Yearly Archive: 2001

What’s happened to humans?

At some point in my lifetime, I realized how much of a real rotten apple I was. I have always been somewhat humane. But not until a few years ago, I guess, did I realize that I was a blithering canker sore on the rear of humanity. I was the guy no one liked, because I was an asshole. I treated everyone the same. Everyone got the same cold, quick responses. I hated people. I hated what collectively, humanity stood for. I still do. I can’t say that situation has improved much.

But I realized that some people don’t fit into the same category as the rest of them. There are always those who float together, then there are those who don’t. I’ve never been one who glides along with the rest of the people. Often times I’ll be in the same stream, but going the opposite direction. I cannot stand – in fact I loathe – the direction collective humanity generally takes. To sit back and watch people interact will give you an idea the direction I am headed. Even take the worst bully in school, I would. I would think of him in a one-to-one situation. I knew he would react differently than if he had all an audience. People are weak. But when together, and in groups, they find strength in the ignorance of the rest of the party.

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Superstitious

I hate superstitions. I think they are the stupidest hogwashical bullshit I have ever heard of. I will attempt to give you a few examples. Number one, the black cat crossing your path. It means bad luck. This tells me that at some point in history, a man was walking and a black cat crossed his path. Shortly after, he was attacked by a mountain lion or a dinosaur. Key: He either lived to tell about it or someone was with him. If he lived to tell about it I say he was lucky as hell. And to have the hindsight to realize that “Hey that was bad luck. It must have been the black cat that crossed my path a couple days ago.” Gotcha.

Number two: If you spill some salt, you have to throw some over your left shoulder. (or is it right?) This tells me that someone had an incident shortly after spilling some salt. And then realized it was the salt spill that had caused his bad luck. Right. So it happens again in his future and he decides to throw some over his shoulder, then discovers that doing so prevented another instance of bad luck. But if nothing bad ever happens, how do you know it would have? And what if you can’t remember the proper shoulder? Does it become even worse luck? What a brilliant guy! This holds no more water than a colander with me.

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Hot women don’t wait in line.

Attitude is everything. I don’t care how good looking you are, or what kind of clothes you wear, or what kind of car you drive. Attitude is everything. I would sooner take the hand of the lady wearing poor clothes and driving the hatchback Honda then the bitch wearing the Versace dress driving the Porsche. Well, depending on who has the better tits, of course. But that’s beside the point. We’re not talking physical here. It’s about character.

I saw this woman at the store the other night. I was picking up a loaf of bread and some leche. Thumbing through a magazine while I waited in the checkout line, this chick started talking to me. She was right in front of me. She had a very pleasant smile and glasses, she was humble and kind, and all in all, very attractive. And her voice was friendly and full of care. It was pretty cool, I instantly liked her. She asked what I thought about something in the magazine. I talked to her for probably fifteen minutes. The line gets really long at Wal-Mart Supercenter the day before Independence day. It was incredibly slow.

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Some People Should Not Drive

I was riding with a friend of mine yesterday, on the way home from Home Depot, and we had a kind of odd experience. Well, actually – I should clarify – I had the odd experience. It wasn’t odd to her at all. But it tripped my shit right out. She drives a convertible Mustang, but the top was up and the windows were up.

oh no holy shit we're gonna dieWe were driving – actually (again) she was driving [had I been driving (being a more competent driver altogether) we probably wouldn’t have had the experience in the first place] and she cut some lady off in a Buick. My friend drives like a blind, retarded lemur with no legs in the first place, so riding with her is a real treat. You can see in the passenger floorboard, the carpet is kind of worn out from her passengers slamming on imaginary brakes. I’m a pretty laid-back passenger and not much scares me, but when I’m riding with her, I can’t watch the road. Frankly, she scares the great green shit out of me. You are guaranteed an ulcer in twenty minutes if she drives you through downtown Dallas traffic. Not that I would ever actually ride with her through downtown Dallas during traffic.

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So Long, and Thanks for All the Books

A great light went out this weekend. Douglas Adams died at his home in Santa Barbara on Friday, May 11. He was 49 years young.

He brought us such books as the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency, and Last Chance to See. All his books were superb. He brought ideas into the world, the likes of which have never been paralleled. He practically invented the Internet back in 1979 in his radio show, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

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Men Will Be Men

I just got into a “heated debate” with a girl friend of mine about the essence of a men’s club. She can’t stand topless dancers, and has no respect for them. Thinks it’s a bad deal for men to go to them. Thinks lowly of the men who go to them too. Has no respect for them. Well who the hell said anything about respect?

