A tumbleweed drifts across the desert. Lightly it skips, to and fro, over the badlands of what will be Arizona. From red hills, through the sand and off the cacti, it dances it’s way into town. To it’s left, the town sheriff stands outside the jail puffing on one of his usual cigars. He barely makes notice of the tumbleweed as it intrudes upon a duel happening in the middle of the road. The tumbleweed bounces it’s way through the two cowboys frozen in stance, their right hands inches from their gun. It makes it’s way passed 4 horses parked at a watering hole, quietly drinking their hearts content before the crack of a pistol and a thud on the ground breaks their concentration.
The tumbleweed manages to pass all this, it’s stride unbroken before coming across the clean spurs upon the boot of a one Mr. Albert Farner. Confusing his foot before his step could land, the dancing dead bush caused him to trip and fall face first into the sand outside his intended destination; The building that said ”Saloon” on it.
Mr. Farner picked himself and laughed. Glancing around to see if anyone noticed. “Nusiance, those things!” he said to the two women fanning themselves outside the brothel next door. The girls rolled their eyes at him and continued what must’ve been a conversation more interesting than a bumbling stranger. Albert brushed off any remaining dirt on his clothes, made sure his shirt was tucked securely into his pants and put back on his ten gallon hat.
“Well then.” He said himself and went on with his journey. Up the three steps and throw the swinging doors, Albert came into focus with a sight he had completely expected and looked forward to for some time. A nearly empty bar, lined with various brown bottles. Two men were asleep at a table in the corner, apparently mid card-game and two others were standing at the bar talking with the bartender. Albert made his way in their direction making sure to keep his distance. He smiled to himself as he took in the sights and smells of his very first experience in a saloon.
“You want something?” The bar keep asked, while his other costumers looked on.
The question snapped Albert back. “What? Yes. Oh yes of course. I’m thirsty, what do you have?”
The bartender leered at Albert. “You ain’t from around these parts, is you?”
“I am actually. I was raised on farm just outside Borstown” Albert replied.
The bartender’s leer remained. He turned his head to spit before responding. “I thought every one from Borstown done came through here couple months back.”
The concious patrons of the saloon were at full attention now. All eyes were on Albert now, and he noticed. The smile, however, never left his face.
“Apparently not!” Albert said with his hands raises. “Please, I am terribly parched. May I purchase a beverage from you? I do have money to pay.”
I haven’t blogged in a shit ton of time. I’ve been busy, when last I wrote to myself I was but a schmuck. A pathetic loser with no direction, destined to spend the rest of his life wandering lonely and aimlessly across this giant blue marble we call the United States of America. But no more! I have found meaning, I’ve found life, a purpose, more money, a cool car, a home with some room in and totally rad muscles I show off to girls.
I’ve been to rock bottom, my friends. I remember it vividly because I said to a friend of my “rock bottom”. Then we laughed for a little bit because things are funny when they’re true. But (again) no more! I have better-people-problems now like “My pool needs chemicals” and “I don’t want to hit that bump to fast, it might ding my nice rims”.
I won’t go into too many details because this is the Internet and frankly, mind your own fucking business. I will say that life’s been pretty good to me lately, hence the lack of blog posts.
Why can’t i blog when life is good?
It’s not that I can’t, and please don’t turn into Freud when I say this but it’s funnier when life sucks. You see, dear readers, to you I am someone else. It’s funny when bad things happen to someone else. If some stupid little kid comes up and hits me in the nuts with a plastic baseball bat and looks at the camera all surprised when I keel over in pain. That’s funny. Try having that shit happen to you. That shit ain’t funny then. Ya know, I’m pushing thirty here. Any trauma down there can seriously impede my ability to reproduce. Which would then in turn, hinder my ability to sic my binky-sucking kid on that first kid’s dad, thus getting revenge for my shattered testicles.
I think I’ve stumbled on to some sort of paradox here.
..I don’t want to think about it too much. it’s like if you think about Back to the Future too much. You start to realize that it probably wouldn’t work out like that and really, the space-time continuum was fucked as soon as Einstein jumped over that minute. Also, why was the time machine frozen after the first trip through time, but after subsequent trips?
