Rooney On Walking Dogs
Living in New York, I see people walking their pooches everyday. What I don't understand is why do people own dogs in the city. They have to follow their K9 with a plastic bag waiting for it to drop a load. Would people walk their dogs if they could defecate in a toilet? I highly doubt it.
What if people walked their toddlers who weren't pottie trained. Why don't we follow children with a plastic bag in the park? I think I would enjoy watching that. I think I would enjoy shitting in the park. Is anyone interested in following me with a plastic bag? I'm Andy Rooney and this is 60 Minutes. Watch next Sunday as I continue to make an ass out of myself.
What if people walked their toddlers who weren't pottie trained. Why don't we follow children with a plastic bag in the park? I think I would enjoy watching that. I think I would enjoy shitting in the park. Is anyone interested in following me with a plastic bag? I'm Andy Rooney and this is 60 Minutes. Watch next Sunday as I continue to make an ass out of myself.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
My Journey West
On June 18th I had no idea what the next two weeks would have in store for me. The plan was to leave on the 19th, Idaho bound for a family reunion, and return on the 22nd.
The reunion which consisted mostly of Doyle's, my Father's family on his Mother's side, was wonderful in every sense of the word. We stayed in a beautiful home in the mountains. The women spoiled us with hearty meals and a massage of the shoulders. We drank beer all day long and stayed up til 4:00 in the morning every night. There was plenty of smoke if you knew the right relatives and like any trip it was over before I knew it.
My last night I stayed awake, cherishing every moment with my cousins and siblings. We drank and laughed and shared stories from our lives while sitting in a hot tub under the big sky of Idaho full of stars so bright and close that it was as if you could flick them with your finger(maybe that was the shrooms).
Time was running out for us and suddenly the mood changed to a feeling of melancholy. My two cousins, Lucia and Tessa, whom I hadn't seen in 13 years, were wearing their puppy dog faces and my heart felt broken. Tessa, the free spirit, convinced me to stay longer and when I say convinced...well, it was more like just bringing up the idea because I was not ready to leave. The journey was not over. There was more to see before returning to midwest. My cousins, their children, and their mother(my Aunt D) were pushing on further west to the coast. And I would be damned if I was going to miss out on this trip.
The only thing I had to do at this point was tell my Father that a ride to the airport was no longer necessary. Now I could write a book about the old man. He is the strongest man I have ever met and I'm not talking about his fighting skills which were superb in his day. He is unique in the sense that he doesn't give a shit about what people think. He was recently shot in the leg two years ago and now walks with a limp which will most likely be with him for the rest of his life. He is a simple man who leads a simple life that is relaxed and subject of envy. He smokes a little grass, has long hair and pays $40 a month to live on the Demoines River. When I told my Dad that I was staying he asked, "Abe, do you have your fuckin head screwed on?" My response was, "Yes Dad."
Having never been further west than Whyoming, I was ecstatic to see Oregon, Washington, and California. I experienced some of the most breath taking scenery from the mountains to the Redwoods to the drive along the coast of the Pacific ocean in northern California. The air in some of those places was like a drug itself. Observing God's work first hand made me walk away feeling a little wiser.
There is an attitude in the west that is hard to describe. A feeling of freedom overcomes you. The pigs are not winning the war against marijuana. In fact, they are losing miserably. The people have spoken. On any given day at any given time a person can walk the streets of SanFrancisco and smell reefer wafting in their direction.
I experienced the police's failure to arrest my cousin's friend. We were smoking in her vehicle when I got out with my 12 pack of Budweiser to get a little air. The police, in an umarked car, rolled up on me. I warned my cousin and her friend(still in the vehicle) and then turned to have an officer standing directly in front of me. The girls showed their medical marijuana cards and the next thing I know the female cop(good cop) is talking about diet, reality t.v, and hot guys. I was stuck in an episode of Reno 911. The male cop(bad cop) wasn't having it. The girls were clearly aggrivating him with their talk of legal marijuana and how he was out of line for searching the vehicle. The bad cop found some keef and had an argument for arresting her. Apparently, concentrated pot is illegal in the state of California. A half an hour later the victim of police harrassment was dropped off at my cousin's door with no charges pressed.
The best part of this trip was being with my family. It was stressful and at times it felt like the walls would cave in. Traveling with 8 females, ranging from ages 2 to 58, is not an easy task to take on. I would not recommend doing so unless you have patience and a lot of alcohol. Fortunately for them, I had both.
The reunion which consisted mostly of Doyle's, my Father's family on his Mother's side, was wonderful in every sense of the word. We stayed in a beautiful home in the mountains. The women spoiled us with hearty meals and a massage of the shoulders. We drank beer all day long and stayed up til 4:00 in the morning every night. There was plenty of smoke if you knew the right relatives and like any trip it was over before I knew it.
My last night I stayed awake, cherishing every moment with my cousins and siblings. We drank and laughed and shared stories from our lives while sitting in a hot tub under the big sky of Idaho full of stars so bright and close that it was as if you could flick them with your finger(maybe that was the shrooms).
Time was running out for us and suddenly the mood changed to a feeling of melancholy. My two cousins, Lucia and Tessa, whom I hadn't seen in 13 years, were wearing their puppy dog faces and my heart felt broken. Tessa, the free spirit, convinced me to stay longer and when I say convinced...well, it was more like just bringing up the idea because I was not ready to leave. The journey was not over. There was more to see before returning to midwest. My cousins, their children, and their mother(my Aunt D) were pushing on further west to the coast. And I would be damned if I was going to miss out on this trip.
The only thing I had to do at this point was tell my Father that a ride to the airport was no longer necessary. Now I could write a book about the old man. He is the strongest man I have ever met and I'm not talking about his fighting skills which were superb in his day. He is unique in the sense that he doesn't give a shit about what people think. He was recently shot in the leg two years ago and now walks with a limp which will most likely be with him for the rest of his life. He is a simple man who leads a simple life that is relaxed and subject of envy. He smokes a little grass, has long hair and pays $40 a month to live on the Demoines River. When I told my Dad that I was staying he asked, "Abe, do you have your fuckin head screwed on?" My response was, "Yes Dad."
Having never been further west than Whyoming, I was ecstatic to see Oregon, Washington, and California. I experienced some of the most breath taking scenery from the mountains to the Redwoods to the drive along the coast of the Pacific ocean in northern California. The air in some of those places was like a drug itself. Observing God's work first hand made me walk away feeling a little wiser.
There is an attitude in the west that is hard to describe. A feeling of freedom overcomes you. The pigs are not winning the war against marijuana. In fact, they are losing miserably. The people have spoken. On any given day at any given time a person can walk the streets of SanFrancisco and smell reefer wafting in their direction.
I experienced the police's failure to arrest my cousin's friend. We were smoking in her vehicle when I got out with my 12 pack of Budweiser to get a little air. The police, in an umarked car, rolled up on me. I warned my cousin and her friend(still in the vehicle) and then turned to have an officer standing directly in front of me. The girls showed their medical marijuana cards and the next thing I know the female cop(good cop) is talking about diet, reality t.v, and hot guys. I was stuck in an episode of Reno 911. The male cop(bad cop) wasn't having it. The girls were clearly aggrivating him with their talk of legal marijuana and how he was out of line for searching the vehicle. The bad cop found some keef and had an argument for arresting her. Apparently, concentrated pot is illegal in the state of California. A half an hour later the victim of police harrassment was dropped off at my cousin's door with no charges pressed.
