sadly i am out of pot.
yes, it's true. i am feverishly trying to get this paper clip straightened out, so i can use it to free the precious resin from the insides of my smoking devices.
sure it tastes like a burning rubber band, but hey... you catch a fifteen second buzz! well not even a buzz... more of a mild head change. but still!
and resin's so damn messy. it gets all over your hands and shit, and it reeks, and doesn't wash off very easily. whata hasselhof.
i used to scrape the resin out of my friends pipes and import it to my house, because i was a ghetto scavenger like that back then. ("back then" read as "two months ago")
and now as i look at this perfectly bent paper clip, i think how its been SO Long since i had to sink to such highschoolerish lows as scraping resin.
im so drained from writing tedious, long, cryptic blog posts that only like two or three people in the world can make sense of.
i wanna talk about how i am nervous for my 15 signwalker job this weekend in South El Monte, Ca that starts tomorrow.
danny is gonna be my helper wich is fine enough. i like danny.
but danny can't shut the fuck up sometimes. wich is normally fine, me and whitey talk the whole time when we work together. me and the viking too...
but DANNY?! danny just gets on my nerves. he fucking mumbles and when you ask him what he's talking about... it always ends up benig so LAME. like a story about how he thinks it's great that his son reads comic books, because he's "actually READING...." or how he has a million stories that i stopped believing were true like two years ago.
ORR like say an ambalance drives by, danny will say, "see that ambalance?"
i'll tell him that i do in fact see the LOUD ambalance that has LIGHTS flashing. (duh, why njot ask if my heart is beating.)
then he goes... "well... did i tell you why i hate my father in law?"
and that's when i tell him that yes... he HAS told me. like once a day. since ive met him.
i usually try and turn up the radio, or even hold up a finger to my lips and go, "SHOOSH! the radio is talking!!" but nothign works.
my boss told me the trick tho... so i will have to test it out this weekend. and the trick is this...
you drive up to the signwalker named tammy, because that's danny's wife. and fucking drop his ass off there till you need to slave him out again later.
so taht's the plan, but who knows. maybe he'll be bizzy reading that dictionary he's always reading. and he'll stay quiet.
im outta HERE.
as in on my board on my way to get a McChicken sandwich for a dollar. tanky will meeet me there on her rollerskates.
she already ate. obviously.
and we will skate far and fast until one of us comes home bloody. and feels dumb limping ariound for a week.
it was her last time so.... prolly my turn.
then we go to el monte, and set up my sale.
and then i derno... we try and find a del taco.
im growing a beard.
and heya, whats the deal with the remixing of candy bars? white chocolate kitkat bars... inside out reeces peanut butter cups... it's SO HOT right now. go get your remixed candy NOW...
i know i'll be ok.
i mean, i will struggle when i have to. and we all have to. but i'll get by. i'm a animal, no better than a rat... just trying to survive.
and so are you.
and survival is tricky when you don't live in reality. not that i DO. i mean i try to. as much as i can i fucking TRY. but like some people have their head SO FAR UP their own ass... well... they just can't get past anything you say because they aren't even living in reality.
does that make sense?
i mean, like i try not to come off like i am all that much better, or any better at ALL... because what the fuck do i know?
the only person i can control is myself. and i do so.
but the thing i do that makes me special. that sets me apart from the "herd" mentality is the fact that i take responsibility.
any and everything in my life i don't like i blame MYSELF for. because i create my own FUCKING destiny.
i feel like im repeating myself, i mean, come onnnnnn. get with me here on this one.
like ok, you just got robbed at your ATM machine at 4pm in the afternoon... at gunpoint you drive this guy around, until you miraculously escape with your life... like what happened to ME...
know who's fault that was? mine.
i got robbed because I and only i chose the wrong atm in the wrong city at the wrong time, and welp, i could have used a trillion other ATM's that where either safer and/or less convenient than the one i got robbed at.
but ultimately, see? i don't have control over some robber. i only have control over me. and so giving this guy the OPPORTUNITY to rob me was my mistake.
now my example is totally flawed, because you can't live your life worrying about the what if's, thinking to yourself, "welp anti got robbed so now i can never use an ATM..."
cuz that's ridiculous.
its just a way to illustrate that there's a way to accept responsibility for your OWN actions in EVERY setting.
i used to say, "well so and so didn't hold a gun to your head... so it's not THEIR fault... it's your own fault, you LET it happen..."
but now even with a gun pointing at you, just like the fully loaded revolver that was pointed right at my forehead... i created a situation where i COULD be a victim, and i accept that.
fuck this. i am just talking now and i am sure that my point is totally lost.
JUST STOP BLAMING PEOPLE FOR YOU SHIT.
that's my point.
for fucking once consider that you are to blame for everything you don't like in you r life. not ANYone else.
burn me like a calorie. smoke me like a doowop.
choke me like a chicken. hate me like a cop.
read me like a sign, tell me you feel like, "fine"
somethings never change. all you can truely control is yourself. so start doing it.
slam me like onyx, and do a ditty like paperboy.
flick me like a bic, snuff me out like a candle wick
nothing is ever anyone's fault except YOUR OWN, even if you not full grown, you picked your parents before you were born.
pull off my belt like the pin in a grenade. make your self slide away like a DJ's crossfader.
i've ran out of slack on my rope. so imma have to climb the rest of the up this mountain using just my strength, determination, and count on NO HELP from noone.
what else is fucking new?
i know i've been treating you bad... running you ragged more like.
i can hear you beg for my attention.
the cry of the rear differential makes my heart break.
and those worn out tires... i'm sure you'd like something without a slow airleak, and perhaps the balding embarasses you...
awww.... i'm sorry babygirl.
well i'll take goo care of you tomorrow after i get the funds from the biggity-bank... we'll head over to EZ Lube, and get you all done up.
maybe even get your transmission fluid did.
and if you're good, maybe i'll buy you a car wash.
