Tagged: fight

Sales Assault

Don’t you hate walking down the front of the electronics aisle at the big blue superstore? You know, the one where they have stacks of TVs and large bins of movies to dig through? Movies, which, by the way, this is a lot of commas, you would never actually watch? Like Sylvester Stallone’s Over the Top, a movie about arm-wrestling. :| Seriously? Who thought that was a good idea?

But that aisle that separates the electronics area from the rest of the store is where they lurk. Standing there with their clipboards and their nice tucked-in polo shirts… The Sales Assaultiate. Dun dun dun.

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Don’t Give Me The Bird

I’m not just now beginning to believe the birds are conspiring in some manner against humans. Now I’m not sure of their intentions, but my best estimates are that they’re either planning to take over the world by killing all humans, or plotting some massive attack in order to acquire more birdseed. Either of those scenarios is as realistic as the other. So it’s hard to tell. But for a long time, I’ve thought birds had some sinister plan. Remember, I mentioned it in my column about how people are becoming more like birds.

So what spurred this train of thought, you say? Well, hear this, friends. Grab a cup of coffee, maybe a napkin with a couple of strips of cold bacon on it, and a chair. Then pull up close to your monitor, put your elbows on the desk and prepare to read possibly the greatest tale ever of how a bird tried to assassinate and possibly take over the life of a human being. It’s about to get scary in here.

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Talking Pillows with Jessica Simpson

Greetings, SpaceBrewers, and welcome back to another edition of the Daily Brew, with Space. You know sometimes we have celebrities stop by the offices here at corporate, and we are usually very cordial with them; invite them in, sit and talk with them, give them bacon and coffee, you know, the usual. Other times we’re simply too busy to accomodate them, and have to turn them away at the door. We just don’t have time to see every single fan of the site personally, you know? It makes us sad, and in a perfect world, we would. But this isn’t a perfect world, is it?

Anyway, occasionally, some of our Hollywood friends will stop in and say hi, and we’ll set up our recording device and interview them as a courtesy to give them some momentum on whatever they’re currently promoting. Remember, for instance, when Michael Crichton stopped by the Brew to promote his new book? And the times Stephen Cannell did the same thing? Those were nice instances of when they stopped by and we made them feel accommodated. There have been others, of course, like when Charlize Theron stopped by and I interviewed her, but it got a little out of hand, she crawled over the table and we started making out right there. I had only asked her a few questions when the interview was suddenly over, and we’re suddenly naked right there in the front conference room, just going at it. Obviously, that’s not very appropriate for the site.

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Bacon Talk: Marriage

Happy Friday, SpaceBrewers! For this special day, we thought we’d do a special co-authored column for you with your favorite two writers. And we’d like to dive into a subject that’s seldom touched upon here: marriage. Yes, we’re going there. See, Haycomet and I are married. Well, not to each other. But we are both married to other people. The point is that we both know what it’s like to be married. We’ve both been married a long time, and we both have the same core values and outlooks on the big M word. So what’s it like to be asked the same questions?
So that’s what we’ll get into here. We believe that ‘on the rocks’ is a good thing, as it refers to a special way of drinking bourbon. So keeping your marriage on the rocks is always desirable: it represents success and prosperity. If someone were to approach a man and a woman and ask them both the same questions about marriage, how different would their answers be? If the most important thing in a married man’s life is sitting on the couch drinking beer, what then, would be most important to the woman? Well, obviously it should be cooking and cleaning, but we’re going to find out!
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Life Lessons From Space: Driving

Well I didn’t finish the video I promised you yet. I got a little busy last evening with some other issues. Oh and get this: I found out that the back door on the pickup rebroke itself. I guess the nuclear putty didn’t hold after all. I’ll have to try some SolaGlue. Meh. Anyway, I’ll put some work into it this weekend amidst all the pool time and beer drinking we have planned. I hope to get it done soon though because it’s gonna be good.

So I realized the other day that when Moonshine did her columns about Life Lessons from a Good Girl (here, here, and here), I started my own series here. But I never finished them. And what’s more, the only topic I wrote about, fighting, is not something with which I am even well versed. I mean, I’ve been in a ton of fights in my life, and I’ve faired pretty well, but I’m not really what anyone would call a fighter. I’m more of a “writer”. You like that? And today there’s sort of a new age of fighters. Dudes have gotten really big and really mean. So I just avoid it at all costs and let my friend Mr Browning handle my confrontations for me.

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SpaceBrew Review: District 9

I finally watched District 9 a couple of weeks ago. It was nothing like I thought it would be. When I originally dropped it in my queue I was only vaguely aware of the plot. Here’s the plot summary from IMDB:

In 1982, a massive star ship bearing a bedraggled alien population, nicknamed “The Prawns,” appeared over Johannesburg, South Africa. Twenty-eight years later, the initial welcome by the human population has faded. The refugee camp where the aliens were located has deteriorated into a militarized ghetto called District 9, where they are confined and exploited in squalor. In 2010, the munitions corporation, Multi-National United, is contracted to forcibly evict the population with operative Wikus van der Merwe in charge. In this operation, Wikus is exposed to a strange alien chemical and must rely on the help of his only two new ‘Prawn’ friends.