The best part of this trip was being with my family. It was stressful and at times it felt like the walls would cave in. Traveling with 8 females, ranging from ages 2 to 58, is not an easy task to take on. I would not recommend doing so unless you have patience and a lot of alcohol. Fortunately for them, I had both.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
5 Ways To Save A Cat In A Tree
5) Throw snowballs at it.
4) Cut down the tree.
3) Send a trained bear who listens to commands to climb the tree and rescue the feline.
2) Shoot a bullet in its general direction.
1) Call the fire Department
4) Cut down the tree.
3) Send a trained bear who listens to commands to climb the tree and rescue the feline.
2) Shoot a bullet in its general direction.
1) Call the fire Department
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Attack Of The Fire Ants
It was May 2005 in Holland MI. The rain was coming down steadily which is common for that time of year. However, Mother Nature's urine was not a concern for me. It would only be a couple of days before I was basking in the sun in lovely Palm Beach, Fl.
My mother and stepfather were packing up and heading south. Their house, which had been built only two years before, was now empty. A U-haul truck sat in the driveway loaded to the brim. At the end of the drive sat a trailer with my parent's van propped up on it.
Being the considerate son that I am, I tagged along with Mom so that she would have company and when we reached our destination, she would have help unloading. It would be a long trip, especially tugging a trailer behind the U-haul. My girlfriend at the time sat bitch, I sat shotgun the entire trip(because I lacked a license), and poor old Mom drove this sputtering beast over six states.
The trip was going well. We got started early in the A.M. and were making great time considering the load. If you know my mother, then you know that she is a trooper. Give this woman her Ritalin and Diet Mountain Dew and she can conquer the world. Sure, the trip would prove to be challenging but nothing could defeat us.
We were already in Frankfort Kentucky by mid afternoon and we were ready for a break. We were not stopping to stay the night. No, we would continue to push on, but when you see a sign for the Jim Beam distillery, well, it goes without saying, you must stop. And we did. We lined up with the rest of the tourist and watched a movie about the history of this delicious bourban. Then it was time for shots. Fortunately for me, my mother and lady friend were not up for bourban at 4 in the afternoon. Coming from a long line of drunken white trash from Ireland, I figured no one would mind if I helped myself to their free samples, and no one did.
The field trip was over and it was time to hit the road. Onward we went. Dusk hit as we ascended the Appalachian Mountains into Tennessee. Rain accompanied the night and so did a truck that felt as if it were on the verge of falling apart bolt by bolt. Traveling up the mountains reminded me of the choo choo that could. I was waiting for the U-haul to start reciting the words, "I think I can. I think I can." We had pushed the old truck long enough. It was time to find a place to rest our heads.
We stopped in some town in the middle of Deliverance country. Anywhere was fine with me. We got seperate hotel rooms. Mom in one and the lady and me in the other. We had brought some weed. It was time for the much needed and overdue buzz. Babies don't sleep like we did that night.
The next morning it was up and Adam before the Sun was even considering rising in the east. We continued our push through the Appalachians and were now descending. We had finally reached Georgia but the truck was hurting. Backfiring, sputtering, and making God awful noises. You could sense the fear in the cabin. Little prayers to God were being muttered under my mother's breath. Like a shot gun blast, came the loudest noise I have ever heard a vehicle make.
We pulled over onto the shoulder of the highway. Cars, SUVs, mini-vans, and semi trucks were flying past us. It was a scene from the game Froggert. We stood there looking at the truck with a sense of defeat looming over us. Is this it? We've come so far. Why now?
Suddenly, my mother is slapping at her legs and ankles. I asked, "What is it Mom? Is something biting you?" Mom decided to step off of the shoulder to walk around the vehicle when fire ants attacked. Instantly she became weak. Trying to keep my mind intact after the misfortunes of the day, I encouraged my mother to push on. We would walk to the nearest gas station which we had passed five minutes earlier. My mother made it about twenty feet before the toxic alkaloid from the ants hit her like a ton of bricks. I was frightened that my mother was about to die on the shoulder of some fucking highway in the middle of Georgia(of all places).
"Come on Mom, I'll carry ya." I said. Like any son who loves his mother, I threw her up on my back and carried her piggy back style. The Georgia heat at 10 A.M was overbearing. It had already reached 90 degrees. Fortunately after walking this way for about 5 minutes a man pulled over to offer us a lift. I couldn't believe that we had gone that far without anyone stopping. This was post 9-11. Where were these people's sense of comradery? I 95 is one of the most traveled highways in the U.S.
The kind stranger drove backwards up the shoulder and whipped his truck around at the end of the ramp. The next thing I know is that we are in a BP gas station. My mother, who is a Christain, is yelling for Benadryl. The lady behind the counter says, "Mam, we can't go and give ya benadryl. We don't wanna give ya sumfin that might counteract the hospital's drugs." My mother replied, "Are you fucking kidding me. Abraham, find me benadryl."
An ambulance arrived before I had a chance to find any drugs for my mother. They took her away and like that my girlfriend and I were stranded in Hicksville, USA. What do we do? Should we try to find a way to the hospital? Instead, I contacted the U-haul people and gave them our location. "Yeah, give us bout twenny minutes. We be right out, awrighty." said the mechanic on the phone. Now there was the issue of not being at the BP when my Mother came back, if she even did. Well, no problem there because they both came at the same time, 5 hours later.
So my lady friend, Kylie, and I sat there in the Georgia heat. This was not my idea of basking in the sun. No, that fantasy included margaritas and my girl in a skimpy bathing suit. I began to miss the rain up north and found myself wishing that it was cold.
It was a Sunday and the religious were coming from all different directions to buy only God knows what at their local gas station. I sat on the curb watching the people when an obese black woman fell into the newspaper machines. She lay there crying for her husband as her two year old grandson stood over her with tears in his eyes. "Is this actually fucking happening?" I asked Kylie. I felt the sudden urge to laugh hysterically and found myself using the same muscles one would use to shit in order to prevent any maniacal laughter. We were in the Twilight Zone. I was convinced. I ran into the store and yelled at the old black man paying his bill. "Sir, sir. I think your wife has fallen and hurt herself."
For the second time that day, in a town of no more than 200 residents, the ambulance found its way to the BP gas station. That was when my Mother and the U-haul mechanic showed up seperately and at the exact same time. It was time to leave this madness behind. We would hop in with the mechanic and ride to the U-haul together.
As we approached the truck, we could tell that something wasn't right. While we were showing the locals at the BP how Yankees freak out over fire ants, an 18 wheeler clipped the side of the trailer(carrying the van) and the U-haul. Damage all the way down for 30 some feet. How this was not a collision of monsterous proportions still boggles my mind to this day. The semi simply just scraped the living shit out of the entire side leaving the tires flat on the trailer, a scratch down the side of my Mothers van which resembled the work of a giant keying a vehicle, and a partially dented in side of the U-haul.
We disconnected the trailer. They would come back for that later. The mechanic hooked the truck to his tow truck. I rode with him while my Mother and Kylie drove the van that sat on top of trailer. We were headed into the deep country of some rural Georgian county that reminded me of the slasher films. My imagination was in overdrive. It would only make sense that we would be tortured and murdered by the end of this journey. Some rednecks wearing my Mother's skin while chasing my girlfriend as I hang from a cattle hook. The perfect ending to a terrible day.