I don’t want to think about it!
I don’t really have an ending to this, but i don’t want to write anymore.
And they all lived happily until they died.
My head hit the side of the tree trunk forcefully with help from the night’s frosty breeze. I tried to stand, to walk at least, but the adrenalin pumping through my system must’ve ran out. Blood ran down my leg and soaked the towel my friend was using to try and sop it up. I’ll lose the leg eventually, I’m sure of it. A small price to pay if this all works out. I was more worried about losing my hand. The bullet shot clean through the palm leaving me with the use of only my index finger and thumb. I was losing blood at a rapid rate but we couldn’t stop. Our rendezvous was only 100 yards south of here and our pursuers aren’t stopping for anything. I hope we had enough of a head start to afford this unexpected rest stop, but I doubt it.
With my wound-free hand , I slap my face, hard. “Get up!” I scream to myself in thought. Resisting the urge to cry out in pain for fear of giving away our location, I punch wounded leg. My friend looks on, in stunned silence. He’s nervous but it’s working. The pain wakes me up, “only 100 more yards” I think to myself. I can make it. I push off the oak, ready to run, crawl, hop on one foot if I have to. We can’t stay here. They’re coming.
One single step and I’m on the ground, in more pain than I could ever inflict on myself. The bone must be broken, I can’t put any weight on it. My friend goes to help me up, but ducks before his hand reaches mine. I hear it too. Our pursuers are closing in. They’re whispering to each other not far off. My only option now is to stay down and hope the night sky hides me. I motion to my friend to run off, save himself. He shakes his head.
So we sit,
silent and still.
It appeared our prayers were answered. Our pursuers voices grew faint, seeming to go eastward, out of our direction. They were, until, an unnaturally long and loud sound washed over the forest. It bounced between tree leaves and refracted off puddles and ponds. The sound scared away small animals, and seemed to still the howling wind. It was the fart heard ‘round the world.
I looked to my friend who was red faced and smiling…sheepishly, at me. “Seriously?” I managed to utter through the pain, still trying to process what he had done. ”I’m so saw-we. I bean so gaassy tonight. I tink it was the cornbreed. Do you have any Tums or a ginga ale, maybe?”. I notice our pursuers’ silhouettes standing behind Melvin, pointing at us.
I rest my head back down. The stars are.. brighter than… beautiful..
“‘Ello? You ok on the ground dere? I need some Mylanta. Tylenol won’t werk, it makes muy fingas itchy”
I never should’ve tried to break out of prison with an offensive Jewish stereotype.
As I sit here, my fingers frozen from unnecessary cold air conditioning in December, working later I usually do making up for my 45th hour last week, making only 22 cents more an hour now than when I started my career here 2 years and 2 months ago, I start to think. Mainly cause I’ve had a five hour energy and this is the time of day when I usually zone out and stare at TheChive pictures, instead, today, I think. Ponder even.
I need a holiday. A very long holiday. I don’t expect I shall return.
But most likely I’ll take a short holiday and return begrudgingly to the same old, same old until next year when I’ll write something similar to this exact post; when I’ll be making 7 cents more an hour than I am now. Tis the dreams of the youth, they are wasted on the practicality of actually working on and accomplishing stuffs. I should’ve stayed in school…but I hated school. School sucks a dick. I don’t need that shit, I just need a way to make money. I don’t care if I’m smart. I really don’t. I’d like to know a few more words than I do so when I ramble posts on the Internet I can throw in smart words, give me a little more credibility. Fancy the ol’ blog up a wee bit, don’t cha know? Make ‘er a little not so, how you say, “pointlessly random”.
What am I talking about here…making money, that’s it, the goal in life. Everyone wants it, not everyone has it. Some people have a lot, no one has enough. You get money, it’s good, boom. You lose money, bango, it’s bad. Easy peezey. You give your money up for something, chances are you’re getting screwed. Everyone’s out for sacred nickel, the dollar of our lives. Everyone wants money, even monks want money, they’ll find something to do with it, believe you me. Money ain’t free. Just like my uncle Randy used to say “Don’t take a dollar from a stranger unless your ready to do some pretty weird stuff for it.”
