StSanders Shreds

Oh my god. Finally, they are all in one place. This is so fucking rad.

StSanders Shreds

I just saw the Iron Maiden one for the first time and nearly peed myself in the good way.




Seriously, watch them all. It's so great.

2Dot0h

Ummm. So, I've got a huge bruise on my forearm from a disgruntled phlebotomist. Apparently, you should not comment on their sweatpants while you are cuffed to a bench at 2:00 AM. For instance, don't say "Nice sweatpants" before they take your blood. On the subject of the blood, I still don't know what my BAC level was the night of my arrest, but I think my attorney will find out when it is available. I'm also still trying to get scheduled for my mug shot and prints. Swear to god that if I get a copy, it's going up on my Facebook.

Anyway, I haven't drank since the arrest and have let certain parties that often throw a beer in front of me that I've stopped drinking for personal reasons and I'll let them know when I'm ready for them to throw free drinks in front of me again. It just makes it easier that way. I spent Friday night in a bar with my soccer team and drank a few waters and a strange thing happened being sober. Here are my reviews:

Attractive Jaeger Girl 1: "I'm about to leave, but I just wanted to let you know that you are one of the nicest and charming people that I've ever met."

New girl on soccer team (Overheard): "He (me) was really funny last time I met him, but a little obnoxious. This time he was still funny, but really personable and he remembered my name."

The other new girl on soccer team who is super hot in a being super smart way: "Jesus, dude. You are on fire."

So, Jaeger Girl 1 was just doing her job, but she actually did lock down with her other Jaeger friend where I was sitting with my team and they talked to me for like a half hour about whatever. One worked "in the motorcycle industry" and just moved here from Minnesota. I'm guessing she got pictures of her taken on top of them. The other was in school to become a therapist and started to dig a little deep into some areas after a few stories of debauchery and malcontent. She also had a kickball game the next morning. On their way out, they were nice enough to give shirts to the team, which I thought was a very nice gesture after they took offense to me turning down any of their tchotkes. I'd kinda be spectical of it if I was tipping them, but it seemed pretty genuine.

New girls on soccer team are good people and met me when I showed up shithoused to my team's game last week. I wasn't playing because I'm currently on the disabled list. The team, does however, like to get my keepersense input on what the other team is doing and what we need to do to win games, but I kind of let them down at this game when I showed up three sheets and just drew penises on the clipboard that we draw out plays on. I found it very entertaining at the time, but I was kind of a one man show that night with a one man fan in the audience. Anyway, new girls on soccer team seem to have preferred Jauge 2.0.

To be completely honest, I'm starting to prefer this version, too. Yeah, it's only been like four days and I won't believe I've changed until after at least a month, but so far the results are coming back pretty good. I might be into this. I'll admit, it gets kinda weird when the brain starts to spin a little fast and you want to stop it, but I've learned to channel that into productive endeavors or to just chill the fuck out and lay down and close my eyes and relax. Or, read a book. Or, eat licorice. Or, anything, really.

The New Deal

The new mantra popped into my head last night when a wave of ponderings started assaulting my docile brain. Watching Million Dollar Password makes you docile. It's this: When life gives you misdemeanors, make misdemeanorade. Seriously, when you encounter something like this, it's a good mantra.

Yesterday, I got a nice referral to a lawyer and he was awesome enough to get me in for an almost immediate consultation on my situation. He was a pretty rad guy and really helped alleviate some of the stress of the situation. It's not that I want to fight it. I did it. I'll take the responsibility, but the paperwork is a hassle and I'm afraid that I would miss the crossing of a T or the heart above an I and exacerbate my situation. So, he took all my paperwork and told me not to worry about it and I gave him a credit card and we called it a deal. It's now an $1800 Tuesday night of karaoke and bad judgement. That number will rise, but it is what it is. Plus, I got a free Diet Coke at the law office.

It's weird today, though. It's a Friday and I'm thinking about what to do tonight and it feels like having demons waiting outside your door. I'm going dry, so all of my go-to things to do have been altered significantly. In AA, it was a feeling of fear of these demons. AA also taught you that if you did not follow the herd mentality and were left to your own devices you were fucked and they would get you. I'm here to tell you that it's all going to be okay. The demons are just apparitions of fear created by your mind. If you learn to understand what they are, they are no different than a pint of ice cream at the grocery store when you are feeling fat. You've just got to learn to live with them. I don't want to drink tonight, but the social interaction sounds nice, but it's not real social interaction. It's a bunch of people that are dealing with the same demons and choose to drown them rather than live with them. I'm almost better off spending some time with myself and catching up with work or reading something to make me smarter.

