Do not taunt the ice cream man. He has to deal with snotty, whining, fat little bastards like you all day long and is liable to have a short fuse. More than likely he will be a foreigner from a country where it is socially acceptable to punch a chubby kid in the face. When you are in line getting your bomb pop, just smile, pay the man his money, thank him for his convenient delicious cold treats and walk away.
The MB will be experiencing down time for few days as I ditch Yahoo Web Hosting and make the transition over to Joyent. After being a loyal customer for just under five years, Yahoo Web Hosting failed to inform me that my package was lowered five dollars nearly six months ago and did not bother switching me to the lower rate automatically. After emailing Yahoo about this oversight, they responded with an auto-generated email thanking me for my inquiry. In short, Yahoo Web Hosting sucks the sweat off of a dead donkey’s balls.
According to Men’s Fitness Magazine, Houston is the most overweight city in the United States and Seattle is the healthiest. Colorado has two cities listed in the top five for the most fit: Colorado Springs (3) and Denver (5). We represent from a mile-high, America. On the other end of the spectrum is Texas, which has three cities ranking in the top ten for the most fat: Houston (1), Dallas (6) and San Antonio (10). It is called proper diet and exercise, you fucking whales. Stop eating so much Carl’s Jr., get off your cousins and take a run around the neighborhood or something.
Every morning I walk into my office building and I run into the whale that works on the first floor and is pushing two and a half bills. She has a handicap parking pass hanging from her rear view mirror and waddles out to her car periodically during the day for a smoke (sitting in her car and smoking, mind you, not actually standing up and smoking). In these situations I get angry for the handicapped community. She does not look nor act legitimately handicapped, she just has a difficult time slinging her immense weight around. Handicap parking is reserved (rightly) for paraplegics and little old ladies with plastic hips who have a hard time getting around. I want to push that blubber factory down every time I see her. I am certain she would argue that her condition is due to an overactive thyroid or predisposition to obesity. I am certain there is medication to treat a thyroid condition, and if one does not have money to purchase said medication than one should quit wasting five bucks a day on a pack of cigarettes and save their pennies. If you are born into an obese family that does not mean you have an excuse to be fat, it just means that you inherited a low metabolism and need to be cautious with what you eat and get regular exercise. Being obese is not cool unless you are the Blob.
During my freshman year of college, you could not go anywhere without hearing the song “Breakfast At Tiffany’s” by Deep Blue Something. For those of you lucky enough to never have heard this scourge upon popular music, let me assure you that if faced with a choice of inserting your genitals into a meat grinder or listening to this song until the end of time, you would gladly drop your pants. I first heard this lyrical cluster fuck late one night on a lonely road near Amarillo, Texas. I was sharing driving duties on the way to helping my good friend Julie move into her dorm room at TCU. As Julie lay asleep in the passenger seat, I was fumbling with the radio on a quest for programming that would keep me awake when I came upon “Breakfast At Tiffany’s.” After listening to one minute of this pussy band wax philosophical about a former relationship where both parties had nothing in common but the enjoyment of a 1961 Audrey Hepburn film, I was on the verge of hurling myself onto the highway in front of an eighteen-wheeler. Here is an insight into why your relationship probably fell apart, Deep Blue Something; while you were busy playing the sensitive card, talking about cotton candy and kittens and watching old chick movies like a middle-age gay man with a personality disorder, your woman was dropping ecstasy at a frat house and getting fucked on a stained couch by a guy who still had his balls intact. I was hoping that would be the only time I would ever hear that song, but unfortunately, for the next year and a half it haunted me everywhere I went. Thankfully, the one-hit wonder that was Deep Blue Something faded back into obscurity and I went on living my college musical life in the zen that was the Wu-Tang Clan. Enter this past Saturday morning. As my lady and I were eating a delicious breakfast, “Breakfast At Tiffany’s” comes on over the Muzak. I began to panic and look around for a loaded gun or stabbing implement to kill something.
After watching the Chicago Cubs blow a three games to one lead over the Florida Marlins in the 2003 NLCS and missing yet another World Series opportunity, it is my opinion that the franchise should end as of three o’clock today. Lock up Wrigley Field, cut the players severance checks and end the fucking ball club’s existence. The Cubs have not won a World Series since 1908. That is 95 years and ample time for any professional sports organization to get a title. For those Cubs fans blaming mystical forces, I assure you the Cubbies postseason collapse had nothing to do with a goat or an over zealous fan, and everything to do with allowing your opponent to score 8 runs in one inning and your pitching ace giving up seven earned runs in the final deciding game (tying only four other pitchers in history for most earned runs against in a game seven). Congratulations to the Florida Marlins. Good luck in the big dance.
I have bore witness to some wicked drunks on the Jager and I, too, have succumbed to the unadulterated madness that dwells within the green bottle. One hazy night long ago my brother-in-law bought me seven Jager Bombs while we hung out at the worst strip club in Denver. The night concluded when a patron actually took a swing at one of the strippers. While she was still dancing.
When I get old, I plan on wearing a Fedora hat, having a cane with a cobra handle that I will beat young punks with, eating at the Sizzler early bird and loudly complaining to the Hispanic busboy when the salad bar is out of bacon bits and falling asleep in my lounge chair while watching Matlock. I might even add throwing rotten fish at people into my old man modus operandi.
Humans share the planet with many living beings, plants and animals and our relationship with them is symbiotic; we use them to sustain existence. If I had to, I would go out and kill for my food. Thankfully, I live in a capitalist society and the advent of labor specialization keeps me up to my tits in lean ground beef provided by animals that were kept in pens and treated as commodities. All economic systems exploit people, animals and environments. No amount of holier-than-thou liberal rhetoric is going to stop people from eating meat. It is unfortunate that animals do not have opposable thumbs and the ability to reason, but that is why humans are on top of the food chain and animals are not. So once again PETA, shut your filthy grass-eating sewers and let me enjoy some delicious meatloaf in peace.
Last night, in midst of an early winter storm, it took me three and a half hours to drive home from Boulder. This drive, mind you, is normally 20 minutes. Apparently, Boulder uses an environmentally friendly alternative to road salt that does nothing to ice when the temperature is below a certain level. The roads out of Boulder were like a hockey rink. During this period of time, I was a seething cauldron of anger. When I got home I wrote this. Enjoy.
The Catholic Church may provide a consequence free environment for pedophiles but it condemns tea bagging. I cannot believe kids get in so much trouble for this nowadays. In the locker room during my high school sporting career, tea bagging was nothing compared to guys pissing on you in the shower or sneaking up behind you and covering your face with a protective cup dripping in ball sweat (a.k.a. the Gas Mask).