We were safe though. There was no torturing of the Yanks. At this point we simply waited while the mechanics worked their magic. A state police officer showed up to fill out an acident report. This may have been the first time that day that I had a panic attack. The officer walked around the van with my mother making note of the damage. That is when I realized that my marijuana was in a hand bag that was plastered up against the back window of the hatch back. The trooper stood next to a quarter ounce of my weed for what seemed like an eternity. He never had any reason to get in the vehicle.
The U-haul was fixed, the trailer recovered, and we were on our way. We drove to northern Florida and stopped for strong drink(which you can't buy in the entire state of Georgia on the lord's day). We stayed the night and started early for Palm Beach. We made it unscathed.
My mother and stepfather were packing up and heading south. Their house, which had been built only two years before, was now empty. A U-haul truck sat in the driveway loaded to the brim. At the end of the drive sat a trailer with my parent's van propped up on it.
Being the considerate son that I am, I tagged along with Mom so that she would have company and when we reached our destination, she would have help unloading. It would be a long trip, especially tugging a trailer behind the U-haul. My girlfriend at the time sat bitch, I sat shotgun the entire trip(because I lacked a license), and poor old Mom drove this sputtering beast over six states.
The trip was going well. We got started early in the A.M. and were making great time considering the load. If you know my mother, then you know that she is a trooper. Give this woman her Ritalin and Diet Mountain Dew and she can conquer the world. Sure, the trip would prove to be challenging but nothing could defeat us.
We were already in Frankfort Kentucky by mid afternoon and we were ready for a break. We were not stopping to stay the night. No, we would continue to push on, but when you see a sign for the Jim Beam distillery, well, it goes without saying, you must stop. And we did. We lined up with the rest of the tourist and watched a movie about the history of this delicious bourban. Then it was time for shots. Fortunately for me, my mother and lady friend were not up for bourban at 4 in the afternoon. Coming from a long line of drunken white trash from Ireland, I figured no one would mind if I helped myself to their free samples, and no one did.
The field trip was over and it was time to hit the road. Onward we went. Dusk hit as we ascended the Appalachian Mountains into Tennessee. Rain accompanied the night and so did a truck that felt as if it were on the verge of falling apart bolt by bolt. Traveling up the mountains reminded me of the choo choo that could. I was waiting for the U-haul to start reciting the words, "I think I can. I think I can." We had pushed the old truck long enough. It was time to find a place to rest our heads.
We stopped in some town in the middle of Deliverance country. Anywhere was fine with me. We got seperate hotel rooms. Mom in one and the lady and me in the other. We had brought some weed. It was time for the much needed and overdue buzz. Babies don't sleep like we did that night.
The next morning it was up and Adam before the Sun was even considering rising in the east. We continued our push through the Appalachians and were now descending. We had finally reached Georgia but the truck was hurting. Backfiring, sputtering, and making God awful noises. You could sense the fear in the cabin. Little prayers to God were being muttered under my mother's breath. Like a shot gun blast, came the loudest noise I have ever heard a vehicle make.
We pulled over onto the shoulder of the highway. Cars, SUVs, mini-vans, and semi trucks were flying past us. It was a scene from the game Froggert. We stood there looking at the truck with a sense of defeat looming over us. Is this it? We've come so far. Why now?
Suddenly, my mother is slapping at her legs and ankles. I asked, "What is it Mom? Is something biting you?" Mom decided to step off of the shoulder to walk around the vehicle when fire ants attacked. Instantly she became weak. Trying to keep my mind intact after the misfortunes of the day, I encouraged my mother to push on. We would walk to the nearest gas station which we had passed five minutes earlier. My mother made it about twenty feet before the toxic alkaloid from the ants hit her like a ton of bricks. I was frightened that my mother was about to die on the shoulder of some fucking highway in the middle of Georgia(of all places).
"Come on Mom, I'll carry ya." I said. Like any son who loves his mother, I threw her up on my back and carried her piggy back style. The Georgia heat at 10 A.M was overbearing. It had already reached 90 degrees. Fortunately after walking this way for about 5 minutes a man pulled over to offer us a lift. I couldn't believe that we had gone that far without anyone stopping. This was post 9-11. Where were these people's sense of comradery? I 95 is one of the most traveled highways in the U.S.
The kind stranger drove backwards up the shoulder and whipped his truck around at the end of the ramp. The next thing I know is that we are in a BP gas station. My mother, who is a Christain, is yelling for Benadryl. The lady behind the counter says, "Mam, we can't go and give ya benadryl. We don't wanna give ya sumfin that might counteract the hospital's drugs." My mother replied, "Are you fucking kidding me. Abraham, find me benadryl."
An ambulance arrived before I had a chance to find any drugs for my mother. They took her away and like that my girlfriend and I were stranded in Hicksville, USA. What do we do? Should we try to find a way to the hospital? Instead, I contacted the U-haul people and gave them our location. "Yeah, give us bout twenny minutes. We be right out, awrighty." said the mechanic on the phone. Now there was the issue of not being at the BP when my Mother came back, if she even did. Well, no problem there because they both came at the same time, 5 hours later.
So my lady friend, Kylie, and I sat there in the Georgia heat. This was not my idea of basking in the sun. No, that fantasy included margaritas and my girl in a skimpy bathing suit. I began to miss the rain up north and found myself wishing that it was cold.
It was a Sunday and the religious were coming from all different directions to buy only God knows what at their local gas station. I sat on the curb watching the people when an obese black woman fell into the newspaper machines. She lay there crying for her husband as her two year old grandson stood over her with tears in his eyes. "Is this actually fucking happening?" I asked Kylie. I felt the sudden urge to laugh hysterically and found myself using the same muscles one would use to shit in order to prevent any maniacal laughter. We were in the Twilight Zone. I was convinced. I ran into the store and yelled at the old black man paying his bill. "Sir, sir. I think your wife has fallen and hurt herself."
For the second time that day, in a town of no more than 200 residents, the ambulance found its way to the BP gas station. That was when my Mother and the U-haul mechanic showed up seperately and at the exact same time. It was time to leave this madness behind. We would hop in with the mechanic and ride to the U-haul together.
As we approached the truck, we could tell that something wasn't right. While we were showing the locals at the BP how Yankees freak out over fire ants, an 18 wheeler clipped the side of the trailer(carrying the van) and the U-haul. Damage all the way down for 30 some feet. How this was not a collision of monsterous proportions still boggles my mind to this day. The semi simply just scraped the living shit out of the entire side leaving the tires flat on the trailer, a scratch down the side of my Mothers van which resembled the work of a giant keying a vehicle, and a partially dented in side of the U-haul.
We disconnected the trailer. They would come back for that later. The mechanic hooked the truck to his tow truck. I rode with him while my Mother and Kylie drove the van that sat on top of trailer. We were headed into the deep country of some rural Georgian county that reminded me of the slasher films. My imagination was in overdrive. It would only make sense that we would be tortured and murdered by the end of this journey. Some rednecks wearing my Mother's skin while chasing my girlfriend as I hang from a cattle hook. The perfect ending to a terrible day.