So, taking it in stride on this lovely smoke filled Friday and looking forward to a night of relaxing and guilt free safety. I'm waiting for this attitude to change, but there has seriously been some kind of chemical rearrangement that went on in my brain over the last couple of days and the square pegs are actually starting to fit into the round holes. Yeah, it shouldn't work, but it does for some reason. It's actually an overall feeling of contentment that occurred when being handcuffed knocked down all of those walls that were preventing me from moving forward the last three years. It feels really nice. So far. I won't believe myself for a month or two, but that's the goal.

D U Why?

So, they finally got me last night. The unarrestable (me) was cuffed to a bench in a police station last night and had to call in a favor from his dad to stay out of county jail for the night.

I deserved it. There were many times where I was far worse than I was last night when I made an ill advised right hand turn across railroad tracks as the barriers were coming down and got pulled over, but I still deserved it eventually.

It went like this: they pulled me over in front of a Jack In The Box with a drive thru full of real drunks. They gave me a field sobriety test that I was just killing. The eyes? Always look two ticks to the right or left and your eyes don't track. Dad taught me that. They made me do the ten steps in each direction and I made nineteen of them and stumbled on the twentieth. At that point, I looked at the very nice police officer and just simply said "you win, dude." After that, I was cuffed and thrown in the back of a squad car after requesting to give a blood test rather than breath. Pro tip. It was my best chance at taking any kind of edge off.

So, they drove me back to the police station and as they walked me through to a bench to cuff me to, I let them know that they really deserved a better police station because theirs was in City Hall and they needed their own space. So, they cuff me to a bench while the bald cop is writing the report and the young cop looks at me and says "You seriously have golf clubs and a skateboard in your trunk?"

I replied, "Yeah. You never know if you need to bust a rail slide or just slice it into the woods on the 14th hole, man."

So, they got the phlebotomist there in her sweat pants and I gave blood hoping for the best. I kept telling them that the cuffs were really uneccasary as they had clearly won the match and I would take responsibility for what I had done. I felt and still feel awful about the whole thing. The thing is this: Would I have felt bad had I not been caught? That really is the question. I think getting caught can turn into a relatively expensive, but productive lesson. I may have needed this kick in the pants. Don't, for a second think I'm laughing about this. I may join AA again just to prove to myself, friends and family that I'm trying. That my hearts in the right place.

So, anyway, they go "Would you like to make a phone call?" and I go "Yeah. I got one for ya."

I called my dad. He's a lieutenant in a different county. My stepmom answered and I asked for my dad. I never call him except for Father's Day, Christmas and his birthday so she knew something was up. So I go "Dad, I got a deuce tonight. I don't really know what to do." He simply replied "Let me talk to one of them."

I looked at the young cop and said "My dad wants to talk to you."

He looked at me like I was crazy as I handed the phone to him, but he also looked curious about what I was pulling at that point. After a series of yeahs, uh-huhs, nos and sure that won't be a problems, he looked at me and said "Good news. You're not going to county tonight. Now call someone to get you out of here."

I called my best friend in the world and his phone went to voice mail. So I did the next best thing and called his fiance who was next to him in bed. She answered and handed the phone to him. You know that feeling of shame you got when you were eight and you knocked over the birthday cake for your sister face down on the kitchen floor? The look that your mom gave you is the same one that I felt as his eyes burned into me at the moment. Outside of parental units, he's all that I've got for living up to. For being responsible. For not fucking up. He's known me since before I fucked up. When we both possessed the innocence of youth. When debauchery was stealing a smoke from your mom and smoking it in a weird alley on the way home from Junior High while you pounded Slurpees. It hurts bad. You get a look like a beat dog, but it's good. Everybody needs someone to keep them in check and keep them...well...good. Being that I have no one in an intimate way like that, which used to work a bit, it's the best I've got. So, as he reads this I'm saying thank you. A non-real friend wouldn't give a fuck and would simply watch his friend crash and burn. People need to be called on shit or they would run rampant.

So, they picked me up and got me home safely, which at the the time was like ice water on a hot day. It's just better than anything in the world at some times. I woke up this morning and took a verbal beating from my sister. She's back on the campaign that I need therapy and pills so that this shit doesn't happen anymore. She's almost got me convinced that she's right, but it somehow feels like giving up, but when measured against being cuffed to a bench, it may not be that bad. Being stuck at home in a Zoloft delusion could work for me, but I'm scared that I would know that my feelings weren't real. I already struggle with their realities as it is.

