A Few Minutes in My Head

I started working out again recently, and needless to say I feel like Clint Eastwood’s character on “In the Line of Fire.” Old and out of breath for those of you not with me on the reference. Tell me, how has the blogging world been without me? It had to be sort of lonely without my offensive/brilliant posts. This one is pure rumination. Actually, statistically speaking, all of my blogs are pure rumination and rarely have I stuck to an issue like the bird attack epidemic, or my new pet E. coli. It may look like an empty sealed jar, but under a microscope the thing is ADORABLE…and deadly. What a fucking combination! It’s a lot like Teddy Rupskin; cute too look at, but once he opens his evil robotic mouth it could even do damage to Will Smith’s ears.


I like hockey. This doesn't make me Canadian, does it? I don't want to have to learn that God forsaken language, Canadian. I hear it’s more difficult than Latin. You know who I want to meet? The guy that kayaks in the man-made lake in my neighborhood. He just looks ridiculous. That's like me mountain biking through the woods on the golf course. Why is Nature vs. Nurture such a long, ongoing debate? Nature would totally kick nurture's ass. Nature has hurricanes, and tsunamis and shit. Nurture has snuggies and breast pumps.


I got a brutal blister from bowling (don’t you dare fucking say it). I find it hard to share with people that I actually got it from playing a fat child molester’s game, so I am telling people that a midget bit me. What? It could happen.

Ever go to a fast food place and the bastards forget to give you a straw? How am I supposed to drink this, now? Taking off the lid is completely out of the question. If I wanted a drink in a regular glass, I would’ve poured myself a nice refreshing glass of lemonade, or something. No, I wanted a delicious fountain Dr. Pepper to enjoy as the grease and artery clogging meaty mass lodges into my aorta valve, and now I can’t even have that. Fucking Fascists.

My house is so cold that I may actually have a vagina. That would explain my longing to buy a bunch of shoes, and to be held.

Remember those little capsules that you throw in hot water and they turn into sponge animals of different varieties? I bought some you know, to make my bath time more interesting. I mean, you can only masturbate for so long.

Why are people jerks? What about getting me coffee makes people so mad? Like, that’s your job, dude. Don’t look like I’m inconveniencing you by ordering a coffee at Starbucks. Okay,the heated squirrel’s milk was slightly outlandish, but I’m famous so I can do that shit. It’s like the backstage requests that rock stars make. Let’s see, I need 11,792 green and orange gummy bears. If I see a fucking red one people will perish. I want a hooker with her left arm severed off, and a hooker with her right arm severed off. Then, I want them to pretend they are conjoined at the hip, and sing Strawberry Fields (While doing a bunch of freaky shit). I need one of those massage chairs. A good one. Like, Sharper Image, not Kohls. And, I want one for my animatronic monkey head. I need 10 new packs of boxer briefs. The gayer the better. I like wearing faggy underwear, it balances me out. Otherwise, I'd be a misogynist bastard with normal underwear. Bye, Felicia

Nostalgia

Nostalgia should be considered medication in my opinion. I don't care if it's music,sports,television, or a movie; it instantaneously brings us back to a great memory. That's my favorite thing about getting older, and will remain so until I'm referred to as a silver fox, which is highly unlikely. I'm on a Houston old school rap kick at the moment, and it is fantastic. Sure, a 28 year old man heading to the store to buy refills for a Shark steam mop, jamming Pimp tha Pen is somewhat disconcerting, but I don't care. My Houston readers know exactly what I mean. Who doesn't remember this?

I'm draped up and dripped out
Know what I'm talkin' 'bout
Three in the mornin, gettin' the gat out the stash spot
Fire up a fat sweet
Turnin' on the bulb lights
Hand on the wood grain
Ass on the tight white
I'm showin' naked ass in the great state of Texas
Home of the playas, so it never be no plexin'
So long we've been waitin'
Never ever hatin'
In Houston we Elbows, In Cali they Daytons
So 1996 you hoes better duck
Because the world gone drip candy and be all Screwed Up
Just pop in your grey cassette
Turn up your fuckin' deck
Lend me your ear because the SOUTHSIDE finna wreck
Down here we smoke tree
Then let the world see true hidden talent like Screw and Lil Keke
Ain't no love for hatas and you bustin dick suckas
On the south side we stay paid MuthaFucka!