HAHAHHAHA... we both know that was a lie. don't we?
btw, i've been meaning to ask you. what is the deal with super premium gasoline at the gas station?
that's a totall fucking scam innit?
i mean only a fool doesn't realize that it's all the same fucking gas. just clever marketing really.
anyways. i hope the garage cats don't bug you. i know how you hate to get their prints on your windshield.
oh and sorry for that rotting fast food smell.
i'm trying to find where that hell that's coming from, i promise.
your good pal, and favorite operator
they just let life wash over them life a giant wave, and whatever happens is their "evil" ex's fault. yah well.... honey, YOU chose him. am i wrong?
there's this thing called personal responsibility. look into it.
why not make smart decisive choices that you stick to? why not think ahead a teensy bit? why not change who you are, or be proud of who you have become, and stop worrying about people who have nothing to do with you?
everyone's obbsessed with everyone, BUT NO... that's actaully completely false. everyone is obbsessed with THEMSELVES. and they can give a fuck about everyone else. but no that's not what they tell themselves.
they judge eachother, point fingers, try and figure out "who the bad guy is"
heres a FACT. there iss/was/never will be a bad guy. it takes two to tango, and so own up to the shit you did to participate in something you act like you are so high and might and cast stones but your house made of glass is getting punched with holes too.
i'm anti. i don't come on here to fucking broadcast how wonderful i am. is it a secret that i'm a messy person? is it some dark undercover fact that im a lazy sonnabotch?
or that i'm an asshole and mean to my signwalkers.
i've lied to my friends family and loved ones.
i rarely change my clothes for like WEEKS at a time. including socks and underwear.
i often reek of BO.
but know what? who cares. i gotta be me. and if/when i feel like changing my clothes, taking a shower, cleanign my butt-hole apartment, or buying water for my signwalkers when it's hot... i do it.
i've been keeping this blog for quite some time now, and have a lot of people come here to read what i write, and a lot people think imma nice enough guy.
i never called anyone any names at all, actually. and i still won't. because that's retarded. and takes away my shortter-than-yours attention span from the things i waste my time sign jobbing thinking about... wishing i was blogging it out. cuz i lerve that shiT.
oh well. i guess if i knew better i'd just stop with the daily attempt at inflating my enormous ego, and quit blogging altogether.
you fucks don't deserve me.
and wanna know what i think about it?
i think it gives me a boner.
seriously though. it's the illest fucking thing i own, not counting my skateboard.
and my office (aka my car) just became much more lovely place to be.
ask me, ask whitey, aaaaaaask my cousin... is it good to be a sign guy?
well it fucking is THIS fucking month, duh.
i just hope this never happens.
that's where im being sent this weekend to deal with the most annoying signwalking schedule of the weekend. i'd tell you what it is, but it's so jacked up i'm still a little confused on whats what.
but we got whitey working in hell centro. FUCK IMPERIAL VALLEY. and sorry whitey. i know how hot and shitty it's gonna be for your lowest-on-the-totem-pole suckatash self. GOODLUCK! call me if you want directions to the blue tarp by the rail road tracks.
tonight i go skateboarding, and fucking buy myself a drink or two, and yah, should be a nice night of ME TIME. i've been looking forward to this since last thursday.
what do you smell?
cuz, i smell the stench of a hamburger that was the center of a LIE conspired AGAINST me by the corporation known as Carl's Junior.
dude, i got a #3 (the western bacon cheeseburger combo) and they fucking gave it to me with the most stale assed bun i ever had the luxury of almost chipping my tooth on.
then the nerve of these lousy fucks who take my money at least 3 times a week... THEY TELL ME IT'S NOT STALE.... IT'S FUCKING TOASTED!!!!
toast this you sons of bitches, while i fucking tell the world how much you suck, while i still have the stench of your poor quality food on my fucking fingers.
no fucking wonder yer the only nearby drive thru open at 1:15am. losers!
del taco may always have a line, but the the reason is now and will forever be obvious city.
i knew that if i went to that shit, everyone'd be all hammered already, and i'd get so annoyed and irritated with everyone for NOT working on a day that I DID have to work. you know how this story goes, right?
so anyways, i end up volunteering to help my cousin lace up a location in the valley instead. with about 300 signs. and we agreed to go to some sort of mellow atmosphere type bar afterwards. because we're both out of energy, and are just running on fumes.
little did we know we were about to embark on a cultural observation field study. oh joy. watch as i do back flips of excitement.
no but seriously, it was cool to be in this weirdo north hollywood ghetto-ass bar, where the viking and i were the only non-latinos, everyone had on a cowboy hat... and the mariachi music blared in your ears.
we were fish out of water, and had devised a plan to NOT TALK to any chicks while we were there, because we knew nothing of the micro-politics that could possibly be at play within this latino-bar, and felt taht not talking to chicks would be the most secure method of keeping ourselves out of trouble... we just wanted a drink after a long hard days work. no drama.
so yah i was kinda a little freaked out when cleavage-lady, with the tattooed titties, put her hand on my thigh.
i didn't understand what she said to me in spanish, but whatever, she went away after a sec or two.
and then after a beer or two, we went away too.
i got a new hat at a 7-11 in the valley.
after this we;re gonna take it easy.
oh by the three of us, i mean, me, my cousin, and my cousins dog... tooth.
pizza makes ten times much more sense to me. or like maybe at least some pier food. i could go for that. sure. whut ever. who cares.
i don't know why but i am so like super ugh'ed out and i can't shake the ugh.