After the beating, I took a shower and rode my bike to the hospital to get my staples removed. It wasn't bad at all. Took some PTO on my Blackjack and then went to the police station to get my release for my vehicle. I know a ton of people had had this happen, but fuck me if the shame doesn't coat the top quarter inch of your skin. It sucks.

Then, I did what I do and talked to an ex-girlfriend, an ex-wife and another sister to just try and stabilize my head as it's spinning today. You kind of need to just accept and not fight it. It happens. It's okay. It's going to be $1700 and a restricted license for six months. If anything, it forces me to go green and ride my bike a bit more. So, if anything, I did my part for the environment. Also, according to my ex-wife, my bike is way cooler than my car anyway.

So, Whoomp. There it is.

Rub Her Bandwidth Me

I've been spending a lot of time liberating TV shows and movies lately from inside the InterWeb. I've also noticed that my Internet Service Provider, we will call them BombCast, has got to have been throttling me. I have to keep on resetting my modem and router by unplugging them for 30 seconds and replugging them in about twice a day. As soon as I open my client, my bandwidth degrades to NetZero speeds and I ping the Cnet Bandwidth Meter Speed Test and see these apalling bandwidth speeds that I'm being given. Now, to be fair, it could be a bad modem, but the trigger is opening the client and it will haul serious ass for a little bit and then get down to like 4 bytes per second, which is outrageous.

The good news is that I'm getting stuff through and have spent some time watching some movies and TV shows on my Xbox, which is like the coolest thing ever. Here's a list of stuff:

In Bruges - A really cool movie in the vein of Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrells and Snatch. Dude goes on the lam to Bruges, Belgium after he accidentally kills a kid. Violent hilarity ensues.

Eastern Promises - Viggo Mortenson fighting two dudes in a sauna with his junk out and Naomi Watts getting smothered in a role that could barely be called supporting. She's still super hot, though. Double crossing organized crime drama. Pretty good. By the way, Viggo makes albums with Buckethead. Super random.

Teeth - Holy fuck on a popsicle stick. This movie was the most god awful twenty minutes or so of my life. It was almost as bad as Spiderman 3 until it got so horrible it was brilliant. It's about a naive girl with Vagina Dentata. I was all in after the gynecologist visit. The dude is on the ground missing four fingers yelling "It's real. It's real. Vagina Dentata is real." This is destined to be a cult classic just based on the severed penises alone. She sleeps with dudes and then they say something stupid and her face kind of clinches up and then the dude starts screaming and then a severed penis falls on the floor. I microwaved a hot dog and dropped it on my kitchen floor shortly after watching this and nearly ruptured my spleen laughing so hard. This movie has got to be the result of a late-night-coke-bender bet or an elaborate and expensive inside joke.

Dexter (Season One) - This show is great. I watched the whole first season last weekend. It's about a serial killer that works in blood spatter forensics for the Miami police department. Like a vampire with a heart of gold, he fills his cravings by taking a page from the book of The A-Team and only serially kills people that deserve it. There is also an arcing story that takes place through each episode, so you've got to just kind of watch the whole thing. You also start to see him develop feeling, which really messes with his party and also why he is the way he is. It's a really cool show that I totally missed. Now, I will be pertinent again in party conversation and not have to talk about Lost and time-loop theory, which can get pretty heady.

I also grabbed The Onion Movie, which was the second coming of Amazon Womeen on the Moon and some other stuff that isn't worth mentioning, I guess.

Oh, that aluminum can of dog shit Life on Mars (American Version). The original was one of the best shows I've ever seen. It was fresh. The acting was brilliant. John Simm and Philip Glenister cannot possibly be imitated or even approached to be imitated in their roles. The subtlety was perfectly executed while still leaving some type of work to the viewer. Even the filming of it seemed perfect. Then, the American version plays out like the SNL sketch, Caveman Lawyer. The entertainment industry thinks that their audience is eating paste and choking on Crayolas. Yes, they may be right, but come on.

That's all for now. Staples out on Wednesday followed by one of the most awesome showers ever. Look for the evite. It's going to be a pretty special shampooing. That word sounds gross. Shampooing. It sounds like faking number two so you can go through someone's medicine cabinet. Like "Oh, I was shampooing at my new girlfriend's house while I looked to see if she had any Amoxicillin in her medicine cabinet." Sorry for the dick and fart humor there.