We were safe though. There was no torturing of the Yanks. At this point we simply waited while the mechanics worked their magic. A state police officer showed up to fill out an acident report. This may have been the first time that day that I had a panic attack. The officer walked around the van with my mother making note of the damage. That is when I realized that my marijuana was in a hand bag that was plastered up against the back window of the hatch back. The trooper stood next to a quarter ounce of my weed for what seemed like an eternity. He never had any reason to get in the vehicle.
The U-haul was fixed, the trailer recovered, and we were on our way. We drove to northern Florida and stopped for strong drink(which you can't buy in the entire state of Georgia on the lord's day). We stayed the night and started early for Palm Beach. We made it unscathed.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Andy Rooney On Brunettes
I must say that women with brown hair have always attracted me more than others. Perhaps there is some truth to Freudianism. The women in my family are all brunettes. My mother was a brunette, my sister, my grandmother. They're all dead now, but I still fantasize over them.
What is it about a woman with brown hair that makes me want to get to know her privates a little better? I don't understand why my 87 year old cock becomes arroused when I see a pretty brunette. It just does.
Sometimes I find myself playing with my dick in Central Park. Mothers taking their children for a stroll, young ladies jogging with their dogs, and brown muff all over the place.
Who says blondes have more fun? I don't know any blondes who have more fun. Are women with lighter features suddenly the spokespersons for female fun. I remember a young lady by the name of Cyndi Lauper, brunette, who dyed her hair all kinds of punky colors. She said, "Girls just want to have fun."
I'm Andey Rooney, and this is 60 Minutes. I will see you next Sunday, where I will continue to act like a senile old bastard.
*Brunettes of the world, I truly believe that you are the prettiest. I meant to say something sweet about you girls, instead, I drifted off to Rooney world. Life is much simpler there.
What is it about a woman with brown hair that makes me want to get to know her privates a little better? I don't understand why my 87 year old cock becomes arroused when I see a pretty brunette. It just does.
Sometimes I find myself playing with my dick in Central Park. Mothers taking their children for a stroll, young ladies jogging with their dogs, and brown muff all over the place.
Who says blondes have more fun? I don't know any blondes who have more fun. Are women with lighter features suddenly the spokespersons for female fun. I remember a young lady by the name of Cyndi Lauper, brunette, who dyed her hair all kinds of punky colors. She said, "Girls just want to have fun."
I'm Andey Rooney, and this is 60 Minutes. I will see you next Sunday, where I will continue to act like a senile old bastard.
*Brunettes of the world, I truly believe that you are the prettiest. I meant to say something sweet about you girls, instead, I drifted off to Rooney world. Life is much simpler there.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Random Thoughts
My dog stinks really bad. Sometimes I wonder if I carry her repulsive stench with me. How do you have fun without drinking or getting high? Would a room full of snotty boogers smell bad, I wonder. Sometimes I pray to God when I'm tired, then I start to fall asleep and have impure thoughts while I'm still praying. I find myself apologizing to someone I've never met. I'm always excited for football season in the spring. I havn't even appreciated summer yet and I'm ready for fall so I can watch people (who don't give a shit about me) play a game. Why do I fall in love with a different girl everyday? Doesn't have to be someone I know. Could be some poor white trash girl at the supermarket. Could be a bank attendant named Shawanda. Or maybe its you...Creepy
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
A Confusesd Little Man
Jiverly Wong was a Vietnamese immigrant who lived in the U.S. since the early 1990's. In case you have no idea who this person was, let me fill you in. Wong recently stormed the American Civic Association building in Binghampton, NY killing 13 people before turning the gun on himself and taking his own life.
Binghampton is a small town in western New York. Per capita, Binghampton has the least amount of crime in the U.S. I guess you could say that they were a little shocked when Jiverly went ape shit.
According to Wong's suicide letter, the police have been harassing him since he came to this country. Late night molestations, threatening text messages, and vicious rumors are just a few of the examples Wong was gracious enough to leave us in his delusional letter.
The letter, that is being investigated by the experts, was dated March 18th nearly two weeks before the slaying. Photos of Wong smiling, holding two guns, and waving around a gun permit and driver's license also accompanied the letter.
Those are the facts in this case. Now let me start by saying, "What The FUCK?" For the reader's sake I was considerate enough to post the suicide letter following this entry. I should apologize for calling it a suicide note. I would describe it more as the rantings of a depraved mad man. A confused little man who was missing all of his screws.
Let me interest you in a couple of Jiverly Wong's quotes. Wong started the letter, "Dear New Ten Now. I am Jiverly Wong shooting the people. The first I want to say sorry I know little English." Like most Asain people, Wong is very polite. I like that in a mass murderer, shows character. Good manners will get you far in life.
This quote that you are about to read completely blew my mind. Try not to think about the words for too long, you will have a fucking brain embolism. "Because undercop gave me a lot of ass during the 18 years I got 7 years and 8 month delivery to grocery in the California came back New York on the August 2007." Ok, I understand that he spoke poor English, but what does this mean? Does anyone feel like they lost some brain cells? I wish I could have had a chance to sit down with Jiverly and pick his little brain apart. I'm certain that it would have made for some of the most interesting conversation I've ever had.
The final quote that I will share ends this letter full of jiberish and non-sense and in all honesty makes the most amount of sense. "Already impartial now...cop bring about the shooting. cop must be responsible. And you have a nice day."
And I say to you sir, have a nice day in Hell.
Binghampton is a small town in western New York. Per capita, Binghampton has the least amount of crime in the U.S. I guess you could say that they were a little shocked when Jiverly went ape shit.
According to Wong's suicide letter, the police have been harassing him since he came to this country. Late night molestations, threatening text messages, and vicious rumors are just a few of the examples Wong was gracious enough to leave us in his delusional letter.
The letter, that is being investigated by the experts, was dated March 18th nearly two weeks before the slaying. Photos of Wong smiling, holding two guns, and waving around a gun permit and driver's license also accompanied the letter.
Those are the facts in this case. Now let me start by saying, "What The FUCK?" For the reader's sake I was considerate enough to post the suicide letter following this entry. I should apologize for calling it a suicide note. I would describe it more as the rantings of a depraved mad man. A confused little man who was missing all of his screws.
Let me interest you in a couple of Jiverly Wong's quotes. Wong started the letter, "Dear New Ten Now. I am Jiverly Wong shooting the people. The first I want to say sorry I know little English." Like most Asain people, Wong is very polite. I like that in a mass murderer, shows character. Good manners will get you far in life.
This quote that you are about to read completely blew my mind. Try not to think about the words for too long, you will have a fucking brain embolism. "Because undercop gave me a lot of ass during the 18 years I got 7 years and 8 month delivery to grocery in the California came back New York on the August 2007." Ok, I understand that he spoke poor English, but what does this mean? Does anyone feel like they lost some brain cells? I wish I could have had a chance to sit down with Jiverly and pick his little brain apart. I'm certain that it would have made for some of the most interesting conversation I've ever had.
The final quote that I will share ends this letter full of jiberish and non-sense and in all honesty makes the most amount of sense. "Already impartial now...cop bring about the shooting. cop must be responsible. And you have a nice day."
And I say to you sir, have a nice day in Hell.