Not exactly John Lennon or Bobby Dylan, but it's an anthem. Texas pride somehow applies to rap as well. If Big Pimpin' is playing, I guarantee the whole crowd screams, "whatch y'all know about them Texas boys." I'm sticking with a Houston theme, because I honestly don't care about anywhere else.

Where were you when the Astros won the pennant? I know my friends and I were at a classy joint known as the Sports Resort. We sprayed beer around like we were in the locker room. I took so many shots, I was literally ready to drive to Chicago, and kept yelling that I was. I know we eventually got swept in the Series, but that National League championship paid dividends for years of loyalty and heartache.

Gladiator. What an epic movie, right? I remember seeing it for the first time the day after prom. For normal proms, that fact would be irrelevant. Our prom was a promapalooza of epic proportions. Tiff (my lovely date), you never gave me my prom pictures. I don't know why I felt compelled to write that; I could easily just call or text. Oh, and I have no need for prom pictures at this point in my life. I can't even get a date to go to Applebee's. Anyways, we had enough booze to supply a Guns N Roses tour bus. We even fired the police officer we hired so that he could drink and play quarters. I have to personally thank Lacy Lloyd for keeping us alive. I almost fell asleep at the wheel and she punched me in the arm before I began swerving into on coming traffic. I don't know who's idea it was to do anything that next day. Gladiator is easily one of my all-time favorite movies, and I don't think one person who went to that movie stayed awake the entire movie. I thought Russel Crowe was yelling at me personally. "Are you not entertained?! Is this not why you're here?!" No, Maximus! I'm totally entertained, I swear! Spaniard Spaniard!

I've rambled enough for now. Back to 2010 with knee pain, mortgages, and weird tingles in my left ball. Ciao!

Don't Get Used to It

Triumphant Return to The Annals of My Mind

Hello, I didn't see you sitting there. In fact, you kind of startled me, like when the ice maker makes a new batch of ice, and the noise from the ice dropping is all but guaranteed to be a flesh eating monster from the Andromeda Galaxy. Anyways. I'm very excited to return to "blogging." There was a day where I had loyal readers and e-mailers and even some pub. My quasi-famous writer status went straight to my head, and I ended up losing a book deal in a vicious game of Jenga. I've been wasting my comedy brilliance for a couple of years. I used to write down my good jokes, and save them for my thriving blog. Now, I just seem to zing them out left and right like Shia Lebouf in Indiana Jones (I really miss the Asian kid). Before I delve into my thoughts, I'd like to let it be known that I have quit and returned to writing at least seven or eight different times, each with a different excuse that had nothing to do with the fact that I was just lazy. I'm going to try a lot harder to sustain this blog. That is my oath.

Things I'm Not Fond of Today

1. Heat- What the fuck, Sun? Would you stop making love to Humidity? It seriously feels like a vagina outside. Excuse me while I dry heave. It's so bad that my eyes even fog up when I step outside. At least the desert has mirages and camels. We get diseased wild dogs, and smellier bums.

2. Advil- Do your bleeping job! Your one purpose on this earth is to relieve my headache. So...what's the deal? Are you having problems at home? Are gas prices affecting your chemical make up? It's laziness isn't it? That's okay, Advil. I have a mistress named Aleeve, and I only need one of her.

3. Bicycle Seats- ?!?!? I'm convinced bicycle seats were invented by the Russians during The Cold War to cause Anal Fissures on bike riding Americans. So, like most evil things, Communism is once again at fault.

That's all that is really bothering me at the moment. I'm sure there will be something else added as the day progresses. Comeuppance!!