but whatever. i just am mad that those two clown ruined my day off. nuff fucking said.
i've waited for like FOREVER to just get here and be home and be done with it all. UGH.
i wish i had tomorrow off. i don't.
man, i dont think imma have a day off until tuesdaym, to be perfectly honest.
and like, wow. fuck me.
los angeles becomes a very small city when driving to temecula is just a no-big-whup errand, and you laugh at the people who act like a 20 minute commute to work is a bitch.
welcome to my world. welcome to freeway hell.
this is where the carpool lane is a joke, every freeway has some kina rama-lama-ding-dong doing whatever to fuck up the flow.
i am the flow master. and i have come to destroy.
it's funny how the gas pedal and the brake pedal are EQUALLY efficient in getting you out of an accident. i prefer the gas pedal obviously.
i don't know what to do now. i've felt frazzled all day. i guess im hungry, and starved is a better word actually, and welp, i derno, i guess del taco sounds greasy enough.
cold and pulpy.
lloyd is at the sale, and i'm at my cousin's house. waiting for sign artwork to printo out, so i can have it on my person, so that when my cousin gets the call, he will call me, and i will fax the approved artwork to the printshop.
and signs will happen.
is it my day off yet?
so right on. my cousin just told me to wait here until he tell me to go. that's radical.
so like, the only thing that would make life perfect for right this second is the obvious... a Sausage Egg McMuffin. too bad i don't gots one.
whatevers... imma go wander through the viking's huge house now.
it's not so much hectic as it is DRAWN out and stretched out beyond retardation to somewhere in the realm of fucking insane. yah like 15 or 16 hours.
but yah most of that time will be spent driving around, doing sign guy shit. and/or parked waiting for my walkers to get off their shift.
easy as pie.
i'll be working with LLOYD, wich is fine, if he can keep his yapp shut while the radio is on. i don't take kindly to howard interuptions.
i've been working a lot, yah? it's good times when the work flows like this. remember when i begged for pay pal monies? how pathetic.
anyways, i have so much dough now... that i am actually able to buy myself stuff... sorta. like today i spent $100 at target, and i did last week too...
all my laundry is done. and i'm sitting here clean, with my one-day-old hair dye job. (blk)
imma have ALLL friday off work. so imma prolly blog up a storm. and/or soak up as much sun as i can from my skateboard on the boardwalk.
so i dyed my hair. and i did it fairly nice, because i have been taught by the best.
oh yah dude.
it was a long and sorted first love, like they all are.
i had first heard of her my sophmore year on the first day of school. my friends were goofing on her name. chrystal herron. saying it sounded so drugged out, almost like chrystal meth heroin. but not really.
anyways, my last class of the day had her in it. it was math class. wich was tight cuz that meant we'd have 6th period together all year long.
but i was the world's biggest pussy back then. seriously. i dont know what i was always so affraid of. rejection ain't no big whup in the end. bitches ain't shit, right?
so i blew it. i even had tons of chances all year long. being grouped up with her in different settings or what not. i just had no game. and she made me nervous... and i felt like everyone could see how nervous i must have obviously looked.
well i felt like it was a sign when the following school year i had her in my spanish class. holy shit, man. and the seating chart placed me square next to her hot lil ass. so for whatever reason (prolly because my friends were lying and saying they were getting laid, even tho they totally weren't) i felt compelled to MAKE it happen, and i somehow got the balls to get her number. shit man.... i even called her. i didn't even hang up the phone after dialing the number a million times, a la 'kevin arnold' from the wonder years. i barrelled through, talked to her, and made plans for the saturday coming up.
so things went smoothley for a while, although i had to put up with some BULLSHIT i'd never have put up with these days. like... she hooked up with one of my best friends when her and i hadn't even hooked up yet, she strung me along and sorta used me, and then she was starting to get fresh with ANOTHER one of my friends when i decided i was still learning, and had just learned what to avoid. HER. i even got sweet on some other girl named nicole patton. fuck she was hotter than chrystal anyways. and i think she really liked me.
but sho nuff, the whole nicole thing never happened. i guess chrystal saw she was gonna lose me, and for some reason cared. oh joy, thanks a million. pshhh.
so that night i was sposed to go and call and see nicole, chrystal finally puts out, and i lose my virginity. i was 17 years old.
and i never talked to nicole again.
chrystal and i dated for like almost 2 and a half years. and it wasn't easy. our fights were intense, the sex lasted all day, and i dumped her the day she came over to my house trying to hide these HUGE hickeys with her hair. she had one on each side of her neck, and they were both the size of a silver dollar at LEAST.
we still kinda saw eachother and messed around a bit, even though she had gotten a new boyfriend by then and his name was john, just like mine. whata diss. i hate being a john sometimes.
but ultimately i realized that she was a man eater of sorts. and that she was evil. and had a heart made of stone, and that the longer i was around her, the more my self esteem would crumble to nothingness.
even her cousin had my back and was telling me, "man she's just a bitch. you should get a better chick."
so that was it. i decided she was fired. and i was gonna CUT HER OUT of my life. and i did. i just stopped returning her pages, and instructed my mom who i lived with to tell her i was "out" if/when she ever called the house.,p>but i wasn't expecting her to just SHOW UP like she did... and i nearly shit a brick when my mom came into my room and said, "chrystal is at the door, she knows you're here, she saw your truck..."
i said... "shit!"
mom said, "c'mon johnny... you gotta deal with this finally..."
so, i went out there. and i told her to back off, leave me alone, and never talk to me again. and she pulled out all the stops and cried and balled at me, "WHYYYYY ARE YOU DOINGGGGG THISSSSSSSSS?!?!?!?!"
but i just slammed the door in her face.