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The Men The Women Can’t Avoid

I’ve often found myself considering the stars, the planets, space and the harmonic oscillation produced by a pair of bouncing breasts. I also spend a lot of time in thought about beers, breasts, buddies… So we’ve established that I’m a very considerate and thoughtful person. But am I a nice guy?

Most women I’ve dated in the past have said they thought I was an asshole when they first met me. I will admit that I’m very forward, I speak my mind, and I don’t really pull any punches. I sort of always just tell it like it is. If there’s something I don’t like about you (well, that actually involves me in some respect), I will let you know about it. If you don’t like it, I guess you’ll think I’m an asshole. I don’t deny that. Some people just don’t like my forwardity. (You like that noun?) And that’s fine. I’m not for everyone. But women are (at least in my experience) attracted to it.

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Malt Liquor for my Truckers

I never told you about the time I was coming back from Abilene and a truck driver road my ass, did I? It was late at night, I was heading to Dallas and it was dark. Mainly because it was late at night. But it was also raining. And I was driving a shitty little four-cylinder Chevy Cavalier. And I had a truck driver riding my ass. So I will tell you all about it now.

He was riding my ass, kind of like someone would ‘ride your ass’ if you were giving them a piggy-back ride. Basically, this big ass semi was drafting off me. I don’t remember what had set him off, if anything, but something made him decide he was too cool for school, and he owned the road. And for some reason, he got on my ass. I think he was just screwing with the small car on the highway, because there was no other traffic that late at night. Maybe he was looking for something to do to keep him awake between jerking off in his sleeper at truck stops.

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Happy Birthday Hard to Come By

Wednesday was Stout’s birthday. So Siege and I took him out to the Works to have a few drinks, look at some girls, have a few laughs – you know, the usual birthday celebration that real men do. Real men. And we had a good time. That’s one of the main reasons we like going to GameWorks is because it’s typically totally douche-free. They only allow 21 and up in the bar itself, so there’re no 17- and 18-year-olds hanging out being retarded and thinking they belong at all. It’s a cool place, and it’s got some soul. They serve good cold beer and the bartenders are pretty.

So anyway, we hung out there and closed the bar down (they close at 11. I know. Gay.) so we rolled out to Nick’s to maybe shoot some pool and have a couple more Cold Ones before we called it a night. And that was where we made our mistake.

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Life Lessons from Space: Fighting

I figured since Shine is posting her series on “How to be a Good Girl”, I could help you fellas out from a male perspective. Now I must preface this with a disclaimer – I will not tell you how to be a “good boy” or anything gay like that. I’m not, nor have I ever been what anyone would call a “good boy”. I know nothing of it, and therefore cannot offer any words of advice in that direction. I can, however, tell you some things that might help you make it through life without being made fun of or getting your ass whipped too badly.

I also can’t promise you that I will have ten rules. I may or may not add to this list at some time in the future, but for now, be happy with the few rules you’re getting. And take these to heart. They’re coming from a tried and true bad boy with personal, first-hand knowledge on how well they work.

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Join the Alliance

Some time last year, Kimbre and I inadvertantly formed the Huge Shades Alliance. Bring back beauty with offensively large shades™. Or some such. Well, her legacy lives on, and I’m on a mission to find the largest, most ridiculous – yet still stylish and somehow not gay – shades I can find. It has become a hobby of mine. Looking at and trying on the largest shades I can find in an effort to bring back the beauty.

How, you say? Well it’s really simple. The larger they are, the more space they reflect. And in those reflections you can’t see the ugly and inhumane scum we as humans have become. That’s probably kind of a lame (if not hippy) answer, but work with me. It’s all I got.

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Not That Kind of Pool

A buddy of mine and I were shooting pool last night. We were sharing a table with some lovely ladies we meet there quite often. I guess you could call them pool friends. Anyway, I was on my way to the restroom and walked by the foose ball table. There wasn’t anyone around it. But one of the handles was pushed all the way in on the far side, which made the long steel piece stick all the way out on the side I was walking by. I was about to run into it. So I reached out and slapped it in on my way by. So I wouldn’t impale myself on the foose ball table, you see.

And I hear this, “what the hell!” really loud. I looked over, still walking, of course, and see a guy standing there with his hands out. “Oh, sorry, chief. Didn’t know you guys were playing,” I said, and went into the lav. After I finished I returned to my pool table. And after about three minutes, I’m leaning over the table, about to make a four-rail bank shot on the nine. And dude walks up and makes a big show of scattering all the balls on the table, then stands there with his hands out again. Staring at me.

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The Dredge House Chronicles, Prelude

I’ve decided to start putting down on blog some of the stories I have from my days at the Dredge House. So I’ll start by telling you what the Dredge House is. Or was, rather.

Just out of high school, I went straight into college. That didn’t work out too well, so my Pop said, “Son, if you’re not going to do it my way, you’ll have to do it your way.” I told him I had no problem with that. “But your way means your house, your car, your job, your money…” Oh. I see. So I had to move out. He gave me a couple of weeks I think. Well during the last couple of days of my stay at the Spacey Senior residence, my buddy TJ got kicked out of his house too. I invited him to stay with me for the final few days in my parents’ house, and we commenced to searching for new living arrangements.