While I can think of several other places I would rather have gone for my bachelor party last Saturday night, and several reasons for each, I didn’t have the great providence of being my own best man. Thus I didn’t plan my own bachelor party. And we went to a titty bar. I didn’t object. I am a man. I like titties. (Tell me you didn’t know that.) Plus, it was my party.

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I should really be moving.

We close Friday. We start moving Saturday. That is, of course, after the former owners of the house actually move out. They start moving on Saturday, so as per our contract, they will be leasing the house from me for one day. Would it not make sense to save everybody the time and money, and just move the hell out on the day of closing? I despise the thought of moving boxes in while they are moving boxes out. Therefore I will be waiting until they finish before I move my boxes in. Eff all that. My luck, they would be grabbing the boxes I just brought in and moving them out. So I’ll wait. The pain in the major ass is that that leaves me with only two full days to move everything from my apartment in Carrollton to my house in Flower Mound. Two days may seem like a long time to you, but I will present the following arguments in contradiction:

  • I have a lot of shit.
  • The second day of my two days to move is a Monday. No one else can or will get off that day to help. I will be moving by myself.
  • I have a lot of shit.
  • I still haven’t packed.
  • I have a lot of shit.

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Temporal Displacement

There was a loud knock, then a slipping sound, and I sat up sharply in bed. My head reeled with pain from the night before. Way too late, way too much. I heard footsteps coming down the hall. The hardwood floors creaked as the footsteps came closer to my room. They stopped right outside my door. I could see a shadow standing there. Just waiting.

What the hell was going on? In the other room I heard the dog barking furiously. He didn’t like not being able to see out in the hallways. But since he had gotten into the trash a few nights prior, I had been locking him up at night. The feet outside the door hadn’t so much as moved since they had found their place there. Someone had broken into my home. I wiped the sleep out of my eyes and stared, frowning, trying to make something out of it. Who could it be?

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My Trip to Insanity

I had earnestly been in search of slumber, but the bed where she lay was cold and damp. I knew it was all a dream, and everything would be fine by sunrise. Sunrise seemed to be a cure-all for that which would hinder me. Storms were always gone by sunrise. Adversity, pain, and fear were always chased away by the sunrise. So, I told myself, would be last night’s events.

It was many nights that I had struggled with the loss of my soul, as she had – no doubt – taken it when she left. I was left gurgling on the floor, short of everything including breath, and namely, my sanity. But I knew it was a facade. A hazy delusional fantasy twisted by some dark inferior part of my mind, into existence. And I wept.

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Is there anybody out there?

This is another very popular argument on the claim to other life forms in the universe: “The universe is so huge, and we can hardly even go past the moon, so why would there be all that extra space if we couldn’t even use it! Therefore, there has to be other life out there somewhere.” My response? Whatever. For us to think this entire universe is completely useless if we can’t use it is just plain arrogant. We think we own the place. Well, that no more settles an argument than saying, “This garage is too big for just one car, so there must be other cars in it.” The only difference is that the garage actually is yours.

Supposing the entirety of the universe was created especially for us humans, what do you think we will do with it? There is but one planet with sufficient oxygen and perfect atmosphere and proportional water supply as to sustain life. The odds of there being another planet that matches these tight attributes is ridiculously incalculable.

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Where is God in Physics?

It seems as though the efforts of physics and most other sciences is to completely eliminate the need for, and the existence of God. Scientists believe they can bring proof of his non-existence through their studies. I think this obviously has to do with some pre-existing belief of theirs, in that they don’t want to believe he exists.

If, however, there were a scientist that did believe in God before he set out to prove his theories, wouldn’t it stand to reason that he could hypothetically prove that God does exist? It’s all about what you want to believe you want to prove, as far as I am concerned. But I guarantee, no matter how in-depth the study is, or how much research you do, or even how many supporting items you have in your case against his existence, you will not be able to prove he doesn’t exist.

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The Hot Women Like Dorks

You don't stand a chance.Why do hot women like this always end up with nerds and losers? I mean, I’m a nerd. I know how to fix computers and I read a lot of books. But I don’t look like one, you know? At least I think I don’t. But I’m certainly not a loser! But seriously, I saw this chick the other day and she was hotter than a jalapeno on fire in Texas on the sidewalk in August. Or something. And the dude she was with was a short, oddly lumpy, frog-faced dude who looked like he never showered. What in The Elephant’s name is that shit all about?

One of my best friends is knockdown drag-out gorgeous. She has the body of a – well, a great body, and has a good head on her shoulders. And she told me one time that most guys are too intimidated to ask her out. So she is single most of the time. Then here comes compuboy who has nothing to lose, so he starts asking at the top. And guess what? Bada Bing, Bada Boom. He gets himself a hot chica. At some point in their lonely single lives they say to themselves, “I’m going out with the very next guy who asks me.” So there you have it, fellas. Start asking out all the hot chicks. One of them is bound to say yes sooner or later.