The Sucide Letter From Jiverly Wong
Dear NEW TEN NOWI am Jiverly Wong Shooting the people.The first I want to say sorry I know a little English. I hope you understand all of this. Of course you need to know why I shooting? Because undercover cop gave me a lot of ass during eighteen years I got seven years and eight month delivery to grocery in the California came back New York on the August 2007.Let talk about when I live in California. Such as...cop used 24 hours the technique of ultramodern and camera for burn the chemical in my house. For switch the channel time...For adjust the fan. For made me unbreathable. For made me vomit. For connect the music into my ear.Undercover cop usual coined some nasty was not true about me and spread a rumour to the receiver and some people know me conduce toward many people predudiced and selfish to me...cop made me lost my job...cop put me became poor.Let talk about when I live at the 28 Baker St. 2nd Floor, Johnson City, New York 13790. It terrible when I live there such as...cop wait until midnight when I off the light and went to the bed. Cop unlock my door and came in take a sit in my room ((cop did it thirteen time on the year 1994 )) on the thirteen time had three time touch me when I sleeping. One time stolen 20 dollar in my wallet. One time used electric gun shoot at the behind my neck. (That time I did not know English)Please continue second page thank you.Page 2From 1990 to 1995 New York undercover cop try to get a car accident with me. Such as when I driving on the highway and on the street undercover cop sunddenly brake the car stop immediately at the of front my car...cop did it 32 time like that during 1990 to 1995 but I never hit the car.Many time from 1990 to 1997 at the day time...cop exploit unknow English and went to my house knock the door for harass and domineer. Of course during that time cop coined something was not true about me and spread a rumour nasty like the California cop.From August 2007 until now cop gave me not to much ass only one time cop leave a massage in my voice mail and said (( come back your country )) after five minute I send a text massage to them I said I will call the police and they send it back to me they said they are the police.Dear New Ten Now. Right now I still get unemploment benefit of the company Shop Vac Endicott. New York State Department of Labor was cheat and unpaid from December 1st 2008 to December 28th 2008 I already claim weekly benefit from that date.Any way I can not accepted my poor life. Before I cut my poor life I must oneself get a judge job for make an impartial with undercover cop by at least two people with me go to return to the dust of earth.Already impartial now..cop bring about this shooting. cop must responsible. And you have a nice day.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Man And Dog Combo Save Child
A west Michigan man and his dog saved a child from getting hit by a bus. Apparently, Abe Young (29) and his dog, Lucy Young (35 in dog years) were going for a walk when they saw 10 year old Jamal Jenkins cross before a bus. Abe and Lucy ran in front of the bus and pushed Jenkins to safety. Jenkins first reaction was to punch Young in the grill which led to the worst ass whooping the child ever received. Everything settled down when Jenkins realized how close he was to being killed, then everyone had a good laugh.
You may remember Abe Young from other stories such as "Man Saves Dog From Aligator" and "West Michigan Man At It Again" where he foiled a bank robbery. This humble man, who ask for nothing in return, is a genuine hero. He may be Superman. I think as human beings we need to look at ourselves and ask, what can I do to be more like Abe.
You may remember Abe Young from other stories such as "Man Saves Dog From Aligator" and "West Michigan Man At It Again" where he foiled a bank robbery. This humble man, who ask for nothing in return, is a genuine hero. He may be Superman. I think as human beings we need to look at ourselves and ask, what can I do to be more like Abe.
Monday, March 16, 2009
5 Ways To Become A Savage Conservative
5) Denounce the evil Democrats
4) Stop acting like a pussy
3) Grow a mustache
2) Believe that we are justified in whatever we do concerning foreign policy.
1) Hang out with me
4) Stop acting like a pussy
3) Grow a mustache
2) Believe that we are justified in whatever we do concerning foreign policy.
1) Hang out with me
Thursday, March 12, 2009
My Good Friend, David Villaverde
It was around October of 2002 when I met Verde. He was a 17 year old punk who was very opinionated and too smart for his own good. Not much has changed except for his age, his weight (fat bastard), and his status as a college graduate.
I must say that I have had some interesting times with the old chap. One of my first memories of David was duct taping him to a chair when he was passed out drunk. Doesn't sound very funny, huh, that's because you weren't there to see him lean his head forward and puke all over his crotch.
Knowing Verde over the years I have noticed that their are two sides to this young man. There is the primitive, savage side that comes out during whiskey binges. The primal beast slurring his words as if they were the first to ever be spoken. That look of confusion and fear that lead an animal to attack its own kind. Laughter bellowing from his bowels like some kind of demonic mating call. The other side, which he can probably thank his parents for, is a deep instilled fear of not being a righteous man. He can probably thank Catholicism for that as well. These are two sides that we all tangle with from time to time but for a Catholic who is half Peruvian, it can be a little bit more confusing.
Today I spoke with my dear friend and heard him utter words that sent a shiver up my spine. He is ready to quit drinking and get his priorities straightened out. I was dumbfounded and felt myself at a loss for words. What do you say to your friend when he tells you that he has lost his faith? A part of me wanted to cry out and say please tell me that you are not abandoning me. I didn't, however, because I know that every addict has his or her moment when they are sick and tired of being sick and tired. It goes without saying that the drug does conquer the great ones occasionally. It is a never ending battle. We lose men on the front lines and we recruit more to further the cause.
Unfortunately, Verde has been placed on probation and has no choice but to comply with the law. They are making him blow the plastic dick everyday (so he says). He may be lying to me because of some god awful epiphany that has plagued his brain. Either way it doesn't matter, he made it clear that when he is off probation he plans to continue this life of sobriety.
I will end this little piece with the 12 steps. Perhaps he can find serenity in these words. The next time that you speak with him, he may insist that you accompany him to an AA meeting. I pray for your soul, David.
1) We admitted that we were powerless over alcohol- that our lives had become unmanagable.
2) Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us back to sanity.
3) Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood him.
4) Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
5) Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
6) Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
7) Humbly asked God to remove our shortcomings.
8) Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
9) Made direct amends to such people whenever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
10)Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.
11)Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood God, praying only for the knowledge of God's will for us and the power to carry that out.
12)Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to other addicts, and to practice these principals in all of our affairs.
Dear God, man. I think typing the steps has done something to me. Are there any meetings at 4:10 in the morning I wonder. No more stinking thinking, I'm going straight and narrow from here on out.
I must say that I have had some interesting times with the old chap. One of my first memories of David was duct taping him to a chair when he was passed out drunk. Doesn't sound very funny, huh, that's because you weren't there to see him lean his head forward and puke all over his crotch.
Knowing Verde over the years I have noticed that their are two sides to this young man. There is the primitive, savage side that comes out during whiskey binges. The primal beast slurring his words as if they were the first to ever be spoken. That look of confusion and fear that lead an animal to attack its own kind. Laughter bellowing from his bowels like some kind of demonic mating call. The other side, which he can probably thank his parents for, is a deep instilled fear of not being a righteous man. He can probably thank Catholicism for that as well. These are two sides that we all tangle with from time to time but for a Catholic who is half Peruvian, it can be a little bit more confusing.
Today I spoke with my dear friend and heard him utter words that sent a shiver up my spine. He is ready to quit drinking and get his priorities straightened out. I was dumbfounded and felt myself at a loss for words. What do you say to your friend when he tells you that he has lost his faith? A part of me wanted to cry out and say please tell me that you are not abandoning me. I didn't, however, because I know that every addict has his or her moment when they are sick and tired of being sick and tired. It goes without saying that the drug does conquer the great ones occasionally. It is a never ending battle. We lose men on the front lines and we recruit more to further the cause.