We Shall Not Forget

Rhythm of the Night by El Debarge really was the poor man's All Night Long meets Rhythm is Going to Get You, but watch this and you won't be able to shake the melody for hours. You'll find yourself whistling it in front of strangers.

They just played it during The Last Dragon this morning. If your higher power shines down upon you and you get a chance to watch this movie at your leisure, look for a young William H. Macy and Chazz Palminteri. Brilliant. Also, check out how solid the soundtrack is. It's just ridiculous. They got Willie Hutch, who wrote The Mack soundtrack, to write two "glow" specific songs to help push the plot through. It's called fuckin' montage music, dude. Throw in El Debarge and some Rockwell and you've pretty much put together a time capsule of 1985 jams that would later be danced to by your parents in a Black angus in 1991. They even got some Stevie on there. Holy snap.

Here's the final fight scene of Bruce Leroy vs. Sho'nuff.

Let's Make a Deal

An employer in Michigan is firing smokers from his company. He, in fact, extended the ban to spouses. Here's the article from the sfgate.

So, I'll keep it short. I'll quit smoking if they ban fat people in public parks, movie theaters, bars, enclosed places, apartments, restaurants...Basically, take all the smoking laws and replace smoking with being fat even if it's hereditary or glandular and start taxing fucking fast food. That's my carrot and stick approach. You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours, but in the meantime, I want to scratch your fuckin' eyes out for being a d-bag.

Here are more articles on him. Luckily, he is not fat or I would have just fucking lost it and booked a flight to Michigan to teepee his fuckin' house.

Ungauzed

I got it off. Here's the whole scar gash:

Undressed

So, I just took my bandages off and looked at the back of my head for the first time. I was going to change the dressing, but then couldn't get this piece of gauze off. It's a work in progress. Sadly, it's more fucked up than I thought. Might I add that I'm way into hats for a while?

Here it is:

Drained My Main Vain

So, I've been quiet for a while. I may have overreacted to the whole diagnosis thing and I actually was convinced I had cancer for a few days. I think it came from watching too much House. You've got to watch out for that. I also started self-loathing and felt that I somehow deserved to have it. No one should ever feel like that and I was way in the wrong for that.

Anyway, the subscribers got a bonus feed from a meltdown the other night, but that's been about it. I had some explaining to do after that and inadvertently sent a shot across the bow of some friends that really care about me and felt like an insufferable asshole the next day. The silver lining: I know what's wrong and it took my little routine diagnosis to throw a match in that powder keg and make what bothers me the most and triggers small episodes pretty hard to miss.

That lining is I get lonely sometimes. Some of those times are extremely painful. I feel like I have no family, no friends, no colleagues, no nothing. Sadly it's all me and they are all kind of staring me in the face, but I almost want to be lonely. Let me know if you have ever felt this way? You desperately want to be alone and then after three hours you wish you had someone there with you and realize that you could have someone with you, but in all honesty, you want someone specific there whether they be fictitious, known or someone you haven't even met yet? If it's not any of those three types, you just want to be desperately lonely again. It's the recipe for a downward, self-loathing cycle.

So, that's what I've got to knock out as my next step from mental adolescence to becoming some type of adult. There are methods to this that skitter on the edge of being productive, accepting, and self-satisfaction. It doesn't take pills, Jesus, or self-delusion to get there, either. It just takes self. That's my two cents.

Now, the reason for the e-absence or i-absence if you are on a Mac. By the way, on a sidenote, in most workplaces where PCs are primarily used, the guy who uses a Mac to stand out and be different is the vegetarian at your BBQ. While I would love to use a Mac and marvel at the style and usability of the device, if you need to run a report at work and have to fire up Parallels or VMWare to do it, you are doing it wrong. You are just getting in the way. And, if I hear one complaint about it like you think you are that Drew Barrymore dating douche from the adverts, I will scowl at you. If you are not in graphic design or music, at the end of the day, both systems are going to get most of your work done even if there is a CTRL+ALT+DELETE in there somewhere. Everything will be fine. After work, I'll jam my Dell D830 in a manila envelope and we can all be amazed. Remember. Point A to Point B is all that really matters when it's all said and done. I don't give a fuck how you got there. Just get there.

So, e-absence, post-tangent. I had a little surgery done. On the sheet it said reextract benign tissue from scalp and add flap using existing skin. When I read that, I did not feel real good about the surgery. Nobody wants a flap. I kind of just put my hand above a furrowed brow that sat below a freshly shaven head and checked that box that said I had no one to pull the plug if anything went wrong. That's a creepy box to check. I hadn't eaten or, more importantly, had any coffee in the last 12 hours and was not super fired up about putting on the booties and a shower cap again. I was however, fired up in putting this behind me.