sometimes i wonder though...
maybe she'd still let me hit it.
but everything is b.y.o., duhh.
i just got this BBQ gas key knob handle type thing from the "welcome wagon" i was like thanks i've been living here since august.
but because they also gave me an aim'n'flame with the BBQ gas key thingy, i had to smile. so i guess it's ON now for bbq's here.
whatever THAT means.
cuz like... i still haven't used the toaster oven that i got kicked down.
but again. the aim and flame is awesome, and will be tied to the bong.
for obvious reasons.
i think i need new tires on my truck. i want beefy ones that bite.
full release being the major one i spose.
so anyways, i told my mom in my most desperate of of tones that my body was falling apart, and that i wondered if she had any advice. and that's when she brought up the idea of a massage, and seeing if perhaps that did anything, because she said that chiropracters were too unreliable, and that accupuncture was too expensive.
well i told her, that i was not really down for a massage. that i was too weirded out by the potential of a dude doing it, or if a girl did it... what if i got a chubby?
my mom tried to convince me i was being lame, and stuff. but she eventually said she understood.
well i have good news my friends. my tuff-love mother has decided to break loose from her pattern, and pay for me to get accupunture. SCORE!!!
that's good because i am starting to get really sick of the smell of icey hot. my t shirts all reek of it.
in the meantime it's bottoms up to anything that relieves pain. tonight it's advil liqui-gel cap buffet... with a sprinkling of flexall454...
i have to drive deep past the orange curtain know as OC, and i work for the two greek jerkfaces, and my last signwalkers aren't off work until after 8pm... wich is ri-goddamned-diculous.
there's this thing called staggering the signwalkers, and i hate it more than anything. it means that i have two groups of signwalkers. one groups that will work from 12-6 and a second group that works from 2-8. so i have to be there between 11-9. oh joy.
hopefully i will spend most of the time relaxing with a cigarette, and not running around making the greek bosses happy.
right now i'm so hungry, i am gonna buy a slim fast from 7-11. (insta breakfast)
so right now i feel like a fat bloated over indulgent roman, and i wanna know where i find the enarest vomitorium, cuz we're headed to classic burger... and I'M driving.
parking situitions here in redondo are grimm. or slim (to none).
sorry for being a normal dude, who thinks normal dude thoughts, but this aggression will not STAND, man.
i mean... we only know what you fucking tell us, and you fucking tell us nothing except for what we do wrong.
take some personal responsibility and TELL us what the fuck to do right.
how about women wise up, and realize that we are too simple and feeble minded to figure out how the fuck their brains work? is that too much to ask? how about they think like US.... because men are simple to figure out.
feed me, fuck me... now get out of my way cuz sports center is on, and i am feeling sleepy. THAT"S IT!!!
you now know the way a man's mind works. oh and remember that we don't speak in that language of code that women insist on commuinicating with.
for example, if pointdexter calls up a hottie for a date, she drops the hin that she's not interested, "oh pointdexter... i'm busy that night washing my hair, oh and that other night is no good becaus ei have to watch paint dry..." and the women thinks he's get the clue, but he NEVER WILL because our hero pointdexter is a MAN. and men don't know what clues are. because if it was a guy telling a girl that he had to watch soem paint dry, HE PROLLY REALLY DOES HAVE TO DO THAT SHIT!!!
i don't even know what the fuck i'm talking about anymore. i need to calm down.
i had never heard that phrase until a few weeks ago when big tanky used it to describe a friend of ours behaviour.
so i guess what i have figured it out to mean is that the person is having a bitch of a time, so they make themself more miserable on porpose, sorta so they can wallow in it.
i know i've been guilty of that. and sometimes you just have to do it that way because then you hit the bottom of your pity party, the rock bottom sorta-ish, and you have no choice but to either get over it, or commit a grandiose suicide off the 105/110 carpool lane interchange. (wich if yer nto a LA local, is like where this one guy blew up his car and blew his head off witha shotgun live on the news.)
is making bold life changing choices scary? hell fucking yes. but it's a fact of life that you can't escape. sad but true.
in that perfect world that we are all too painfully aware doesn't exist.... things would never change. i'd still live with my happily married parents, my credit un-fucked-with by my dad, and being 25 would last the rest of my life.
but shit happens. and friends, apartments, jobs, girlfriends, money, skateboards, cars, lifestyles, routines of habbit... it's all up in the air and abotu to fucking be flipped on you. never feel "comfortable" because nothing stays the same. that's what you can take to the fucking bank.
it's like a what doesn't kill you makes you stronger type thing.
secondly, fuck swimming, cuz i know there's gonna be all the day time pool players down there. also known as the oldest people you have ever seen with your own two eyes. yes it's true. and they're all out there, man, just fucking laying around, turning the hot tub into old people soup.
anti don't play that. BOP
so fucking a, mann. i guess i'm just gonna be fucking annoyed, and crack my knuckles, and start drinking early... like NOW... cuz the the more you drink, the less you think...
please go die. please die slow.
i think i'm frustrated with the things i am powerless to change.
and it's not that i'm powerless...
but i mean why does your brain play that evil trick on you? why does it act like, "oh well, in a perfect world things would be like this, and be like that."???? because things aren't like this or like that, and this IS NOT a perfect world, and everyone's just sitting here saying, "yah whata bummer, now let's watch some MTV..." when the problem is still there, can still be fixed or changed or...
i derno man. it's all about taking risks in life. nothing ventured nothing gained type shit. and if you believe that i believe, then you know that the only way yer gonna get what you want in the end, is to go after it, and fucking take it. it's yours.
and what's mine? what's anti got comin to him???
that's for me to know, and the world to find the fuck out.and this car insurance guy is on my LAST nerve/
computers are for fags.
