Before I get to the strange blog, I wanted to remind everyone to come out to the Asbury Park Convention Center, on September 20, at 7:00pm. I'll be announcing the roller derby bout, with Tricia La'Vicious, as Casey "Wolfman Smack" Bartholomew. Should be a lot of fun. Nobody makes any money at this. At least, I know I'm not being paid. But, they have informed me that I am not allowed to mention it on the radio anymore. I don't know why this is. I'm assuming there was some sort of transmission from the mother ship, or something. But, I was told I could mention it in my blog. So, come out. Ray will be there, somewhere. Maybe even Tommy G, though I have no confirmation of that.
Now, on to the odd blog. I had said a while back that I was going to start writing some different stuff. This is it. I'd love to know what you thought. I'm actually thinking of starting a website for this type of thing. But, I don't know how to do that, and computers hate me. So, that could take a little time. Until then, here's something weird. From my mind......The strange part......No.....The OTHER strange part.
THE BECOMING
BY CASEY BARTHOLOMEW
Decision time.
Jake Sullivan was standing just outside the woods that wrapped around his school. He could go through them, and be to school on time. Or, he could take the long way around, and be late. He was always late. One more time, and he was going to have to stay after school, and he hated doing that.
But, he didn't like going through the woods, because they were generally populated by homeless people who had been run out of town. They were harmless, but he still didn't like the idea of walking by the various "camps" that they had set up. It made him uncomfortable.
He took a deep breath, and stepped into the woods. It wasn't far. Maybe 300 yards. You could actually see the top of the gym as you walked through. But, it was early in the morning, and it creeped him out, a little.
He had gotten about 100 yards in, when he saw the first homeless guy wandering about. He had heard that some of them were a little crazy, and would just wander around, muttering to themselves. This guy seemed to fit the bill. He was about 50 feet off to Jake's left. He walked like a toddler. He was taking small, stomping steps, and seemed to be having trouble keeping his balance. He swung his arms wide with every step he took.
Probably drunk, Jake thought. Great.
Jake picked up the pace, and avoided looking at the homeless guy. It was no good, though. The guy had seen him, and was now heading in his direction. He didn't want to run away, because he didn't want to piss the freak off. So, he pulled a dollar out of his pocket, and had it ready to hand the guy.
The homeless guy kept coming, and was now about 20 feet away. He was ashen, and his eyes were so wide they were almost bulging out of his head.
"Morning," Jake said. "How ya' doin'?"
The guy just kept coming. He was close, now.
Jake held out the dollar.
"Here," he said. "Can I help you out a little?"
The guy walked right up to Jake, slapped his hand away, and lunged at him. Jake was too fast, and pushed the guy away.
"What the fuck!?!!" he said
He came at Jake, again.
Jake knocked him away, again, and this time he fell to the ground.
The guy didn't say anything. He just let out a loud moan.
"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" he said. It was odd.
Jake stood there, unsure of what to do. The guy was on the ground in front of him. Jake was ready to run, when the guy suddenly bounced up, and grabbed Jake's leg, forcing him to the ground.
"Fuck!!!" Jake said.
He started wildly swinging at the freak, hoping to force him off of he legs.
"Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!!" was all the guy would say.
Jake was desperately trying to force the guy off of him. He reached down to push his face away, and the guy bit his hand.
"SHIT!!" Jake said. He was able to force the guy off of him, and get to his feet. The guy rolled over, and pulled himself up, too. Jake started to back up, when the guy lunged at him, again. He stepped forward, and punched the guy square in the jaw, and broke it off. The guy fell back on the ground, and stared straight at Jake.
His lower jaw was laying on the ground beside him.
"What the fuck!?!!!" Jake said.
The guy started to crawl toward Jake again.
"Jesus Christ!!" he said.
He backed away, and turned and ran the rest of the way toward school. When he reached the edge of the woods, he stopped and looked behind him. The homeless guy wasn't there. He was sweating, and had a small bite on his hand.
"Son of a bitch bit me!!" he said.
His hand was bleeding, but it wasn't bad. He shook his head when he thought about it.
Had he knocked the guy's jaw off?
No, he thought. There's no way.
He tried to decide if he should call the police. He didn't want to have to deal with that. The bite wasn't that big, and he wasn't supposed to be wandering through the woods to begin with. Last year a bunch of kids got in trouble for going in, and throwing eggs at the homeless camps. It would just be a big hassle. He didn't want to have to answer a bunch of questions. So, he decided to just wash his hand off, and keep his trap shut. No need to cause a big problem.
He got into the school, and went right to the bathroom to wash his hand.
Christ, he thought. This hurts like hell!!
It was only about an inch long. The freak had just caught him on the side of the hand, before he was able to get away. It wasn't bleeding anymore, but it was bright red.
Great, he thought. I'm gonna get rabies from a homeless freak. Terrific.