He was odd tho. He wasn’t a hooker or anything (prolly), he was just one of those dummies who would take dares at the bar for next ta nothing. “Hey Randy! Piss your pants and rip out a hand full of hair!” They’d all say. He’d of course come back with “What?! Who’s saying that? Where are you?!”, Randy couldn’t see very well.
“We’ll give ya a dollar!” the crowd would cheer. “Why didn’t ya say so?!” Randy would reply and proceed to pee his jeans crazy and tear out gobs of hair from his bloody scalp.
One time someone gave uncle Randy a 5 dollar bill instead of a 1. Randy didn’t like that. He spit a green booger on it and mashed it in that lady’s face. Owned. Stupid Lady. Some men just want to see the world burn. Uncle Randy just had low self-esteem and some sadomasochistic tendencies.
We don’t talk about Randy at Thanksgivings.
What was I talking about again? Going back to school, right, yeah fuck that. I should go, but fuck that (Hehehe but fuck…), School’s too much money and stress. So what if it makes people look at you differently and helps you start a career, it’s dum, ya don’t learn notin’ and those teacher’s thinks they so goddamn smart. They sure is ain’t.
There’s lots of writing too, no one likes writing, and I think, today, I’ve likely turned a few people off to reading as well.
Super sleepy this morning…Coffee..chug…AND HERE. WE. GO!
I’ve said before that waking up tired and not hung over is annoying as shit since if you’re hung over you’re still kinda drunk and if you focus on the being drunk aspect rather than the hangover then it’s kinda fun you can get through it. At least I can….
Well today is one of those mornings where I am not in the least hungover and just tired as shit from not sleeping and all the working out I did last night.
I’ve been feeling a little down on myself lately and rather than getting wasted to feel a little better (and eventually a lot worse) I’m trying something new by working out a bunch and trying to lose some body fat by dieting. So far it kinda sucks. I really like pizza and I want to eat some for lunch but no! Salad, piece of fruit, fat-free yogurt, that’s all till dinner, fatty! I digress…
I figure at the rate I’m gaining muscle, I’ll look like this guy probably around Halloween:
I suppose I’ll need to get a mask too if I want to complete the look. The problem there is, it looks like an over-sized gimp mask you’d buy at Fairvilla and that’d be embarassing to in there and get. What do I say to the sales girl? “This isn’t for weird bondage sex, it’s so I can look like a Batman villain.” I don’t suppose she’d care too much since i’m crazy strong and she’d likely be distracted by rippling arm muscles and lack of a shirt. “Seriously? I need a shirt in here?” I’d ask “This entire store revolves around people taking off their clothes!”
“Sorry.” She’d say in an old timey New York accent. “No shirt, no shoes, no pornos for yous.”
Instantly enraged, I’d scream “Can’t you see how strong I am?”
She’d reply, fanning herself with her hand “Oh muy, yes!”
“Arrrrg!” I’d scream and smash crazy the counter, punching down through solid oak. Then I’d raise my hands to the sky and scream “Arrg” again before barrelling my way out of the sex shop without the mask because while I may now be a super-villian, I am not a petty mask thief.
“Fine, no mask, I don’t need a mask. Superman didn’t have a mask. Well Superman’s good. I’m evil. Lex Luthor didn’t have a mask. Yeah, that makes more sense.” I think to myself as I get into my car. “Dr. Doom has a cool one tho..”.
I go to start my car and nothing happens. “Ah come on! Not today!”. I try again to no avail. “Arrrrg!” I yell again and go to bang on the dash with my fist but accidentally punch through to the car stereo “Whoops, too mighty!