Houston Laughstros Baseball

Where can I start with the Astros? I want to be bitter and angry, because the season is seemingly over through seven games, but I'm not. This, unfortunately has become the norm. Getting all bent out of shape about their shortcomings is useless. I've had season tickets since I was an infant, and my loyalty is never in question, but how many years do we have to start out saying the proverbial "well, if so and so stays healthy," or "if Throw Z. Ball can just locate his pitches," we may have a chance. This team has been absolutely torturous to watch. The most enjoyable things I've experienced at Minute Maid Park this year was a bike ride from a guy who wanted to be Cru Jones from Rad, and a raciat guy sitting behind me telling a story about fighting a Mexican bartender. Look, I want these guys to win. I also want that flying dog from Never Ending Story as a pet, but it just isn't going to happen. Winning baseball teams have commodities known as good players. The Astros don't have any, and have done nothing to convince me that they want to acquire some talent. Drayton's theme song should be Talib Kweli's "Just to Get By." He signs guys like "Casual" Matsui and Pedro Feliz. Just enough to say that he's bringing in people. I could drop an epic diatribe on Uncle Drayton's circus of a front office, but what's the point? I don't even know why I'm writing about this. I'm not enlightening anyone who has seen these clown dicks play. There are at least 10 things I'd rather do than sit through another Astros' offensive explosion. 1. Fight Manny Pacquiao 2. Let a fruit bat loose in my house 3. Steal pit bulls with the midget fron that strange show. 4. Get lost on foot in Kabul 5. Become notorious for starting trash fires 6. Trust anyone that spells Kris with a K 7. Sell Mary Kay cosmetics 8. Man an Alaskan Crab fishing boat 9. Bleed a blue color from my ears 10. Live in a traveling carnival's fun house Quick Notes: Treme on HBO looks like it could be legit. I saw lots of potential in the first episode, and with the guys behind The Wire on the project, I have no reason to not expect the best.

My Day in The Sun: A Story of Hoops and Dog Bites

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Mega Shark vs. Mega Octopus

I've learned a few things during my quiet, uneventful weekend. First, SyFy makes the most terribly great movies of all-time. I dare anyone to see Mega Shark vs. Mega Octopus on your guide and NOT at least check it out. I was rewarded with an epic/comical shot of a less than pleased Mega Shark biting through the Golden Gate Bridge. This obviously caught my attention. There is a level of terrible in cinema that is so far left that it almost becomes great.

Watching this movie was quite confounding for me. For the first time, I felt like I could become a great screenwriter. Someone was paid to write this script. That someone could very well be a room full of stoned academically suspended film students, but that's neither here nor there. Anything goes on SyFy. Anything. The normal barriers of reality don't apply. For instance, torpedoes and high caliber bullets deflect off Mega Shark. In fact, they just make him more perturbed. The American military somehow answers to a shady pony-tailed man with seemingly no affiliation to any branch of Government. An Asian scientist with undoubtedly a tiny bird hooks up with a blond researcher played by Deborah Gibson. Using 80's teen sensations are a standard on SyFy. This was proven slightly later as Tiffany had to battle against Mega Piranha eating their way to Washington. Apparently, these fish had the wherewithal to try and take down our infrastructure. I would write a script for free just to have the creative freedom to defy the laws of science and bad dialogue.

Please watch this movie if you ever see it on! You'll be sitting there saying, "what the fuck is going on," and will probably change channels more than a dozen times, but something will bring you back. SyFy is a lot like my blog. There are literally thousands of other things you could be reading, but you're here for a solid let down. You're one dirty bitch, America.

Quick Thoughts on The Masters

There are few things I love more than The Masters. This list may or may not be limited to whiskey, mascots, boobs, and food delivery. Let me say that I very well could be the worst golfer in the world. I fucking hate it. In fact, I stopped playing because I couldn't stand to be so horrific at a sport. It pecker checked my delicate psyche. I also hate visors, so there's that. But, watching The Masters is like having a pet rabbit that gets me beers and dusts the mantle. It just feels right.

I've just poured my first of many cocktails and I have to say that I'm on cloud nine, which is a slight dog leg left. I think my love for The Masters stems from the fact that I am absolutely not living vicariously through the players. I unequivocally know that there is no way I can make any of the same shots, nor can I look that fucking good in plaid. I can't say the same for any other sport.

I'm going to have a few drinks dressed like Bobby Jones. I'll share more thoughts later on (Blatant lie).