i'm going swimming.
and maybe to the bank...
im waiting for this car insurance guy to call me back. mercury insurance can suck my dick. and geico can gei-kill-itself.
i think i need a new lighter. and i'm totally irritable.
screw you and yer friend too.
even tho i wanna beat off..
i'm too fucking tired.
that's us walking to Dales Junior Market to fetch the obligatory two pizza slice special.
i'm gonna get off my ass, wearing my freshly cleaned plaid pajama pants, and nothing else, and drive to del taco, and eat like the king that i am.
chicken chedder quesodilla, two soft tacos, and french fries.
but not before i smoke a cigarette, a bong hit, ANOTHER square...
and if i still remember, then mayyyybe i'll go.
what some people call slow painful starvation, I call mild pre-occupation.
and me and my ass... we'd rather sit here, going full throtle on this coors light, with the bong, and the cigarettes, and the Conan O'Brien on the boob-toob.
in fact the longer this blog post gets the less lieky i will anyhting of any form of wannabe nurishment, and will settle for ice cream from 7-11....
ya ya ya ya .... iccccce creeeeeam. i going now, i'll tell you if they hated on me for the no shirt thing.
for me it's usually a conversation. talking gets me thinking.
and thinking is rare when you're working with as few brain cells as me.
if you don't read your opinion doesn't matter.
my opinion doesn't matter, but i stay close to people who read... and i make them tell me everything.
my cousin wrote that he thinks my "starving artist" days are almost over. does that mean i am sposed to like grow up now? what does grow up mean? does that mean i'm sposed to give a fuck if i have bed head in front of people who live in buena park? cuz i dont.
and starving artist? do i come off like a starving artist? god that sounds so pretentious. i fucking hope i don't cuz there is nothign artistic about me, except maybe the bed head.
*I* think i'm working on it, and i have my own timeline, and well, me being a lazy bummy messy sleazy skeevey slacker of a modern day skate hippie... that's just me being me, mannnn...
but whatever, i'll make sure the walkers know i'm large and in charge, and the hair gel will be gleaming in hot BFE sun. heh.
cuz i really do clean up well... it's just the bedhead/.
why do i sit here with dirty jeans on for weeks at a time?
i guess i gotta be me, because being me is why all you losers come here to read this dribble. hahah... chumps...
so yah. my socks walked up to me, and were like taking on personalities... so yah, i decided it's clean my clothes or bunmr them.
so north hollywood was cool. it's basically easy peasy for what i'm capable of doing. and my cousin, who's owner of the sign company, knows that i'm totally good at shit like office helper type shit.
anyways, i can tell the hardest part is gonne be the quick books, everything else i already got. and quick books? how hard could that be for a computer nerd like myself? right?
my only concern of course is the cost of commuting to no ho, but i know that it wojn't be errryday, and it can eventually be done from my home.... or so the idea goes...
anyways, right now i'm drinking a silver bullet, aka ricky mountain piss, aka loser beer. or coors light if you're not picking up what i'm throwin down. but don't feel stupid, noone gets me.
except for me and my ladies.
or at least see how it goes.
the ideal would be for me to get all smart on what to do, and be able to do it from home. all i need is fax/prining capabilities.
so i'm taking my last minute bonghit, grabbing the nearest pair of sunglasses, and i'm outtie.
the laker girls and i are gonna miss you.
annnd.... SCREW YOU MIAMI!!!!
i mean, here i am, feeling NASCAR-ish as all hell... because it's sunday, and i don't have cable, and my tv is currently in the ON position.
mark martin, the dude who drives the boner-mobile (aka the No. 6 car, AKA the viagra sponsored car), must feel super sexy driving such a super sexy car.
i gotta admit i feel a little sadistic, as i sit here and pray to god for mark martin or ANY one of these dumbass redneck retards to crash their car, and take out as many other drivers with them as possible. but like.... why else watch cars drive REALLY fast in circles? i know it's not becuase it's "so fascinating"
but then again... here i am. watching it and writign about it, i even google image searched the boner mobile.
it's not that i'm out jogging, or running for my fucking health. i am the epitome of poor health.
i run because walking is annoyingly slow to me. i mean Pshhh.... why don't i fucking crawwwwl while i'm at it.
the bummer thing is, the people i'm usually with aren't down to "run to the car" so i walk with them because there's no point in getting my ass to the car first so i can sit there and wait on them.
...so i walk with them, and it's no big deal...
i have my skateboard with me at all times, and that is helping me not have to run... i just skate. but FUCK WALKING. i feel like i'm wasting time when i walk.
so yah, i'd write more, but i have to run to the bathroom real quick...
it's not like astrology, or tarot cards, or anything too deep like that. and really if anything it's all in my head and totally ridiculous.
footwear i find questionable:
any kinda sandals with socks.
pricey basketball shoes.
and anything tacky.
and i hate wearing socks. unless they are brand new out of the package.
my bong is two feet tall, and for some reason, that makes setting it down on the ground very easy to do... almost second nature. to stick it on a shelf or a table you gotta lift up your arm a lot more that to just set it on the ground in front of you, as you sit stoned on the sofa.
the things about sitting stoned on the sofa, or in this here computer chair im sitting in right now... or FUCK IT, even sitting indian style on my big lebowski rug... the thing is, you are now high, and less alert and aware than you JUST were a moment ago. and the bong sits within proximity to you, and slowly... but surely... difts out of your collective memory, it takes about half a second for the process to be complete.
and welp, that's really all it takes... now a carelessly flung elbow, my shoe, or any number of dumbass-tactics are gonna send this tall FRAGILE glass container of smoke and musty-murky-smelly-stank-water sailing down to the ground like a tree in the woods.