Unfortunately, Verde has been placed on probation and has no choice but to comply with the law. They are making him blow the plastic dick everyday (so he says). He may be lying to me because of some god awful epiphany that has plagued his brain. Either way it doesn't matter, he made it clear that when he is off probation he plans to continue this life of sobriety.
I will end this little piece with the 12 steps. Perhaps he can find serenity in these words. The next time that you speak with him, he may insist that you accompany him to an AA meeting. I pray for your soul, David.
1) We admitted that we were powerless over alcohol- that our lives had become unmanagable.
2) Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us back to sanity.
3) Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood him.
4) Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
5) Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
6) Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
7) Humbly asked God to remove our shortcomings.
8) Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
9) Made direct amends to such people whenever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
10)Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.
11)Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood God, praying only for the knowledge of God's will for us and the power to carry that out.
12)Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to other addicts, and to practice these principals in all of our affairs.
Dear God, man. I think typing the steps has done something to me. Are there any meetings at 4:10 in the morning I wonder. No more stinking thinking, I'm going straight and narrow from here on out.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
The Joy Ride
Anyone who knows me will tell you that I am an alcoholic. I am aware of my terrible and unrewarding affliction. I remember clearly the day that this realization hit me. The morning of June 15th 1994 I awoke in the hospital at age 15. The night before I received or you could say earned a DUI.
My stepfather was out of town on business. This left dear old mom alone to supervise which she never really was good at doing. Earlier in the day myself and my friend Brad stole a case of beer from his father's beer distributor. Now we needed girls. Getting girls wasn't hard for a couple of horny teens who had beer.
The party started around 10:00 at night. My mother had gone down to her room in the basement to sleep. This left the first and second floor open for business. Our little girl friends came over and we had a pretty good time. Drinking, sucking face, and even a little pot. It was shaping up to be a good night.
It was around 2 in the morning when the girls finally left. The party was over and the beer was gone. "What to do", I thought to myself. That was when I made the most foolish mistake of my life and I've made some pretty bad decisions.
My parents Dodge Ram conversion fan sat in the driveway unaware of its death which would take place shortly. I hopped in the giant beast and started on down the road. My friend Tyler, God bless his soul, gave chase and caught up with me before I had a chance to get very far. He jumped in to convince me otherwise. I assured him that it would be a quick drive around the neighborhood. An hour later after driving all over town it was time to get back.
The whole time I had the van out I hadn't really tested her. I wanted to feel the power of the engine. I wanted to see what she was made of and so I did. I reached a residental road a couple of blocks from my home. At the end of this road you could take a left or a right but there was no going straight. At least not for normal motorist but I was hardly normal and not a legal driver to begin with. We were moving. The last I looked at the spedometer it read 95 mph. Then I looked up and realized that we were fucked.
At the end of this road was a house straight ahead that sat back from the road. The entrance to the driveway started off from my left and snaked down in front of me. I hit the curb and was airborne for 75 feet. When I landed it was on top of a car which shot out from under the van like a bullet. Next came the swing set which instantly crumbled. And then came the telephone poll which came crashing down on the van flatening it like a pancake.
When I came around the dashboard was lying on my lap. The doors wouldn't open so we had to climb out of the passenger side window. The first thing I said was, "Lets take it home and fix it." There was no fixing this vehicle especially when the engine was half laying on the ground.
The sirens were roaring and the residents were out in the street. The police were there within 2 minutes. Quick response time. They hauled me off in an ambulance. When the lights shut off I started singing "When The Music is Over" by The Doors. I wonder what the paramedics must have thought.
Later the police would tell me that if I had hit the curb a couple more feet to my right, I would have gone through the daughter's bedroom. Fortunately I didn't kill anyone. I wasn't even wearing a seat belt so I'm lucky that I didn't kill myself. One year of probation and $1000 in fines. Took it pretty easy on me.
My stepfather was out of town on business. This left dear old mom alone to supervise which she never really was good at doing. Earlier in the day myself and my friend Brad stole a case of beer from his father's beer distributor. Now we needed girls. Getting girls wasn't hard for a couple of horny teens who had beer.
The party started around 10:00 at night. My mother had gone down to her room in the basement to sleep. This left the first and second floor open for business. Our little girl friends came over and we had a pretty good time. Drinking, sucking face, and even a little pot. It was shaping up to be a good night.
It was around 2 in the morning when the girls finally left. The party was over and the beer was gone. "What to do", I thought to myself. That was when I made the most foolish mistake of my life and I've made some pretty bad decisions.
My parents Dodge Ram conversion fan sat in the driveway unaware of its death which would take place shortly. I hopped in the giant beast and started on down the road. My friend Tyler, God bless his soul, gave chase and caught up with me before I had a chance to get very far. He jumped in to convince me otherwise. I assured him that it would be a quick drive around the neighborhood. An hour later after driving all over town it was time to get back.
The whole time I had the van out I hadn't really tested her. I wanted to feel the power of the engine. I wanted to see what she was made of and so I did. I reached a residental road a couple of blocks from my home. At the end of this road you could take a left or a right but there was no going straight. At least not for normal motorist but I was hardly normal and not a legal driver to begin with. We were moving. The last I looked at the spedometer it read 95 mph. Then I looked up and realized that we were fucked.
At the end of this road was a house straight ahead that sat back from the road. The entrance to the driveway started off from my left and snaked down in front of me. I hit the curb and was airborne for 75 feet. When I landed it was on top of a car which shot out from under the van like a bullet. Next came the swing set which instantly crumbled. And then came the telephone poll which came crashing down on the van flatening it like a pancake.
When I came around the dashboard was lying on my lap. The doors wouldn't open so we had to climb out of the passenger side window. The first thing I said was, "Lets take it home and fix it." There was no fixing this vehicle especially when the engine was half laying on the ground.
The sirens were roaring and the residents were out in the street. The police were there within 2 minutes. Quick response time. They hauled me off in an ambulance. When the lights shut off I started singing "When The Music is Over" by The Doors. I wonder what the paramedics must have thought.
Later the police would tell me that if I had hit the curb a couple more feet to my right, I would have gone through the daughter's bedroom. Fortunately I didn't kill anyone. I wasn't even wearing a seat belt so I'm lucky that I didn't kill myself. One year of probation and $1000 in fines. Took it pretty easy on me.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
America's Youth Gone Wild
The year was 1996 and spring was upon us. The world was alive once again with the sounds of birds chirping and the smell of green grass being mowed. The small town of Franklin, Pa resting deeply in the valley was not ready or prepared for what was about to be unleashed on it.
It was a Friday morning in mid May when I awoke in a bathtub, holding a half empty beer and covered in my own urine. At 17 years of age I had been accustomed to waking up in strange places, losing half the night before from drinking excessively and taking strong drugs. I managed to drag myself out of the tub, chugged my flat beer, and exited the restroom in order to make some kind of sense out of my bewilderment.
James Ryan Edwards, the craziest son of a bitch that I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, was yelling and carrying on about only God knows what. There he was with his bleach blond hair accompanied by his bleach blond eyebrows and that look. Oh God that look of mischief and hatred. I knew instantly that this was not going to be a good morning.
The seniors had their class trip and I being a junior was already a half an hour late for school. James was a senior and it was tradition for all of the kids to go to a diner called Kings before they reported to the school for their field trip. We needed a ride but found it very difficult to convince our fellow students to help us out. We were down to one last car of kids parked in front of the the house where we had crashed that night. We were in luck. They were willing to give us a ride to the diner and to school. I would be somewhat late but I would have a stomach full of breakfast food, hot damn.