Just then, the surprisingly extensive security patrol at Fairvilla comes running towards me, tasers in hand! I jump out of the car, breaking the driver’s side door completely off in the proces, and scream “Arrrg!” at all 60 (Holy crap!) of them! They shoot their tasers but the clamps won’t attach to my Rhino-like skin. I laugh a deep laugh in their fucking faces “Ho Ho Ho!” and then the destruction occurs. I hit the closest guy with a light upper-cut that sends him flying accross the street, landing on the roof of a Burger King. The next guy takes a backhand to the face that flips him over 36 times in mid-air before landing on his head in the parking lot, instant death! The other 58 were destroyed by a barrage of cartoonish assaults that include finger boxing, rib tennis (where I make one of the guards play tennis with me using ribs as rackets and vital organs as tennis balls) and helicopter darts (Where I throw guards at passing helicopters). Once they’re all dead, I go to the neighboring 7-11, grab a couple Taquitos and call myself a cab. Where am I going you ask? I have to talk to the police commisoner (with my fist punches!). This is my town now.
This may sound like a brutal account of what will likely happen, but whatevs, I’m a super villan. Plus Batman isn’t real so I don’t have to worry about him.
I knew I would have a lot of time today to post on here but for the life of me I can’t think of a decent topic to start out with. Not everyday do I show up to work unexpectedly looking like a redneck piece of shit. I mean, really, that blog wrote itself. Today I’m dressed appropriately, having a decent day, well rested, not hung over, little sore from the gym last night but that’s not enough for me to vent about here.
In an attempt to remedy this plight (if you will), I went out and bought myself a 12oz can of Red Bull even though, as previously stated, I was not, in fact, tired. This is isn’t really helping me other than the fact that I can’t stop my legs from moving and even though I really have nothing to write about, I’m actually farther along than I expected to be.
Word of the day for me is “abscond” I’ve heard it twice yesterday and thought to myself, I thought “Self, that’s a smart word. You use that word in a conversation you’ll get people to think you’re smart.”. I haven’t yet been able to use it in my everyday conversations, come to think of it I really haven’t said too many words overall today. Maybe like, 300? I don’t talk that much at work.
Shit, I have to go work in another department. That’ll make the it 4th department I worked in this week. I deserve a raise! and a lot more traffic to this blog I don’t promote.
I’m back now after I absconded for over 1 and a half hours (got it). Red Bull’s starting to wear out, better drink more! WOO! That’s some good stuff. Hope I stay awake, I got me some big plans tonight! Going places, seeing people, doing things! That’s what I’m all about! Hot chicks, working out, getting drunk, bein’ awesome, punching dorks! You got something to say, punk? Nah I didn’t think so! What was that? BAM! Fuck you up. All day! Say something about my motha? Punch you in the mouth. Say something about about friends? Punch you in the mouth. Say something derogatory about my abs? Punch you in the fucking mouth! Say something about physique, go ahead! Say IT! Guess what? PUNCH YOU IN THE MOUTH! What? You call me a fag?? I’ll beat the living hell outta you, you fucking homo queer. It’s not that I’m overly sensitive about being call a homosexual because I secretly harbour gay thoughts, it’s a respect thing. Seriously guys, stop looking at me. I will not be disrespected. In any way shape or form. I like chicks! Big tits, big hair, dark tan! Darker the better! I like a chick who smokes cause she always needs something in her mouth, I like a chick who drinks cause that means she’s easy and I like a chick who works out because I like those bodybuilder chicks cause they’re really strong and that’s admirable, cause you know, I like working out too and some of them chicks are strong and I want to be really strong too. I mean, I am really strong. I will punch someone in the face. And it will hurt them. Because I am that strong. I will do that. But I won’t punch a chick in the face, even if she’s really strong and has a dick. What? That happens! AHhhhhh…Jager-bombs.
Well that was fun.
I noticed that the title of this blog kind of refers to a song about America. I did not mean it in that way. I meant tonight I hope to see a celebrity in a bar while a P. Diddy song plays, but not too loudly.
And I’m out till tomorrow! Or probably Monday! Maybe Tuesday! Cut me some fucking slack!