and all that lovely smelling bong water makes a cool shaped wet spot on my carpeting.
do you have a towell that you use exclusively for cleaning up the bong water that you spill at least twice a day? me too.
i was freaking out because my left arm from my shoulder to my elbow is in severe pain, i can barely use it. and i was like, "what the fuck, why is ther ALWAYS somethign wrong with my fucked up body?!?!" then i remembered i ate shit on my skateboard a couple nites ago, and i should feel lucky, cuz tanky ate shit too, only she walked away with her knee looking like salsa, and i just scabs on my palms and this arm thing.
falling down's no big whup, it's just like getting punched... except it's to a whole fucking REGION of your body... like... your left side...
the redondo peir fun-facotry seems like a good palce to be.
just DIRTY HARRY PIN BALL AND THE TILT A WIRL!!
a big ego, a furrowed eyebrow, two hands on the steering wheel, and a padal to the metal... i don't let the smoke sting my eyes that rises from the square hanging in my mouth. i think to myself i should prolly put my shirt on, or at least have brought some shoes... maybe my globes.
i have nowhere to go but i'm winning the race, cuz noone drives faster than i, but sigh... driving fast's dumb, see? only ends things for me, only wastes my precious fuel, cuz i'm a tool.
then i realize the radio's off. and it's just me and my machine, working to run away together, hoping for that freak accident that will send us both, my truck and i, in a ball of flames hurtling towards (well hopefully at some kinda republican momument, like perhaps the ronald reagan library in simi valley) something that will spell ultimate demise. ehh...
but i've had falt tires before. a blow out at 90 miles per hour, yawn city in a big ass truck.
the only kinda car problems i ever face, are the kind yer too lazy to erase, like this case... of broken CD player that i'm filing. mega miling. rhyming is fun, when there's no porpse to why it's done. mon. bun. antidisestablish - mentary - UNNN...
askldjaklsdjasl rhyme that bitches.
this blog post sucks.
cheers to not leaving your hosue. why would someone do such a goofball thing?
motherfucker of a softpack... why's there still even soft packs in existence? i mean... who LIKES softpacks?!?! you can't tell how many gritts you got left as easy as a hard pack, and if yer a rough and tumble clumsy bumbler stumbler, such as my nearly-graceful dumbass is... all your squares are gonna be broken or torn, or flattened, or just bent up.
i guess the digital pimpress is over 6 feet tall. that means if big tanky was gonna beat her up.... she'd have jump up to hit her. not that she would. bigT is actaully very friendly.
howard is on the radio, my phone never rings, it's nice and dark and cold outside.... misty just how i like it.
if you go for a drive, there's no people to annoy you...
and i think cities look prettier at night time. all the smog becomes invisible, and the city lights like to dance and twinkle in the distance.
i feel safer in the dark, cuz noone can see me and what i'm doing.
there's a blog called Nymphomania or Narcolepsy?... if i was gonna rip off that idea for a title, i'd have to call my blog "Insanity or Insomnia?". or lame and lamer.
recently jamie was asked via email to write about political things. and he even linked me and said he wondered if i ever got emails like that.
but considereing the times, and the world we live in, i felt COMPELLED to express some political views, and essentially hop on the bandwagon. ok... here i go...
legalize it... doooooooon't criticize it. and i will advertizzzze it.
i don't know how or why, but it turns out imma a likable guy, and people want to reach out to me when i'm down and out, and that's awesome...
so contrary to that song, "noone knows you when you're down and out"
i guess a lot of people know me. and i'm willing to stop trying to figure out WHY they don't hate me, and just start enjoying it... for what it's worth.
i think the world can tell that no matter how hard i try to be an asshole... i'm secretly i nice boy, who'd rather laugh and smile, and make silly faces....
(i know... how gay...)
but, now, the people at her work know her as Miss Assertive. cuz she had been the victim of a micro-managing, tyrant, cunt bag of a boss, and i had suggested AT LEAST once that she go over the cunt-bags head, to the owner, and plea her case... and see what happens.
well today Cunt-bag had crossed the line... and bigT had reached her boiling point...
one thing leads to another, and after bigT hangs up with the voice conference she had with the vice president and President of her work, she now has twice the hours at work, and cunt-bag is gonna have hell to pay.
i mean FUCK... who's boss calls them at home to ask where office supplies are? what? are her legs fucking broken?
anyways, BIG UPS to BIG TANKY, who's flossin her skills to pay da bills.
as for me... i'm just laying around cutting pictures out of magazines so i can tape the to my walls. it almost is starting to look like someone actually lives here.
i'm usually only 3 - 5 seconds off the mark.
someone PLEASE email me.
i think i'm gonna just stay up all day, to make sure my sleep gets a little normalized... so when 6am comes round, imma skate down to McDonald's and get some breakfast. a sausage egg Mcmuffin prolly.
right now Yaqi, of Yaqi's world, is being interviewed on howard stern. it's a re-run, but straight up classic shit.
i think yaqi's world is a very scary place.
sup rob33, aka, rob himself, dude from texas, and prolly other nicknames that i never heard. is ames your ex girlfriend? did you know yaqi is from texas also? he lives in houston. weird eh? anyways, i like that you linked me with that cool .gif
i think i'm start answering my phone today too... perhaps even call back the people who called. but... i'm not 100% back to normal. one more day.
the quote of the day come from artie lang, who says, "something tells me in yaqi's world, murder is legal..."
fuck a comment.
you want me to notice you... link me, i'll find you.
i think it gets to be confusing to me, and i feel betrayal from the world... that's why a blog would prolly be a bad idea in those times.
no im sure of it.
but something about this thing, this blog, i derno... i wish i knew enough to just put my best foot forward sometimes.