I found out right before I went in that it had gotten to my mom via my sister's boss who happens to me married to my mom's sister. He found out why my sister was leaving work early and like a 38-to-1 upset at the Belmont Stakes, that news was off and running. The whole family knew before I was under a beautiful general anesthetic. That was awesome. I remember how the dude was talking to me and then I started slurring and then I was out. It felt like a typical Thursday night. I was built for this shit.

I woke up a few hours later and didn't remember anything and started to gather my bearings. I was starving and dehydrated and saw something in my peripheral vision that was attached to my head. I was told I would have a drain, but I thought it would be like a stadium pal and hidden beneath the gauze wrap that they had reapplied. By the way, this was the motherfucker of all gauze wraps compared to the pinner one they gave me last time. I can't pop my ears out of it and they are starting to hurt so I've had to use some of the Vicodin.

So, what I saw was a tube that ran from inside the wrap to a compressed ball that blood was dripping into. I kind of put two and two together and realized it was mine. The fuckin' thing just kind of hangs there and after multiple safety pins and readjustments, I've had to put it in a bandanna, Bret Michaels style. It's horrible. A beanie cannot hide this and I'm on straight lockdown after the neighbor's kid nearly cried when he saw me. Also, pro tip right here, if you can see your own blood dripping into any type of container, skip the lasagna.

I've been home a while and can't figure out how to sleep with this bag attached to my head. Plus, the head wrap does not mesh well with the weather. Thank god, I shaved my head. I suspect there is going to be some bic-ery when I get the wrap off on Friday. May have to go Bruce Willis style with it.

That's what I've got for now. I'm assuming that I dodged a major cancer bullet and should feel extremely fortunate for this chance that I've been given. Yeah, it fucking hurts, but ass, gas, or grass, no one rides for free. I'll just be happy when this is all over and do my best to be appreciative of all of the great assets and friends that I possess. This shit should be hard-wired into people, but I have to admit that sometimes I think I may be the King of TakeItForGrantedistan. So, just so you know; I'm aware of it. Most likely, I'm sorry as well. I'm eating some crow lately. Hopefully, it will be better from here on out.

New Dreaded Phone Conversation To Avoid

There are a few phone calls that I wouldn't recommend ever receiving.

1. The "I'm Pregnant" phone call.
2. The "I'm leaving you" phone call.
3. The "Your pathology report came back and you have a benign tumor" phone call. That's the new one.

Finally, popping my tumor cherry.

Thank god for wikipedia. So, the definition is that it does not satisfy the three conditions of cancer. That is, it does not metastasize, it does not grow at an alarming rate and it does not attack surrounding tissue. What it does mean, though, is that they want to go back in to retrieve more tissue from my head. It means I'm going to be wrapped uncomfortably in gauze. It means that I'm going to miss even more soccer. It means now is not the time to quit smoking. It means my hair will be fucked up again.

I should know better than to keep on talking to anyone except for one person who calls me by the name on my driver's license. I should have just hung up as soon as the guy on the other line used that name.

Basically, it's a call that I would recommend you avoid. The fucked up thing is that I've told a couple of people and am not going to tell my mom because she's going to freak out if my sister's reaction can be used as a belweather of how she'll act. I won't tell my mom, but I'll post it to the Supermation Inforhighway. Jeezus. Happy Friday.

New Scrabble Words

In case you were curious, this is what is in my hair right now:
-Water
-Lanolin Wax
-Cetearyl Alcohol
-PVP
-Tribehenin
-Glycerin
-Tridecyl Stearate
-Alcohol Denat.
-Dipentaerythrityl Hexacaprylate/Hexacaprate
-PEG-8 Beeswax
-Ceteareth-25
-Tridecyl Trimelliate,
-PEG-40 Castor Oil
-Acrylates/C10-30 Alkyl Acrylate Crosspolymer
-Triethanolamine
-Tetrasodium EDTA
-Phenoxyethanol
-Potassium Sorbate
-Benzyl Benzoate
-Hexyl Cinnamal
-Hydroxyisohexyl 3-Cyclohexene Carboxaldehyde
-Eugenol
-Linalool
-Fragrance

I don't even know how they fit all that into a tiny canister and also I can't vouch for the legality of these words in Scrabble. Some of them may be proper nouns. Beyond the water and the wax, the list is a bit frightening.