Suddenly everything changed dramaticaly when James dropped his pants and started pissing on the vehicle that we were about to board. Our ride sped off leaving us standing on the main road in this town of 10,000 residents. Motorist drove by slowly as my friend held his manhood and screamed at the top of his lungs. We were in trouble and I knew it but there was no turning back. At this point it was sink or swim and I was not going down without some kind of public disturbance that would burn the locals.
A man in a truck came to a complete stop when James walked in front of him with his pants around his ankles. He then jumped onto the hood of the vehicle and planted his ass on the windshield. This was my cue. I ran to the driver side of the truck and pounded on the window screaming, "Get the fuck out of the truck. We need to comandeer it. Get the fuck out of the truck before we kill you." Fortunately for the drivers' sake and ours he remained in his seat with the door locked.
Little did we know that a retired police officer, who lived next door, was calling the cops as this was all going down. This was before the days of cell phones which meant you usually had a better chance of escaping the law. Before I knew it we were surrounded by the boys in blue. Nowhere to go but in the back of the police cruiser. As I sat in the back of the car I watched the cops try to arrest James. He was definitely resisting with his pants still around his ankles and lying face first on the sidewalk with his limbs spread eagle to make it more difficult for the police to pick him up. I couldn't help but laugh hysterically like some kind of demon who knows that good has prevailed.
In the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvanina they have (or had) a rule that 17 year olds can't wait it out in a cell. So there I sat waiting for my mother and listening to James call the cops every name in the book. I couldn't see him but his cell was 12 feet ahead of me and off to my left. All of the sudden a stream of piss was being shot out from his cell like a statue in a fountain. A puddle started to form on the floor right before my eyes. "Clean that up you fucking pigs!", James demanded. And sure enough some poor rookie still wet behind the ears came over with a mop and bucket and cleaned the floor of my dear friend's yellow fluid.
Now if you have never been picked up by your parents at the county jail, let me tell you it is not something that you look forward to. When they arrive they always have that look of being completely and emotionally drained. I am not a parent myself and can't really fathom how it must feel to receive that call.
I sat their full of anxiety when I felt an itch on my head. That was when I discovered that half of my head had been shaved right down the middle. I had hair on my right side and nothing on the left. "What is my mother going to think?", I asked myself. That was when I heard the big steel door buzz, lock release, and open. There my mother stood staring at me with that same old defeated look and tears in her eyes. She wasn't sobbing. Just a subtle cry that would break any son's heart.
James and I both faced the Magistrate. I was sentenced to rehab for 37 days and James received probation. Magistrate Billingsly made it clear that we were savage drunks with no decency or respect for mankind. There may have been some truth to that because I really didn't give a shit about anything back then.
*Now read this story again and think about my head being half shaved.
It was a Friday morning in mid May when I awoke in a bathtub, holding a half empty beer and covered in my own urine. At 17 years of age I had been accustomed to waking up in strange places, losing half the night before from drinking excessively and taking strong drugs. I managed to drag myself out of the tub, chugged my flat beer, and exited the restroom in order to make some kind of sense out of my bewilderment.
James Ryan Edwards, the craziest son of a bitch that I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, was yelling and carrying on about only God knows what. There he was with his bleach blond hair accompanied by his bleach blond eyebrows and that look. Oh God that look of mischief and hatred. I knew instantly that this was not going to be a good morning.
The seniors had their class trip and I being a junior was already a half an hour late for school. James was a senior and it was tradition for all of the kids to go to a diner called Kings before they reported to the school for their field trip. We needed a ride but found it very difficult to convince our fellow students to help us out. We were down to one last car of kids parked in front of the the house where we had crashed that night. We were in luck. They were willing to give us a ride to the diner and to school. I would be somewhat late but I would have a stomach full of breakfast food, hot damn.
Suddenly everything changed dramaticaly when James dropped his pants and started pissing on the vehicle that we were about to board. Our ride sped off leaving us standing on the main road in this town of 10,000 residents. Motorist drove by slowly as my friend held his manhood and screamed at the top of his lungs. We were in trouble and I knew it but there was no turning back. At this point it was sink or swim and I was not going down without some kind of public disturbance that would burn the locals.
A man in a truck came to a complete stop when James walked in front of him with his pants around his ankles. He then jumped onto the hood of the vehicle and planted his ass on the windshield. This was my cue. I ran to the driver side of the truck and pounded on the window screaming, "Get the fuck out of the truck. We need to comandeer it. Get the fuck out of the truck before we kill you." Fortunately for the drivers' sake and ours he remained in his seat with the door locked.
Little did we know that a retired police officer, who lived next door, was calling the cops as this was all going down. This was before the days of cell phones which meant you usually had a better chance of escaping the law. Before I knew it we were surrounded by the boys in blue. Nowhere to go but in the back of the police cruiser. As I sat in the back of the car I watched the cops try to arrest James. He was definitely resisting with his pants still around his ankles and lying face first on the sidewalk with his limbs spread eagle to make it more difficult for the police to pick him up. I couldn't help but laugh hysterically like some kind of demon who knows that good has prevailed.
In the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvanina they have (or had) a rule that 17 year olds can't wait it out in a cell. So there I sat waiting for my mother and listening to James call the cops every name in the book. I couldn't see him but his cell was 12 feet ahead of me and off to my left. All of the sudden a stream of piss was being shot out from his cell like a statue in a fountain. A puddle started to form on the floor right before my eyes. "Clean that up you fucking pigs!", James demanded. And sure enough some poor rookie still wet behind the ears came over with a mop and bucket and cleaned the floor of my dear friend's yellow fluid.
Now if you have never been picked up by your parents at the county jail, let me tell you it is not something that you look forward to. When they arrive they always have that look of being completely and emotionally drained. I am not a parent myself and can't really fathom how it must feel to receive that call.
I sat their full of anxiety when I felt an itch on my head. That was when I discovered that half of my head had been shaved right down the middle. I had hair on my right side and nothing on the left. "What is my mother going to think?", I asked myself. That was when I heard the big steel door buzz, lock release, and open. There my mother stood staring at me with that same old defeated look and tears in her eyes. She wasn't sobbing. Just a subtle cry that would break any son's heart.
James and I both faced the Magistrate. I was sentenced to rehab for 37 days and James received probation. Magistrate Billingsly made it clear that we were savage drunks with no decency or respect for mankind. There may have been some truth to that because I really didn't give a shit about anything back then.
*Now read this story again and think about my head being half shaved.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
ABC Having Problems With "The View"
Tempers are flaring on the set of the "New View". Already the new host have been at each others' throats. Day time television is going through a rude awakening. Viewers are concerned whether they should be tuning into different programs while they're children are present.
Since the debut the women on the show have been out for blood. Threats during the filming and in the dressing rooms have created substantial problems for the excutive producer Abraham Young.
Young was reached for a comment and said this, "These girls have to get it under contol. We in the business were not expecting a complete fall out in the beginning." ABC is under fire for hiring amateures and may lose sponsors.
The women on the show however are not backing down. Kelsie Van Dyke was quoted saying, "If McDonald and Boonstra want to go to war then I will bring them a war! If those bitches think they're going to get more muhlaa, then they are fucking crazy!"