i mean ok, i freaked the fuck out, and now that's it's over, i'm not even sure why, cuz it's really sorta childish of me...
the bottom line is that i'm over it. whatever it was, i'm not even sure.
one thing that i wrote that makes sense to me, in hindsight, is: something about turning off your brain is good.
yah. ain't it though?
it's only tuesday night, and it feels like weeks have passed, and tomorrow after i wake up, i'm gonna actaully take a shower, get dressed, and go fucking do something. like maybe i'll see spiderman 2 finally, or i derno... just take a drive...
my favoritest friend bigT came over to slap the depression out of me, and she really helped me out bigtime. cuz all it really took was her and i talking about how lame posers are, and how this one time Jennifer Pocock popped her with an upper-cut that landed tanky in a bathtub. but before you feel too bad for bigT... know that she hit first. heh.
i'm sorry to the people who were scared and/or worried about me enough to write me emails. thanks for the "feel better" wishes. i do.
i think i'm just gonna not party like that for a long time OR ever again.
never forget kids. the higher you go, ther harder you FALL.
so i've eaten finally, i ordered a pizza and it happened to be two-for-tuesday, so i hooked up bigT with her own to take home since it came free, and now i'm here... and i'm ready to just be me again, not saddy saddersens, cuz i hate that guy.
and i only spilled my bong twice today. not bad.
yah so what, i'm bragging. bite me.
there's people smarter than me. sure. obviously. but know what assholes, yer gonna have to figure it out, and don't judge this book by it's cover, cuz i'm a fucking PUMA waiting to pounce all over your ass.
sure i get pigeon holed for being a skinny, starved, addict, with little to no ambition. people with prejudice, can fucking prejuDIE, because i'm strong, i'm working with a high IQ, and holding grudges is a lot like being ambitious IN THE END. it's just an amition with a weird twisted evil motive.
i keep my evil self locked away for the most part. you have NO FUCKING IDEA what i am capable of. my family didn't teach a lot about having a conscience. again, that's obvious.
just be fucking careful, because the self-hate i have right now is making it's flip to outward-hate, and you don't wanna get mixed in the crossfire, because i don't accidentally burn any bruidges...
i douse them in gasoline, and flick a lit cigarette, and go "mua hahahahhahah" as it takes seconds to ignite and burn into ashes.
or join the ranks of my blood father. if you're sposed to keep your friends close and your enemies CLOSER, then how come he's neither? he is neither because he is nothing.
people are the worst. i hate people. except the hot, female ones willing to do me, and usually THEY hate ME.
running out of cigarettes can be like the biggest bummer, because you know you don't feel capable to go fetch new ones right now. therefore, it's sit here and wish to god cigarettes magically appear. just call me cracky tobaccy with the motivation being a lil slacky.
i want to see how long it really takes to get bed sores.
i haven't eaten since sunday, and i'm not even hungry anymore. i'm living off coca - cola, and it's wonderful cafienated after effects.
like riding an elephant deep into the saharah desert... your only real escape is to ride that same shit on outta there. so here i am stranded in the jungle, alone and full of HATE. i'm a very angry young man
the funny thing about karma is that even when you don't dish out the revenge yourself, the cosmos got your back. or you and the cosmic forces at work, can pull the old double-play on a sucka. i like that one best.
it's funny what a grudge can make a person able to do, or how much better you feel after smashin to pieces, with a baseball bat, anything that belongs to the person you want to deliver your brand of marshall law to. cars, and things made of glass are particularly relieving.
fuck all this noise anyways, i'm crawling back into bed.
i didn't write this. but i like it a lot.
that and sometimes you punish yourself because it's all you got.
i didn't ASK for this life. yah, i have noone to blame except for myself, in a create-your-own-destiney kind of way, but i didn't like PLAN this out this way. this is the result of the good old END-UP.
i'm fucking tired of being the guy manipulated into ending up wherever the fuck he ends up. and welcome to my self-induced-drama of a life... i'm working to change things, o-fucking-k? rome wasn't build inna day.
so here i am. i wake up everyday and i'm not in the house of my dreams, the girl of my dreams isn't lying next to me, the maid i can't afford isn't here and isn't picking up after me, there's not a porche parked in my parking space, shiiiiiiiit even my kitchen sink.... the hardware isn't even made of solid gold.
life. sucks. die.
i used to work for a real estate appraiser named Frank Swatek down in Long Beach... and frank was a wise old coot, and an ex hippie, and smart as fuck, and nice enough to help me out to this day, if i called him and REALLLY needed it. ANYWAYS, frank told me this one time, after my truck was smashed into, and as i was dealing with a lot of my dad's credit tampering bullshit.... frank says, "John, this is life mannn. and guess what, the shit... it never stops until you die."
boy... was frank ever telling the truth, or what?
i like to think that because i've faced so much adversity in my life, it makes me a better person, with more CHARACTER, and able to fend for myself, ready to tackle any road block, and delete lifes problems faster than Macgyver could build a nuclear war head out of a tampon, some surf wax, and a book of matches.
i don't want to fool myself anymore into thinking it's all about the 5 seconds of happiness you have here and there, and the rest of the time is waiting for those bursts of goodness. maybe it's just all about accepting your chosen fate, and turning your brain off, cuz what the fuck do you need that thing for anyways? it's just this big wet THING that makes you remember.
remember who you are, who you aren't... all the little ugly, and rarely pretty, things in between that you WISH you could forget.
i'd like to forget that everytime i wake up, i have to try and figure out how i'm gonna make it allll the way until i'm sleepy again. it seems so long and far away... a whole day, with my brain buzzing and wizzing the whole time, unless i turn it off...
fuck the world.
it's SO alone.
and it sucks.
it's not even that i want a random chick in my bed. or want hot sex.
i just hate feeling so extemely alone.
after it's all said and done... i end up here alone, my mind full of junk that would never dare write in my blog, and feeling like a disapointment...