Pro Tip #42A Article 27 Subsection 45

Don't go into work on a Tuesday morning and skip coffee and then out of the blue decide to Google "Hobo Clowns." You will find things like a Clown Ministry. They sell fucking shirts that say "God Made Clowns Just For Laughs." The ironic thing about the shirt is that it's not funny...AT ALL. It should say "God made Clowns to Frighten Children. Oh, and also to kill you while you sleep." I'm afraid to dig any deeper into that site after checking out the clown history, but go ahead and knock yourself out. There is a tutorial for budding clowning enthusiasts and future Megan's Law website members.

Megan's Law invented social networking. It grouped people by location and hobbies. The registration process is a little more rigid than other social networking websites, though. It's not really one that you want to actively try to be a part of.

We used to play a game at work where we looked up each other's last names and addresses on Fridays and then the unthinkable happened. We found someone who we worked with on the site. It was put away very quickly and the game was never played again. It was like a bad Ouija board session at a slumber party or finding glamour shots of your mom when you are looking for old porn underneath your parents' bed. It's traumatic.

Oh shit. Here is a link to clowns for hire. My question after looking at this is Would you ever hire a clown without seeing what it looked like? Again, clown of faith ministry mention. I've really missed some type of religious phenomenon, haven't I? I was already freaked out enough by Willie "Buddy From Charles in Charge" Aames becoming BibleMan and then Kirk "Mike Seaver" Cameron championing the rapturelicious Left Behind series. Spreading the word of the lord in grease paint just doesn't sound very awesome at all. It really makes name tags and ten speeds look a little more appetizing.

Seriously, how can these horny for rapture religious people even come close to speaking out against militant Muslims that will sacrifice themselves for their religous cause? They basically have the same beliefs in lands of personal milk and honey (virgins vs. relatives?) just non-Muslims want someone else to do it for them. The commonality exists in the fact that they are not enjoying their current life and are more interested in something better when this all ends. Listening to my grandmother talk these days is seriously what you would imagine a suicide bomber talking about at his sister's fifteenth birthday. Just nonchalant end of the world type of shit, but in a way that is looking forward to it. She is absolutely convinced that the end is near and everything will be better when her and her Mormon faithfuls go to Mormon Heaven. It actually is a little scary. Speaking of scary, back to clowns.

Oh my god. Surprise someone by putting this makeup on and hiding in the backseat of their car. Or, even better, jump out of their closet when they get home from work. Give someone the gift of peeing themselves in fear as a hobo clown surprises them.

Okay, dude. What the fucking fuck is this?!?!? Stop Clown Porn Now Dot Org. I didn't even read it. I just kind of stared at it and I'm really hoping it is some kind of inside joke that came about after like a hundred beers on a camping trip. Oh my god. It's just a joke. I seriously would not put it past some fuckin' retards in the MidWest of recognizing clowns in pornography as the reasons that their kids are obese and banding together behind the cause. The meetings would be at a buffet as they strategize how to stop clown porn related child obesity while their children put fucking chocolate sauce and frozen yogurt on their fried chicken nachos and chase it down with a deep fried milkshake. From above, the meeting would look like a bingo armed octopus.

As a sick and twisted side note. I've seen a clown in porn. It's disturbing. It's in Michael Ninn's New Wave Hookers V and was "borrowed" about three years ago by a friend. Nobody ever borrows porn and gives it back to you. Pro tip.

Friday Night Update

Rule #456: Never partake in the consumption of cocktails with HughVoltage unless you are a seasoned veteran.

Since Friday night, I've gotten a pizza and played GTA IV all day on Saturday and took a break to watch "Good Luck, Chuck" at the behest of my neighbor that told me that I would love it. He was unaware of my deep seated resistance to Dane Cook. To be honest, it wasn't that bad. There were a lot of boobs in it for some reason and when supported with a cast, Dane Cook is not that bad. Perhaps, it is the way people describe him as like the white Richard Pryor. He's not entirely that awesome.

So, chase that with a Sunday at the parents' house with a soda tooth from too much Diet Coke while fulfilling the duties of being an uncle by playing with my niece and nephew, and you can call it a weekend.

Now, this morning, my neighbor came over and gave me the update. He told me that one of the dudes, not The Dave, got beat up by the cops and put in jail after I told him that I was going to the bathroom and split because it was obviously a bad idea to still be interacting with the public at that point.