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The Turd Burglars

Have you ever been sitting on the can in a public restroom, peacefully enjoying your solitude, when all of a sudden the bathroom door swings open and a whole crowd of people come in? Doesn’t that piss you off? You kind of like to be alone and do your business, so to speak, without the element of pressure or hurriedness. In relation to that, if – for some reason – you cannot be alone in the bathroom, the only element that somehow comforts you, is the privacy you attain by the enclosure of your stall. And the security you feel in that privacy is the simple twist lock that keeps the door from swinging open.

If, however, this lock is compromised, all security, privacy, and comfort flee in an instant, as you are left fumbling to cover yourself as a stranger attempts to enter your stall. This happened to me.

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Not In Your Area

Check this out: I called Pizza Hut last night and asked for some pizza. The stuffed crust, which they got the monopoly on. The lady asks what the nearest cross street is to my house, and I tell her. She says, “Oh, well you have to call this number.” Click. So she shunned her responsibility.

A little perturbed, because I had waited on hold a few minutes – and every minute counts when you’re hungry – I called the other number. They took my order, then said, “but wait… Where do you live?” I said “off such and such.” He says, “east or west of it?” I said, “East, but right off it. Like five feet east.” Well, that didn’t matter. He told me I had to call this other place.

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A Theory of Mine

A friend and I were having a conversation the other night about quantum mechanics and it’s relationship to astrophysics, and the like. The usual, really. When we get together, that’s pretty much all we talk about. Not many people are as fascinated in these subjects as we are. Actually, I don’t know anyone besides him who has this in common with me.

At any rate, we had established some theories and hypotheses concerning inter-dimensional indexing and bi-locational representation. If, of course, any of this is possible, then it would also stand to reason that time-travel could be feasible. There are still doubts as to whether or not one could actually travel back in time, but definitely the possibility would exist to rapidly speed up time as we know it.

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National Breast Awareness Week

Well, it’s Mardi Gras time again, gentlemen. And you all know what that means. I think it’s the main reason most men even attend a Mardi Gras festival. Yep. Tits.

When and where else can a man stand around on the street and watch girls lift their shirts and let their boobs bounce out just to get beads? You really can’t beat it. Course, I have never gone to Mardi Gras. I have been to smaller versions of the same thing, locally. Every year in Denton is the Fry Street Fair. And if you have ever been there, you know there are plenty of women showing plenty of booby. A lot of them fail to wear shirts entirely.

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You Can Dance if You Wannew

I think it’s odd that two women can dance together and somehow become the most popular women in the building. Especially at a country bar. But if you were to see two men get out on the floor and dance together, especially at a country bar, there would probably be a bar brawl on the quick fast.

I accidentally signed her boobDon’t get me wrong. I am not jealous of women’s ability to do these things without being mocked. I just think that women take strong advantage of it. Most men think it’s incredibly sexy to see two women making out and dancing, etc. I for one, am indifferent about it. I don’t find it to be super appealing, but on the other hand, if I were to be walking down the street and see two women kissing and groping, I would probably look. Hell, I would probably take a picture. But just because two women kiss and grab each other’s boobs, it doesn’t mean they’re gay. If two men did that shit… Why the double standard? Why don’t women find that attractive? Men certainly don’t. Well, most men.

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The Early Days of Space

I found some more crunk ass pictures reflecting my sordid teenage years. The first one is of me holding my nephew, Alex. This was about four and a half years ago. Well, I guess that means it wasn’t in my teens then. But regardless, he is almost five now. Then we have another, just shortly after the first one, chronologically, that shows him learning to play the guitar. I always knew he would grow up to be like me. That’s my sister – his mom – in the right of that picture.

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Sharp As A Knife

On my way out the door, I reached into my pocket for my keys.  That wasn’t where they were. That was, however, where my pocket knife was. I always carry it there. It’s a slim line CRKT knife that feels comfortable when clipped in your pocket, all the way to the edge. It has a nifty little knob through the back of the blade that enables the wielder to open it with his thumb quickly, and most importantly, one-handed. Evidently, my key ring had grabbed that knob when I had originally pulled them from my jeans pocket. So the knife was locked open, sticking straight up out of my pocket.

I looked at my hand, because it had felt funny going into my pocket that last time. Nothing. I look down to see the knife sticking out, and then look at my hand again. And like a dam had been compromised, the blood poured from the open laceration in my thumb. I haven’t seen blood flow that freely and quickly since Joint Endeavor. And I had never seen blood flow that freely from my own body.

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