Drinking, itself, is generally considered to be a poor decision but usually I’m too drunk to care. Not the case last night, where, after the gym, I came home and drank myself 3 fancy Bud Lights. Not enough to get drunk off of but enough to keep me up till 2 and provide a slight hangover this morning. So, with my slight hangover, and being tired from lack of sleep, I awoke this morning a tad disoriented and a little absent minded. I go about my usual routine of immediately going to the refrigerator and finding something to eat, drink a glass of water, put some clothes on, brush my teeth, find my shit and I’m out the door in 10 minutes. For the most part, this process works for me but today I was being extra lazy. Rather than get dressed and look at myself in the mirror before bolting to work, I threw on some shorts and a wifebeater and grabbed a shirt that I would put on later.
I had a nice drive into work, enjoying the warm Florida weather and a golden sunrise over the Indian River Lagoon. I get to work and throw on my collared, short-sleeved, slightly large plaid shirt and realize it matches my slightly large, plaid shorts. I’m wearing two, differant colored, plaid articles of clothing. My inability to dress myself has hit an all time low.
I look like a redneck Eminem fan from the 90’s today. I look like I should have a Black n’ Mild in my ear while I drive my 1980’s Cadillac (with spinning hubcaps) back from a meeting with my parole officer. I look like I should walk into my house, located on a 4 lane road, and meet my fat, pregnant girlfriend who hastily puts out her cigarette. “Hey baby, how’d it go at the police station?” She’d ask. I’d just say “Shiiiiit” and sit down next to her on our torn leather couch. I would then light up a bong that’s sitting on the coffee table and we would finish watching “Maury” together. After I’m high, I would then complain about our two other roommates for a little bit and then ask “Does my baby want some Taco Bell?” (I like Taco Bell because the soft tacos are easier to chew than normal fast food which is a plus for me on account of my numerous missing teeth.). Of course my baby want Taco Bell. I grab some money from her, pretend to listen to her order then I’m back in the Caddie on my way to liquor store to grab a quart of King Cobra for the ride. I swing by Taco Bell, grab 7 soft tacos and entire bag of fire sauce. I go to head back to the house but I get distracted by the marijuana leaf tattoo on my arm and all the flexing I’m doing and I hit a school bus, an actual big yellow school bus filled with kids. I don’t bother getting out to check on the kids because I’m drunk, and high, and pretty hungry and I don’t want to go back to jail. So I speed off as fast as my car will go (35 MPH) sticking my head out of the car to yell (in a high pitched) voice “HAHA!” back at the now visibly injured children. Flick them off as I leave, quick check for cops..no cops, I’m good, then I start rapping to what I can remember of my favorite Eminem song. “I never meant to give you mushrooms girl…”
In all seriousness though, I think I’m what E! News would call “fashionable-retarded”. Luckily, I have this ESD jacket to cover it up.
Time for lunch….you know what I could go for right now? A King Cobra quart.
I was supposed to display a picture of my point of view when I take a poop at work. There’s not much in it (the photo that is), it’s just a picture of the wall in front of me. There’s a sink, a mirror, and soap and paper towel dispensers too. I just figured it’d be a good idea to share a little bit of myself with the Internet.
Hello internet, this is where I poop. What you see here in my “poop-view” photo is what I see, when I’m pooping. Imagine if this photo was like a Google street view photo where you can manipulate your view and look around. It would be like you were pooping there with me (Just don’t look down).
Anyways, the Tumblr app on my iPhone is being finicky and not letting me upload a photo. Tragic for all of you reading, just annoying for me.
In many ways, though, my “poop-view” photo would be sham and a lie. I don’t really look straight ahead when I caca, I look at my phone. Check Facebook. Play Qrank. Look at porn. Check the news. Etc.
So really, A “poop-view” photo would be a screen shot of my phone.
But that would suck cause that’s constantly changing and not as funny a picture I took while on the can. You see the funny right? Sure you do.
It’s also occurred to me, a few sentences back, that I think I’ve written a blog on this very subject a couple months ago. Well, whatever, maybe I’m a little hard up for material lately. Not a whole lot’s going on in the world of the RyGuy.
You want me to write about how I went to a strip club last night, motor-boated three different girls and got uncomfortably close to a stripper’s BH? I’m not going to do that. My mom reads this thing.