As a journalists, I have to ask what has become of us? Friends given the opportunity to prosper and what have they done? They have turned on one another like the barn yard animals in "The Animal Farm".
Since the debut the women on the show have been out for blood. Threats during the filming and in the dressing rooms have created substantial problems for the excutive producer Abraham Young.
Young was reached for a comment and said this, "These girls have to get it under contol. We in the business were not expecting a complete fall out in the beginning." ABC is under fire for hiring amateures and may lose sponsors.
The women on the show however are not backing down. Kelsie Van Dyke was quoted saying, "If McDonald and Boonstra want to go to war then I will bring them a war! If those bitches think they're going to get more muhlaa, then they are fucking crazy!"
As a journalists, I have to ask what has become of us? Friends given the opportunity to prosper and what have they done? They have turned on one another like the barn yard animals in "The Animal Farm".
Monday, February 23, 2009
ABC Hires All New Cast For The View
ABC's show "The View", known for its cattiness, has pulled a 180 degree turn on its viewers. Everybody from Barbara Walters on down to Whoopi has been fired and replaced with five beautiful women from Holland Michigan. The new panel consists of Kelsie Van Dyke, Kelli McDonald, Erika Jones, Mary Boonstra, and Jenna Voogd. Apparently issues over contracts and a drop in ratings was enough for Executive Producer Abraham Young.
Many have asked why these five and who are they? What are their credentials? According to ABC they have none. The media heads have decided to take a different approach and hire a group of friends to see how long it takes them to rip each others heads off. Young was quoted saying. "I think it's a great idea. I know these girls personally and if anyone can do it, its these five. We'll have them go from best friends to arch nemesis over night. The best part of it is that we save over $100 Million."
There is no decision yet on who will host and co-host the show. Rumors are flying around Hollywood and many say that Mary Boonstra has the job. Others say that "The View" is looking for a host with a more conservative manner and may go with McDonald having Boonstra as the outspoken side kick. Already Jones, Voogd, and Van Dyke have complained about thier fear of not getting as much of the spot light. An anonymous source has leaked information pertaining to salaries and has Boonstra and McDonald making $10 million more a year.
We reached Mary Boonstra and were able to quote her, "Listen dude, this is a once in a life time opportunity. We're all making moolah here. If those other bitches have a problem with how much I'm making, bring it." Erika Jones was reached for a comment and said, "Oh, its been broughten Bitch!"
This may be a ticking time bomb. How long will these young ladies be able to maintain? There will be drama and it will be entertaining.
Many have asked why these five and who are they? What are their credentials? According to ABC they have none. The media heads have decided to take a different approach and hire a group of friends to see how long it takes them to rip each others heads off. Young was quoted saying. "I think it's a great idea. I know these girls personally and if anyone can do it, its these five. We'll have them go from best friends to arch nemesis over night. The best part of it is that we save over $100 Million."
There is no decision yet on who will host and co-host the show. Rumors are flying around Hollywood and many say that Mary Boonstra has the job. Others say that "The View" is looking for a host with a more conservative manner and may go with McDonald having Boonstra as the outspoken side kick. Already Jones, Voogd, and Van Dyke have complained about thier fear of not getting as much of the spot light. An anonymous source has leaked information pertaining to salaries and has Boonstra and McDonald making $10 million more a year.
We reached Mary Boonstra and were able to quote her, "Listen dude, this is a once in a life time opportunity. We're all making moolah here. If those other bitches have a problem with how much I'm making, bring it." Erika Jones was reached for a comment and said, "Oh, its been broughten Bitch!"
This may be a ticking time bomb. How long will these young ladies be able to maintain? There will be drama and it will be entertaining.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
New Guy In Town
I moved to Holland, Mi in January 2002 at the age of 22. Being used to moving through out my life I found it very easy to meet friends. The first person that I met was a girl named Mccenzie. She was a nice girl and was kind enough to invite me to her house party during Tulip Time(a tulip festival held in Holland). Kegs of Oberon and strange faces surrounded me. Fortunately for my excessive drinking habit I was able to strike up some conversations and have a good time. I ended up drinking quite a bit and blacked out.
Now blacking out is nothing new for this drunk. How does the old saying go? "If you remember everything then you didn't have a good time." I have lived my life by those words. Blacking out can be a bad thing though when your mind isn't familiar with a new area.
The last thing I remember at the party was slapping a young lady's ass and being asked to leave. The next thing I remembered was waking up in an apartment where I didn't belong. Yes my friends this humble man who writes to you pulled a Robert Downey Jr. I awoke but naked and in a puddle of piss. The room was pitch dark. I stood to turn on the light and that was when I saw the hall light shine under the door entering the apartment. A sense of panic hit me like a freight train. The minute amount of light was just enough for me to make out the room that I was standing naked in. Quickly I gathered my clothes which made a trail to the front door. I was just about to walk out the door when curiosity took over. I had to figure this out. Where am I?
With a sense of urgency bearing down on me, I decided to look for pictures of the person or persons who lived in this place. The only pictures I saw were of a middle aged Mexican couple. Alright, time to bail before the heat comes down on me I thought. I left the apartment and walked down a flight of stairs that resembled the stairs in my own building. I walked out of the building and approached the nearest street sign to see where I was. 13th St. and College. I lived on 14th St. and Central two blocks away.
I went home, drank a couple of beers, and went back to sleep. The next morning I awoke and still suffered from curiosity. Maybe I left with someone I thought. It was time to make the dreadful phone call to my friend Mccenzie. I wanted to figure out whether or not I had left alone. Mccenzie informed me that I had left by myself stummbling down the sidewalk.
To this day it is still a mystery to me. Perhaps someone found me and gave me a place to sleep. That is highly unlikely considering that I was naked. I must have just wondered into the apartment unconsiuosly.
Now blacking out is nothing new for this drunk. How does the old saying go? "If you remember everything then you didn't have a good time." I have lived my life by those words. Blacking out can be a bad thing though when your mind isn't familiar with a new area.
The last thing I remember at the party was slapping a young lady's ass and being asked to leave. The next thing I remembered was waking up in an apartment where I didn't belong. Yes my friends this humble man who writes to you pulled a Robert Downey Jr. I awoke but naked and in a puddle of piss. The room was pitch dark. I stood to turn on the light and that was when I saw the hall light shine under the door entering the apartment. A sense of panic hit me like a freight train. The minute amount of light was just enough for me to make out the room that I was standing naked in. Quickly I gathered my clothes which made a trail to the front door. I was just about to walk out the door when curiosity took over. I had to figure this out. Where am I?
With a sense of urgency bearing down on me, I decided to look for pictures of the person or persons who lived in this place. The only pictures I saw were of a middle aged Mexican couple. Alright, time to bail before the heat comes down on me I thought. I left the apartment and walked down a flight of stairs that resembled the stairs in my own building. I walked out of the building and approached the nearest street sign to see where I was. 13th St. and College. I lived on 14th St. and Central two blocks away.
I went home, drank a couple of beers, and went back to sleep. The next morning I awoke and still suffered from curiosity. Maybe I left with someone I thought. It was time to make the dreadful phone call to my friend Mccenzie. I wanted to figure out whether or not I had left alone. Mccenzie informed me that I had left by myself stummbling down the sidewalk.
To this day it is still a mystery to me. Perhaps someone found me and gave me a place to sleep. That is highly unlikely considering that I was naked. I must have just wondered into the apartment unconsiuosly.
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