Apparently, he told the cab driver that he only had twelve dollars, but would pay him when they got to the destination. This got lost in translation and the cabbie flagged down a cop driving by. Some vodka fueled resistance took place, one would imagine, and cut to him in the back of a cop car trying to kick out the window on the way to one of the beatings of his life. That's a hell of a birthday. Apparently, he is sporting a wicked shiner and a decent laceration down the side of his head, but still says he had a good time.

Now, as for The Dave, I've still got his credit card and he can't get a hold of me because he lost his cell phone. On top of that, as of today, he still hasn't been able to locate his car. Poor The Dave.

I have to feel a tiny bit guilty as my weekend has been severely uneventful since I snuck out of the bar from birthday boy, however, most people know what they are doing when we are imbibing. You must have an exit strategy in a situation like that.

So, as I sit here and admire my clean bathroom counter top and try to dissuade myself from vacuuming, I can't help but pour out a little coffee for my homies putting their lives back together after having drinks with the harbinger of discord.

Quote of the day...yesterday

Neigbor: "Let me give you some fatherly advice, Hugh. Don't ever take a Viagra and eat a Big Mac"

Me: "Dude, I've been on Niagra to stop spontaneous erections for the last two years and have never eaten a Big Mac in my life. It shouldn't be a problem. By the way, nice gay stalker jacket."

The Dave

The night kinda began with a text that read "I do it for the blog."

I know. What it do? I went home from work early and got to 40% completion on GTA IV. My neighbor walked by and said "Dude, I'm going to happy hour at The Cheesecake Factory in an hour. You should go." I thought to myself that that sounded like getting drunk at Applebee's and then decided that it at the very least sounded interesting.

So, I went. We hung out with a guy that was having a birthday and works at my neighbor's gym and his buddy Dave. I got in a book argument with a guy reading Ken Follett and wrote down things on a bar napkin that could make his life more interesting including Palahniuk's book "Survivor." We left when we were hammered at like 8:00 PM.

We were out front and half of us wanted to go buy a jazz record. I told them to go ahead, but I get The Dave. The Dave had turned into a bargaining chip. He was wasted and would laugh at anything. He was a perfect sidekick. I grabbed The Dave and went to another bar with him. Got more fucked up. I bumped into a girl that made out with my date one night. Love her. The guy she was with just constantly said "Where do I know you from?" over and over and over. So, anyway, myself and that girl are having a conversation and I give The Dave my credit card and tell him to grab us some drinks. I go back to where The Dave was and he's gone.

I texted the other half of the group that was busy dropping the jazz record down a sewer and let them know that I lost The Dave. We were all devastated. As a sidenote, I woke up with an extra ATM card in my wallet and I think it is The Dave's. So, after the rest of the group minus The Dave was put back together, my neighbor snuck away and it was just me and the guy whose birthday it was. We ended up at another bar. At this point, we had no business interacting with the public. I think I even stopped drinking because I knew better and was acting as a minder because dude was disturbing some people that were larger than us.

Anyway, I woke up this morning at 8:00 AM and totally lacked a The Dave in my life. It's not like a gay thing. It's like being Morris Day and having a Jerome. Who wouldn't want something like that?

All right, I've got to go to Target and buy some sleeveless shirts for a weekend project. Did you know that a sleeveless shirt is less than a gallon of gas? Scary. I know.

By the way, Metal Mania on VH1 Classic is just killing it this morning. It's like MTV Spring Break in 1989 with a smidgen of Headbanger's Ball thrown in. Judas Priest. Poison. Maiden. Skid Row. Fifty bucks says that The Scorpions are next. Dude, if it's Big City...It's Photograph by Def Leppard. Even better. One of the best songs ever. EVAR.

Holy shit. I take everything back. They are playing the new Def Leppard video and it's a fucking Shania Twain video. What happened? What the fuck is this? Why can't I find an Interrobang on my keyboard for the ends of these sentences? Seriously. Def Leppard sounds like Young Country now. I'm going to go cry in the bath. This is just sad.

Scaranoid

I went into the bank yesterday to get my new card activated and my favorite bank teller was there greeting people as you walk in. She's absolutely beautiful and would eat me alive and needs to be avoided, but there was one thing of particular interest as I left with a new activated card. She said "Bye" and used my real first name. Not the one on all my cards, but the one that people call me. She shouldn't know it. Second time that has happened at a Wells Fargo. If anything, they have it in their customer database, but how would they know it? It's not really documented on anything official.

So, anyway, I was flattered and I still have a bank teller crush, which is so much healthier than any type of relationship at this point. It's like having a crush on Alyssa Milano on "Who's The Boss?" when you're like eight. Totally safe.