Well, I’m out to go find some material to blog about. Strip club again tonight?! Hell no! There’s no free admission on Tuesdays! Fine! I’ll go!
I’m going delirious from lack of sleep today. Take this picture for instance. Anyone who looks at it probably just sees a bunch of random crap strewn about on my desk. To me, however, I see what appears to be the distinct likeness of evil Bolshevic leader Dr. Paperface.
“ello. Vood you mind lyting my cigarrette? I levd my lyter vith deed boody in other vroom.”
I need to wake up! Dr Paperface is talking to me!
It’s a crazy dull day today. I managed to stretch 45 minutes of work out to 2 hours. Now I’m going back to surfing the internet and reading Cracked.com articles to keep myself awake. But reading makes me sleepy so I stopped and started writing this again. Then I got some coffee. Then I got back to my desk and started typing in this again.
“Yoor bloog leeves somesing to be des-ired tooday, I tinks”
Shut up, Paperface! I’m working here! You think funny magic just spills out of my fingertips? Sometimes you gotta work through the crap to get to the chewy center of a bloggy joke.
“Yoo… amake noo senz”
You make no sense!! I’m through talking to you, nobody wants to read what a talking piece of paper has to say anyways!
Ahem, sorry about that. As I was saying, I’m so tired. I’m on my third cup of coffee and let me tell you..
“Zay, ‘ave yoo evar reed zees boook “Zee Prince”? Ees vedy good..”
What did I tell you!? Shut up! And get outta here with that Communist crap, Paperface!
“at’s vedy rood uf yoo. I tells yoo of de boook I eenjoy and yoo yells at me. Aye sees ‘ow et es.”
…I’m sorry Paperface.
“No, No, I go now”
What the hell am I doing awake right now? For some reason, during the early part of the week. (i.e Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday) I can’t sleep for shit. The dumb thing about that is this is also the time of the week when I think I should be “acting like an adult” and “not drinking heavily”. Really though, I could be getting good and wasted right now and instead of going into work tired and likely still drunk, I’ll be going in as tired as an overworked Panda bear.
I think a Panda would be really tired after getting off work, even more so if it’s a hard labor job. He walks into his bamboo hut home, throws his hardhat with ear holes cut out on sofa, grabs a twig and starts gnawing. Mrs. Panda comes in and is all pissed off because she just had the sofa cleaned and he didn’t even notice. At first Panda doesn’t want an argument so he slowly walks over and grabs his sweaty hat off the sofa. Mrs. Panda, almost satisfied, turns towards to the kitchen but as she goes to leave she mutters something under her breath.
Panda had a rough day. Earlier at work, he was excited about a possible promotion he thought he was a shoe in for. Little did he know that his supposed friend Jerry was spying on him and reporting every little error or grip he had to Mr. Sweeny. Panda was so caught off guard when he was pulled into Mr. Sweeny’s office that he openly wept at the accusations. Panda was demoted from his current position, while Jerry was given a cozy desk job up front in the A/C offices. So when Mrs. Panda opened her mouth, even just a little bit, to get the last word in, like she always fucking did, Panda lost it.
The hardhat found it’s way swiftly from Panda’s hand to the front of the flat screen tv, shattering it and taking out pictures of Mrs. Panda’s parents and sisters in it’s aftermath.
Down the jungle path, laying in it’s nest of twigs and leaves, a young Koala bear hears yelling and crashing off in the distance. Nervous and a little scared, he wanders down the hall to his parents room and knocks quietly. “Mom? Dad? Do you think everything’s ok?”
“Yes dear. ” The little Koala’s mother answers “Just listen to your iPod for a little bit and try to go to sleep.”
“Ok. Night” the little Koala says and scurrys back to his room.
The Mother Koala sighs to herself. She puts her book down, turns to her husband and says “Jerry, we really need to move to a better neighborhood. This isn’t a good environment to raise a child in.”
Jerry smirks to himself. “Yes dear, I’m working on it”
I’m going to be that tired tomorrow. I need to take some Ambien or Tylenol PM or something.