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Why I’m So Cynical

Well, I don’t really know why. But I can share with you a few examples of how I’m cynical.

A friend an I were talking about looking at the stars, and I made a joke about it not mattering if there are clouds or not, because the telescope sort of puts you out past the clouds. You’re looking at stuff much further away than the clouds, you see.

I know, it’s a rolleyes for me too. But you’d be surprised at how many people won’t laugh at that joke. But rather say, “Uh, what’s the joke, Spacey?”

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Is there a woman who can drive?

I had to miss work yesterday because of an injury. Let me tell you what happened. I (once again) was the victim of a CWDOCP – a Careless Woman Driver On a Cell Phone. Not a big deal, but it did render my vehicle undrivable this time. I was sitting at the intersection of my street and the main street, waiting patiently to get out of my neighborhood when a woman comes barrelling into the entrance, aiming for the wrong side of the median! It was obvious she had been going too fast, and since she didn’t want to set the phone down, she couldn’t stop fast enough, and rather than keep going and u-turn to come back to the entrance of the neighborhood, she decided to turn into the wrong side of the median. While I was there.

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From Panama With Love

I guess I should talk about this. It’s still the source of bad dreams that wake me up during the night, even eight years after the fact. It happened when I was still in the military. Way in. I was sent to Panama on an MRT (a Maintenance Recovery Team) to repair a bird that went down out there. I had been there for about two and a half weeks when we finally got the parts in and made our repairs on the C-130. Typical procedure is that it flies home immediately and we as a crew hitch a ride on it. Well due to circumstances upon which I cannot comment, I had to stay behind for several more days, and would catch a bus to Costa Rica (ugh) and from there, fly into San Antonio. All good.

I was staying in a cheap shitty motel on the outskirts of Santiago, trying to dodge people wherever and whenever I could, lying low. I’d already had several run-ins with the locals and had almost been arrested for being white. I had sent my uniforms and all evidence of my involvement with the US military back on the plane with my team. All I’d been left with was a sidearm. Once my double-stack magazine was empty (and I hoped to God I wouldn’t have to empty it) I was out. Bare as a naked baby’s ass.

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SpaceBrew Review: Star Wars III

We saw the last Star Wars yesterday as a team. My boss took us all out and we saw it, then she took us to the bar afterwards and bought us a hilarious amount of drinks so we would be properly prepared to discuss it at great lengths. I have a few complaints, and a few praises I will share with you. If you’ve not yet seen Episode III, or don’t know the general storyline of Star Wars, then don’t read below here, because there will be spoilers.

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A Dish Best Served Full of Ashes

I got to her house around seven. I’d come straight from work and was still in my slacks and loafers. Not those nice heavy loafers you get in the military. But the thin, soft leather loafers that feel so good on your feet. She’d called me at five or so, I guess it was, saying he was there. He had come to get his stuff. After a week’s delay he’d finally arrived to collect. I said so what. “Aren’t you glad he’s there?” She’d broken up with him the Friday before, and told him to come get his shit out. He got back from Houston today and seemingly made it top priority. So all should have been well. She said no though. She wasn’t happy he was there. Oh, he’d gotten his stuff all right. But he’d left her some things too. Some bruises.

So now I was on my way. Five o’clock I got the call, five-fifteen I ended the call, and five-seventeen I was tearing up Central Expressway like a burning chariot. There’d be no patient idling this time. She’d dumped him before and I’d stood there on her patio smoking a cigarette, watching them through the sliding door as I leaned against the rail. I’d worn my shades so he couldn’t see the true thoughts in my eyes. She had told me to stand by and make sure he didn’t hit her. I had wondered why this was even a logical threat. But I’d been there for her. And every second it took him to collect his things and throw them in the long red duffel was a second I grew less patient. I could feel anger burning my veins as it pumped through them in place of my already boiled blood.

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And Justice for Dog

Wow, I’m sitting here trembling with adrenaline and excitement.

The guy I initially thought did this turned out to be out of town at the time it happened. Bummer. But that also restores some of my faith in humanity and – more specifically – my neighborhood. I’m glad to know I don’t have to worry about my neighbors like that.

The story takes a turn though. I got home from work a little early today and let my dogs out. While they were in the back yard and I was doing some dishes, I heard Hunter barking his ass off. Then I heard the whine of a dirt bike, tearing across the green belt. This is pretty common. Then it got louder and louder, and then slowed until it was right behind my fence. Hunter had stopped barking for some reason, and was just standing there growling at this kid as he sat there looking into my back yard. (I have a fence made of dog-wire.)

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Chick Games

Why is it that women wear things that show off their beautiful bodies? That’s it. No buts attached to that question. We obviously aren’t allowed to look at them, so why is it that they force us to by wearing these things which accentuate their better parts? I’ve been less than happy with the results I get when I give them the attention they so obviously crave. Don’t tell me that these women don’t have a choice in what they buy. If the only clothing available on the racks was this stuff that shows midriff and cleavage, and hip-huggers, then all the old women out there would be wearing the same things.

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