Trying Is The Step Right Before Failure

This is the shit: For Those Who Tried To Rock...

We Salute You.

Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiire!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We must all pray together that Mr. X, nor Underwater Communist Basketweaving Jugband (UCBJ) does not appear on there. The UCBJ reggae album was the shit, though.

Jean Clad Van Diamond

According to the ticker on the news this morning, David Archuleta came in second on American Idol. In other news, stage dad beatings have increased Archuleta% in the last 24 hours. His relationship with his dad resembles that of a young Ike and Tina or a young Jessica, Ashlee and Joe Simpson threeway. God, that guy is gross and none of us are looking forward to the release of that sex tape.

To be honest, I absolutely lost interest in Idol this year and last year as it's becoming advanced karaoke and the songlist never changes just like karaoke at a Peppermill. It never moves forward like classic rock radio. It just sits there. Staring at you. Begging for help without saying so. Begging for help by looking at you sadly.

A discussion about Idol, however, pushed friends and I to the Neil Diamond episode that I do kind of wish that I had watched because Neil Diamond is like the Jewish Elvis. This discussion lead us down the path of Neil Diamond impersonations as a judge over beer and tacos and that lead to the idea of the karaoke mash-up.

I've done one karaoke mash-up in the past and it sounded horrible and my ex told me that she thought that I looked like I was going to have an accident while I did it. It was "Hit Me One More Time" in the style of Michael McDonald. It was physically taxing to perform and the payoff was marginal.

Now, last night when the peanut butter hit the chocolate, it was myself professing that I planned on having a dream last night of a beautiful parallel universe where Michael Jackson became a brilliant Quincy Jonesesque producer married to a white ex-actress with half white kids on The Office. That's right. Halpert's ex is The Original Dude's daughter.

In this parallel universe, Van Halen still breaks up, but they replace David Lee Roth with Neil Diamond in an unprecedented move not seen since Queen reunited with Paul Rodgers from Bad Company on vocals. What a WTF?! moment that was. Anyway, this got me to thinking about singing "Jump" by Van Halen in the style of Neil Diamond. Believe it or not, most of it worked in the shower this morning whilst I was shaving my chest. The only thing is that it's kind of so awesome that I don't want to just share it with just anyone. It'd be like cutting cheese and salami for a Saturday noontime snack with a fucking lightsaber. I want to hog it all to myself and use it for my own enjoyment. It's my karaoke supernova that shall never be shared with anyone due to sheer awesomenacity. So, yeah, the dream was like that dream that Lionel Richie has in "Say You, Say Me."


Finally, as part of the Hatebook development project, we are at work on an app that let's people that you've hooked up with add you as a mutual hatee and start a hater group devoted to you. You will never see who they are because your ID blocks you from knowing or joining. You will, however, receive a "rhating." This fuckin' thing is getting brillianter by the day. Might I add that instead of automatically getting a "Tom" as a friend like on myspace, you will automatically get Jerry O'Connel as your first hatee. Why? Because it was my idea. So, sit down or I'm going to see your O'Connel and raise you a "fiddle guy from Dave Matthews" and "Jack Johnson."

Have a wonderful day if I haven't told you to yet and by the way, you look simply stunning.
-HV

No Man Is An Island, Nor Toilet Seat.

I went out for my before bed cigarette and my neighbor was out there on vicodin and gin. We discussed him becoming involved with a second married chick. Yes, she is hot and young and has no body fat except for the 200 pounds of baggage that we call her husband, but I told him that I thought it was a bad idea and it solidifies why I would rather sit in the safety of my living room than put myself at the mercy of the throes of the feminine gender as of late.

I'm not going gay or anything in observance of legalized marriage, but I'm just staying off the grid. He then goes, "Oh fuck you, dude. You get more ass than a toilet seat." I had to break his heart a little bit and tell him that I've been ass free for over two months now and kind of enjoying it. It's part of operation: life less complicated. I'm kind of zeroing out in the good sense of the word and trying to find a nice clean slated starting point. Of course, this has been through paying for meals with exes and finding out everything that I did wrong from them, but it's relatively healthy in a learning sense. I'd especially like to get it out of the way before I take on any further ill-fated endeavors. Especially since I fell in love with a bank teller the other day. She was married and she was forgotten by the time I had left with quarters for laundry, but it was nice to feel enamorous.

So, self-induced therapy through solidarity? Maybe. Just an excuse to eat ice cream and get fat guiltlessly? Probably. Just a much needed break? Most likely.