Get Me Out

Wow, so this one will probably kind of suck because I’m totally sober (no really, I’m not even being sarcastic) and I have to keep myself in check based on my current surroundings. So today’s topic is one near and dear to my heart, New England’s Rising Star, suck-ass Hartford, CT. And not so much the city, but how much I need to pack my shit up and move out.

This place sucks. Really. A lot. I can’t put into words how much better I think my life would be right now if I lived somewhere else, like Boston, or Baltimore, or West Palm Beach, or Northern Cali, or Beirut (say what you will, the national sport is Beirut! Wait, it isn’t?). I’ve been stuffed up America’s left nostril here for 7 ½ of the longest, worst, most boring years of anyone’s life. I’d have rather spent the time in the Tower of freaking London wearing an iron mask. I would have had more fun working in a sweatshop in Borneo making Nikes for 3 cents a day. Ok, quick tangent, where the hell is Borneo? Does anyone even know? Are there any Borneans (not born-agains) in my reading audience that can tell me? Is it in Africa? Is it an island? Is it even a real place? For all I know it could be in Middle freaking-Earth with the Hobbits and that shit. Back to my problems now. This place sucks. And I say this stuff every day, and what do I do about it? Nothing! Why? Because as much as I hate it here, I’m this place’s bitch. It owns me. Damn you Hartford! Let me go! Geez, you let every other person I know get out, what’s so bad about my Karma that I have to stay. Is it because I defiled my roommate’s tent at Woodstock? What else are you supposed to do when a girl flatly asks you, “So, are you going to take advantage of me or what?” How is the answer to that not yes? So what if I had to soil a tent I didn’t own and she turned out to be married. She clearly wasn’t married to the concept of monogamy!

And with that 10 cent word, I will now calm down and leave you. Anybody with job possibilities, call me. I’m off to try to eat my own face. What does that mean?

Screw Valentine's Day, and Screw You

I wrote "screw" because "fuck" seems mean, but seriously, fuck all of you.

Dear anybody who enjoyed Valentine's Day,

Please go directly to hell, do not pass go, do not collect $200. Now, you all may think I'm just bitter because I didn't have a date for national "Everybody gets laid except me" Day, but trust me, it goes WAY beyond that. First, I get the pleasure of dealing with my own redardedly loserly life, then everybody and their mother starts calling me to bitch about their own problems. Here's a news flash for the whole world. You'll recognize the time when I give a rat's ass about your problems by the smoking gun in my hand and the 4 inch hole in the back of my skull. Now, some folks may see all this from a jackass like myself who spends WAY too much time trying to fix other people's problems ans say something like, "Physician, heal thyself". And of course, to that I respond just like DeNiro did in the Untouchables, "Fuck you, and your family".

So now I'm home with my engaged roommates (making me mental, but not their fault, not in the least) and all I want is a distraction to get me through the remainder of the night. And what does TV, my trusted ally, respond with? The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Really? That's the best you could come up with? You couldn't give me The Hunt for Red October? Hell, I'd have settled for Red Sonja, at least a lot of extras get their butts chopped up in that one. And this was back in Brigitte Neilsen's prime (or however that freaking amazon spells her name, hey, she was in Cobra, I refuse to show any respect) and she looked hot.

So back to my original point. May you all get syphillis and go blind, or deaf, or mute, or lose your keys, or whatever happens to people who dare cross me. Huzzah!

And they said drunk people wouldn't enjoy typing. Now excuse me, I have to drunk dial (or text maybe) someone who will soon also hate Valentine's Day. Love, Octo-boy.

PS - I know, and I don't care. TFB, jerk-faces.

Reasons Why iPods Suck

1) Mine ate itself after only 4 months of half-assed employment.
2) Too thick to be used to steady wobbly table.
3) Only white or black? Where's the color? Where's the love?
4) Easily confused with pack of cigarettes, ends up being a very dorky offer at a bar.
5) Ineffective as boat anchor, but startlingly effective as bank account anchor.
6) No sharp edges, how do you kill a drifter with it?
7) Looks like a bar of soap, but DON'T take it into the shower!
8) Music, video, pictures. No braille?
9) Last year, NBA refused to let me listen to mine during warm-ups.
10) I have it on good authority that Steve Jobs beats puppies.

Bah, Humbug

So I hung with the First Lady tonight. Super hot and super cool, how the F does that happen (note: "F" stands for Fuck, moving on)? Of course, I couldn't meet a chick like that if she was made of steel and I ate magnets every day for a year. You know, a little magnets au gratin, maybe magnets parmesan. Tasty stuff. So we totally hit it off which may seem like a waste of time because of the whole First Gentleman thing, but you have to keep in mind that when you meet a new girl, she has new friends. Of course, my luck is that she'll be friends with the 10 hottest women I've ever seen and they'll all be engaged, except for one who just dates black dudes (which isn't me, and let me just say to any and all black men reading this... white girls love you... TAKE ADVANTAGE! You never know when a social situation like this willl happen again, milk it for all it's worth. Back to my suck-ass life...). So enough of that, primarily because she'll probably read this and even eventually write here. Fortunately, she's cool enough to probably find that last sentence funny and rib me about it, as opposed to some ladies who would get pissed at me and cut their boyfriend off from getting any, which is crap.

So what do I end up with at the end of the night? Some aging hippie who thinks it's cool that I'm not trying to hit on her and that I used to be a geek. Ok, now I admit that things weren't always as rosy for ladies I turn my attention on as they are now. Your captain here used to barely fill out his exoskeleton, have an extremely dorky side part on the old scales, and sport humongo glasses big enough to serve as screens at the local 100+ scren multiplex. But the term "geek" still hits a little close to home here. How about keeping it civil if you're striking up a conversation with me? I mean, nobody appreciates the attention more that yours truly, but let's avoid the left-hander compliments. Unless you really are left-handed, and you're not so much complimenting as fondling. Anyway, my retardedly drunk friend had been trying to work her and came back into the picture just in time to prevent me from doing something I almost certainly wouldn't have admitted to in this space, so it's a happy ending for everyone involved, especially me, the only person any of us care about for the purpose of this writing. Yay me, boo world.

Ok, so as a last note/ out-of-town scoreboard type of thing, it's still Hot Chicks I Know Will Never Like Me And Only Want To Be Friends But I Still Insist On Pursuing Rabidly Anyway 2, Me 0. And the perfect game is even still intact. Sometimes I think I'm the stupidest man alive. Then I wonder if stupidest is really a word and things just kind of fade away.

So I was told to keep this blog more "bitter and drunken". At least one of those is right on as of now, and more than likely both. You all take care of yourselves. And if you meet a girl who's cute, single, and isn't exactly hung up on her date's looks, ask her if she likes pink octopi.

How is it only 8:30?

Okay, I'm watching college pigskin at my buddy's place, and I'm all over my phone trying to keep myself in the race with this one chick. The PBR is flowing and it's just a manner of time until the drunk dials start up. Wow, I'm using my buddy's computer and the keys are way too springy. Okay, it's broken down to a beer can fight now. All right, so what do you do when a girl tells you her friend is fat. I mean, you just want to give her kudos for telling the truth, but at the same time you want to tell her to leave her ugly fat friend at home. And I'm still on the phone with the first chick, hoping she doen't hook up with the dude she's hanging with right now and decides she wants to get it on with a guy 6 years older and fatter than her. Dear god I suck. Where's the cheese sauce?