Month: May 2012

– Guys that say bro.  I went to get more beer and this guy was mopping the floor while a kid, about 16, was filming him on a phone.  “This is how we do, bro.  You know bro?”  It was bizarre and I wanted to set fire to his phone for several reasons, but mostly the bro thing.  Stop.  He’s not your bro.  He’s a future convict that has a Youtube account.

– People who have multiple tattoos in multiple foreign languages.  Ohh, that means peace in Sanskrit?  Ah, yes, that one means flatulence in Arabic.  Umm, yes, they all mean I’m a self-serving douche in English.  Stick to one foreign language on the tattys, you’re not diverse due to your ink.  I saw a girl that had Chinese, Hebrew, and something else weird, plus English on her person.  If I wanted to read foreign bullshit, I would have called Rosetta Stone.  You’re not mysterious, dum dum.

– People that say “fuck” seventy times in Facebook posts.  Example: “I told this bitch fuck you, I work for a living, you fucking bitch”…and so on.  You’re white trash.  You shouldn’t even be on the internet.

– Lindsay Lohan.  First off, why did your parents spell your name with an a?  Second off, you’re not a sex symbol, you’re a drug slut.  Third, if you dated a chick for three years, you’re a lesbian.  That’s fine.  Quit playing a whore in movies.  I know you like the chicas, the veil is lifted.

– People that don’t pop their whiteheads.  It’s 2012, America.  Squeeze that damn thing before it turns yellow or stay in momma’s basement, pizzaface.

That felt better.  The voices in my head are quiet again…for now.

Watching all these genealogy commercials that offer to track your past reminded me of researching my family’s past in grade school.  I did my research (interviewing my grandparents) and was proud to find out my heritage.  Then I went to class.

I grew up in southeastern Ohio, but amazingly, all my fellow students were related to 1)Abe Lincoln, even though he had one child that made it to adulthood and the line died out in 1985; 2)Daniel Boone, even though he didn’t really live in Ohio; and 3)Some random British royalty, even though every student was German or Scot-Irish like 90% of the white kids in Southeastern Ohio.  In summation, everyone in my third grade class’s dear old Grandpappy was apparently the direct heir of Sir Bullshit, Earl of Lies or Bob Lincoln, a horse thief who stole Lincoln’s last name to evade a posse.  Amazingly, I remember one particular bore was actually claiming all three.  Who’s your ancestors, Jenny?  “Jesus, Batman, and the planet Mars.  Oh and Abe Lincoln.”  Good job, Jenny, you get a kick in the ass to help you get back to reality.

I was at the mall last week and I saw a Michael Jackson t-shirt.  Then another store with another Michael Jackson shirt.  Dead singers on shirts – normal.  The support for Michael Jackson – strange.  This blog may about ten years too late, but he went to trial twice for pedophile stuff.  I’m pretty sure scumbags frame people all the time for money because in general most people are awful, but hmm…look past that and then you realize he had kids, but still did drugs…rearranged his face so much he looked like an alien…didn’t have a good song since the 80’s (maybe the 90’s if you are a fan)…and made his kids wear masks as he held one over a balcony.

His music is the stuff of legend and most musicians are weird or assholes.  That said, I generally stick to the rule of not wearing shirts with accussed pedarests proudly stamped the front.  Now excuse me, I have to put on my Michael Vick/Ben Roethlisberger jersey and go to BW’s.

I did a show this weekend in Michigan.  I couldn’t have asked for a better show, other than the fact it was a super long drive.  I had to bust out the history podcasts and some of those are just awful.  Everyone has their soulless NPR monotones as they talk about antebellum American history or whatever the flavor of the day is.  I love history stuff though, plus I found a station on XM that plays replays of murder trials, so that was nice.

At the show, I did very well and the headliner, B.T., was a great guy I have worked with before – very funny and probably the only black NASCAR fan north of Kentucky.  I hung out to watch the UFC fight at the bar, but cut myself off, due to the fact Ohio plates and drinking is probably not a great combo in Michigan, the state that collectively hates Ohio’s guts.

One of the guys at the show offered to buy me a shot.  No thanks, I have to drive.  “C’mon, your hotel is right down the road.”  Good point, but I shouldn’t.  “I’ll drop you off.”  No, you don’t have to, I’m fine.  “OK, I’ll get you a pussy shot.”  OK…wait a minute…  He walked up to the bar and brought back the dreaded pussy shot.  Some sweet tasting 4 proof Pucker garbage.  I wasn’t turning down the actual shot aspect for the taste – I drink Scotch and Bourbon on the rocks, I turned it down to avoid spending a week in Middle of Nowhere County jail.  Oh well, I’m a vagina boy to this guy now…might as well drink my Pantyhose Pounder or whatever in the hell he bought me and walk to the hotel with what limited manhood I have left.

This story was in the news recently, so I thought I would link to it.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leslie_H._Sabo,_Jr.  Almost 3,600 US soldiers have received this award since it was created and countless more deserve it.  1,343,812 estimated troops have been killed since the beginning of the Revolutionary War, not counting the 38,159 (est.) missing or even the over a million more that have been wounded.  There is no statistic to track the broken lives to the survivors of battle – the divorces, suicides, financial collapses and more.  I think this sums it up best –

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, we can not consecrate, we can not hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. – Abraham Lincoln

Thanks, vets.

Random thoughts on hotels –

– A bathrobe in the closet is not exciting.  I wouldn’t wear a bathrobe if you threatened to put a gun in my mouth.  How about a bigger trash can?  What does that thing hold, four beer cans?  And who in the blue hell uses a shower cap?  What is this, 1947?

– When you make me say I have a dog, put down a deposit, fill out a full page about his vitals, and hand me a doggy care kit…don’t leave me angry messages that my dog is loose in the room.  He’s a nine year old Golden Retriever.  He couldn’t defend a doorway from an old lady with a walker.  Talk to your maids, stupid.  What am I supposed to do, tape him to the wall?  There are prison cells bigger than this room.

– You gave me seven towels, five blankets, and six pillows.  I don’t need new ones and your staff will probably steal my shit anyways.  Stay out of my room, I’m here for two nights.

– If boogers were tips, I would be the most generous guest ever.  But they’re not.  Might want to clean behind the sofa.  That’s my tip.

– Yes, I would like more shower pressure than a post-ejaculatory piss.  Sorry, old man’s useless prostate pressure isn’t cutting it.

– Thank you for building next to the busiest train depot/truck stop in the city.  Have more boogers.