Why I Always Shit At Home

Click title for link. When the police interviewed him later, the senator said that "he has a wide stance when going to the bathroom" and that was why his foot may have touched the officer's, the report said.

If I was Jeff Bagwell I'd be very hesitant to use a public restroom from now on.

The White Man

You all know him. Perhaps even, you are one of them. But you are not him. He is a dumbass. He dances like a retard, dry fucking his equally retarded drunk girlfriend while the artist is performing. He drops his beer and doesn't give a shit that it splashes all over you. He wears his hat backwards. He just looks like a fucking moron. He takes many forms, but all of them are annoying. You wish you could get away from him. You wish other people would not identify you with him. But they do. He's like a shadow. Wherever you go, sooner or later you run into him. Sometimes he doesn't even speak english. Those guys are even worse. When you get a haircut you feel almost like him. It sucks. When you wear your hat backwards you must wear an obnoxious T-shirt to show everyone that you're not really him. But that only makes you more like him. Even though really, you couldn't be more estranged. Goddamn him.

I Am A Capitalist Pig

I just bought this new car. I do not live in the neighborhood where this picture was taken however. I'm still keeping it real in that department. There is a certain undeniable rightness, a sensation of lukewarm pleasure that one finds oneself bathing in unabashedly as you drive down the smoothly paved asphalt streets, past the perfectly manicured lawns, cornering smartly as you exit one subdivision and enter the next. It's kind of like when someone gives you an extra percocet and you remember on Sunday that it's still in your pocket from the night before and you pop it, lying on the couch watching football, exulting in the mild euphoria and convenience of life in America when it works.

Things I Hate (in no particular order)

1. Bush

2. Republicans

3. Work

4. Getting out of bed

5. Not getting laid

6. Life just generally sucking and not being as vivid and triumphant as I imagined it would be

7. The Cable News media

8. Not being famous

9. Not being rich

10. Bleu Cheese dressing

11. Traffic

12. Girls who can't spell.

13. The G string always going out of tune

14. Insomnia

15. Roomates girlfriends giving me advice

16. The Mets losing

17. The Mets winning and the Daily News still putting A-Rod going 0-4 on the back cover

18. 99% of the girls profiles on Match.com

19. The bougeousie mentality of so many people

20. Typing bougeousie.

21. The fact that I know and use that word more than a gay 7th grade summer school art teacher

22. My phone ringing

23. Open caskets

24. Mosquito bites

25. Moths

26. When they don't make my coffee absolutely perfect at Dunkin' Donuts

27. Neil Diamond

28. James Blunt

29. I kind of feel bad about Neil Diamond but not James Blunt

30. Coming down off of coke

31. When you're walking down the street and you don't know which way to step to avoid the other person

32. Not being able to make as much noise as I want anytime I want

33. Stubbing my toe

34. When you take a bad shit and your ass is either burning or feels like it's seeping for the whole rest of the day

35. "Yeah, and I'm Cyndi Lauper!"

36. Hipsters

37. People I went to High School with who think they're the shit for doing some pseudo-creative bullshit that gets a mention in some magazine when all they're really doing is laying one more turd on the giant compost that is alt-cult. (see above)

38. Self awareness

39. Humidity

40. Why do republicans' ears seem so red and pointy?

41. Waiting

The Future Not The Pasture

...or so they say. Click title for link.

Back From Vacation

Yeah. A week at the beach with the fam. I must say, sitting on the deck, looking out at the ocean, with the moon overhead, smokin' weed is pretty nice. During the daytime the parade of 15 and 16 year old ass was also pretty nice -though depressing- as it is now sadly, irreperably, out of reach. Those was the days.

The air was hot and the water was cool, the sand was sugary and made a nice ash tray for my innumerable butts, which I smoked to relieve the tension of being surrounded by my family for an entire week, or to enhance my cool during times of Woodford's and sunsets.

If they ever swear me in they ought to have me place my hand on a bottle of Woodford's instead of the bible 'cause that shit is da' truth.

I also did some half-ass jogging, which basically entailed me walking about 1/4 mile, saying fuck it, and walking back. I only did it so I could reward myself with something afterward, (a swim, a milkshake, a drink, a toke, or a smoke). Sometimes all of the above.

I rented a Waverunner for an hour. It was shades of Mexico as the instructions were almost criminally negligent. All I remember the guy saying was, "if it tips over there's instructions on the back." I'm thinking, "Yeah, when I'm bleeding from my head after getting tossed like a rag doll out in the middle of the water I'm gonna be reading a fucking manual."

Anyway, it was choppy as fuck, and my niece was riding on the back which made the thing hard as fuck to control and made me overly cautious. There was about a million things I could've hit out there and the water was constantly spraying in my face. I couldn't see a fucking thing. Fighting all these obstacles and wrestling with this thing I inadvertantly wandered out of the proscribed "area" for Jetskiing. Way out. What the fuck did I know? It was two little-ass buoys half a mile from shore. Next thing I know some 16 year old jerk-off kid is screaming at me to go back to shore. I got a time-out. By the way, this shit cost $125 an hour so I was not exactly happy about cooling my heels. Especially since I didn't even know what the fuck I was doing. I fantasized about kicking the shit out of this fucker back on shore while I revved the throttle.

After about a half an hour I dropped my niece off at shore and went off by myself. Then it was fun. I wasn't worried about killing anyone else and it was easier to control. That's when I started doing the shit you see those guys doing. You kind of half-stand like you would on a galloping horse and pin that fucker till you can barely hang on and then ease off the throttle, take a tight turn, rev it up again and zoom off. Still, it wasn't something I fell in love with. My ass is still killing me two days later.

I went to A.C. with my dad. It's become something of a tradition. We went to the Taj and entered the Hold'em tournament. Waiting for the tourney to start I got my feet wet with a little $3/$6 against the old fogies and made a couple bucks. I was feelin' good goin' into it but my luck didn't hold. The competition was as tough as it gets. I noticed several pro players from TV sitting at the tables. One was right next to my dad. I was out of my league and bounced out within an hour. My dad on the other hand, was unconcious. He just kept winning. The tournament lasted over five hours and he ended up finishing third. He was the chip leader for most of it, I think he just got tired at the end. At the final table I sat behind him as he played. He knows everything about cards and nothing about casino ettiquete, and was so obliviously, beautifully inept it almost seemed like a hustle. It totally pissed off the other players and worked to his advantage though I know it wasn't intentional. Because behind all the confusion he knows what the fuck he's doing.

Later, during times of Woodford's and sunsets he told me that four out of five of his life's goals were now complete. "A hole-in-one, making the final table..." and he didnt' mention the other two. The only thing he still wanted to do was publish a poem. I asked him if the other two were anything along the lines of wife, kids, college degrees, becoming a doctor etc... and he brushed me aside with a "nah," and we laughed. Like I said, that shit is da' truth.