...to myself and others.
ok i'm going to go kill myself now. nice knowing you all.
well, mebbe i'll just try and sleep it off.
today will be madness.
last night i ate a quail egg, so yah, it's one of those kinda weekends.
i had to wet my down just now to camoflauge my hangover, and feel it slightly less.
bring it on bitches.
lookit this. http://www.eatgoodstuff.com/strandcam/
tooth is here , 5 year old chareolette black lab dog.
ok now i'm aitting.
fucjug a. how am i gonhan be ok for 4th o f lulyu> it;s 6sam! ugh...
well on the way up, on the 101, we passed through King City, wich is notorious for their speed traps. and welp....
they popped us.
the cop saw my pipe like right away, and has us both get out of the vehicle so they could search the fucking thing.
they found two glass pipes, a zillion weirdo novelty lighters, and the dime bag of pot radke had in his pocket, that we alleged, "we only smoke when we're RIIIIGHT about to fall asleep..."
then they found the money. nearly $4,000 in twenty dollar bills. but luckily, anti's quick on his feet and blurtted out, "oh that? i don't trust fucking banks..." wich was actually true. yet another area my pops has tried to stick his same-name-as-mine, studid, fat, greasy fingers.
the cops decided to let us go... we were either small potatos, or a bigger bust had been heard on the police scanner, and they wanted in on all the action.
then the cops dumped our weed onto the ground and rubbed it in with their boots, but thennnn... this was the part i never have understood... they took our glass pipes, and hucked em straight into the middle of the freeway where they shattered into a ton of tire-puncturing little morsels of ultimate demise.
yah way to make things better. take away a pipe from a perfectly safe and sane pot head, and then coat the streets with broken glass.
fuck the police. those fuckn pigs.
and, i think it's rad too.
sign jobbing with my cousin is always fun cuz he's carzy (i meant to say crazy), but in the best way possible.
he had on some kinda FBI hat all day, and rolling through south centrale with that shit got us a lot of funny stares, but then we were rolling up on chicks and telling them it meant, "fine booty inspector" and it was pretty funny.
then we just started scurring hookers, and telling them, "we're on to you, and your little song and dance."
their eyes looked like they were gonna pop outta their head.
then i put a scratch on my cousin's car, cuz i literally lost my mind rocking out to van halen "hot for teacher" on full blast.
i had it bad, had it bad, had it bad.... i was hot for "hot for teacher".
i really need to buy a head band, cuz the salty sweat dripping into my eyes, and causing searing agonizing pain is getting to be like, "yawwwwn, boring..." and doesn't have quite the thrill it used to.
my cousin and i might do more signing of the jobs early tomorrow mornin cuz these are regular clients, and we wanna blow taht shit up like hiroshima, ya hurd meh?
ok i think i'm starting to smell like hot garbage, i better bathe (for once).
no... i'll just be a sweaty salty piles of sticky-ness and filth by the time i get off work
but i think i will only have to work today, and fuck it, getting a little extra paper in my pocket ain't the worst thing to happen to me.
i really wanna see spidey 2.
maybe i should beat off before work today.
hahahhahahahhahah, i said maybe. pffffff.
this play looks funny. fuckn ED ASNER is the voice of god. need i say more?
i've often referred to july 4th as my favorite holiday of te year, besides holloween. and believe me when i say it has NOTHIGN to do with celebrating america.
it has to do with it being SUMMA-TIME, and everyone you ever knew from highschool being in town and drunk in the sun, and getting girls phone numbers written in pen across my chest and arms and stomach, and telling everyone my name is some new stupid ass thing i made up johnny-on-the-spot, like... rasheed. or mustafa.
see... what happens in THESE parts is, everyone goes to hermosa beach, and they all hang out on what's called the bike path. wich is a thin strip of concrete that runs right next to the surf and sand. and there is literally so many people, that it's a citywide party, and you'll end up wherever you end up, but you'll love every second.
i heard the cops have cracked down in the last years, but, they can only do so much. because i've never had any problems walking in plain sight, drinking off a green bottle that contained some kinda form of booze innit.
i haven't been able to go to hermosa on july 4th in a long time. last year i was in canada, and the year before that i was doing a sign job for a strouds in hollywood. this year will RULE though. cuz i even have a little pocket cash to work with for once.
the symptoms are, uncontrollable coughing for hours... no--
so i bought some halls cough drops to suck on while i smoke my pot.
i'm not lazy, i'm lay-zay. so when i make my millions it'll prolly be something pathetic like a head shop... or a sunglasses stand.
or maybe a taco stand!!! yah!!!!
but no... those guys look like they actually have to work.
so i'll prolly just be a sign guy until my hammer hand gets callouses as big as boxing gloves.
sometimes i hate my big old clumsy oaf hands. i think they are disproportionately big for my body, and i wack them on things, get them cut and scratched, and generally fucked up way too much.
all i do is make sure my nails are bitten off nice and short, and i try and just live my life. but these clunkers hanging off the end of these arms are like two wrecking balls just waiting to DESTROY... or at least knock onto the floor... anything in their path. i just counted and i have 8 scabs on my right hand's knuckles, and 6 on the left's.
i guess the bright side to having jumbo hands is i'm hung like an elephant. so why the fuck am i complaining?
and my hair is either doing it's poofy poofersons immitation, or i need a haircut, ORRR most likely.... i need a shower. but i think the most obvious solution is to just drink more beer. and i intend to do so.
to the bottle.
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