He wrapped a paper towel around his hand, and headed to his first class. He thought about going to the nurse, to get a bandage. But, the nurse was just some old woman who volunteered her time, and they didn't always have bandages, anyway. Plus, she was kind of mean.
He got into his class, and sat down at his desk. His friend, Steve, was already there.
"Dude, what happened to your hand?" Steve asked him.
"I got bit by a homeless guy, cutting through the woods."
"He bit you!?!!"
"Yeah," Jake said. "And it hurts like hell."
"Maybe we should cut it off." Steve laughed.
"Funny."
Mrs. Wilkerson came into the class.
"Pipe down, everyone," she said. "We have a lot to cover, today."
Jake couldn't focus on anything that was going on. He eyes kept darting around the room. He was starting to sweat, and get cold, all at the same time.
Fuck!! he thought. That fucking freak gave me the flu, or something. FUCK!!
His head was starting to throb. Behind everything else that was going on, he could hear it in his head.
Boom-boom.....boom-boom.....boom-boom.....boom-boom.....boom-boom........
It wasn't loud, but it was constant. His forehead was starting to getting sweaty, and he ran his hand through his brown hair. He couldn't concentrate on anything that was going on. He tried to stay steady in his seat, and not let on that anything was going on. After what seemed like hours, Mrs. Wilkerson wrapped things up.
"Okay," she said. "Read chapter 14, for Wednesday, and answer the questions at the end. We'll go over all of it in class. We'll see you tomorrow."
As Jake was getting up to leave, she called him over.
"Are you feeling okay, Jake?" she asked. "You look a little pale."
"I'm okay," he said. "I think I'm just getting sick, or something. I'm fine."
"Do you want a pass to go to the nurse?"
He rolled his eyes.
"I know, I know," she said. "But, it's better than nothing."
"I'll be okay," he said.
He walked out into the hallway. His head was still throbbing. It felt like it was getting louder, and louder.
Boom-boom......boom-boom.....boom-boom.....boom-boom.....boom-boom......
He went back into the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, and looked in the mirror. He did look like hell. His face was getting pale. He was getting circles under his eyes. It looked like he hadn't slept in days.
"Shit," he said.
Jake made his way out into the hall, and headed for his next class. He was feeling dizzy, and having trouble walking. He thought about just going home. Maybe he should just call the cops, and tell them about the homeless freak. His hand hurt like hell, and his head was still throbbing.
He made it to class, and decided that he would just blow it off, and not pay any attention. It was economics. Nothing he was going to need to know. The teacher, Mr. Williams, was a blowhard. If he just kept his head down, and looked like he was taking notes, he could skate through.
One class at a time, he thought.
He took his seat, and Mr. Williams starting blathering about macro economics. Jake put his head down, and pretended to take notes. His head was killing him.
Boom-boom.....boom-boom....boom-boom.....boom-boom....boom-boom....
He closed his eyes, and tried to shake the pain off. When he opened them, he saw Becky. He's spent countless classes thinking about things he would do to her. The thought made him smile. In real life she wouldn't give him the time of day. In his mind, though, she did unspeakable things. He smiled at the thought. She had on a short, red skirt, and a form fitting, white top. He started thinking about her.
He walked up behind her, and put his arms around her. She pressed herself back against him, and cocked her head to the side. He reached up and pulled her dark hair to the side, and began kissing her neck. She closed her eyes, and started breathing at his touch. He gently kissed his way up her neck, and stopped at her ear. He took her earlobe into his mouth, as she gently moaned. Then, he bit down on her ear, and pulled it clean off her head, as the blood started running down her neck.......
"What the fuck!?!!" Jake yelled, as he jerked up out of his seat.
The whole class looked at him.
"Is there a problem, Mr. Sullivan?" Mr. Williams asked him.
Jake looked around the room. Some people were staring at him. Others were laughing. He was breathing heavy.
"Uh....No," he said. "I..uh...fell asleep.....and....uh...."
"You fell asleep in my class," Mr. Williams said. "And, you were yelling out profanities. Why don't you come back, after school, and we'll go over everything you slept through in great detail."
"Yes, sir." he said.
The bell rang. Jake got up, and walked from class. He had P.E. next. It was your typical, public school, physical education class. The teacher was Coach Paulson. He was also the football coach, and didn't feel like taking the time to actually run the class. So, he threw a bunch of basketballs into the gym, and went back to his office. Today would be no different. Steve was in the class with him, though. So, he would be able to kick back, and try and shake whatever was wrong with him.
"Wow," Steve said. "You look like shit."
"Thanks."
"What the hell happened?"
"I think it was that homeless guy," Jake said. "I think he gave me something."
"Rabies," Steve said.
"It's not rabies."
"You'll go crazy. You'll eat your own tongue, and then start eating your lips." Steve laughed.
"It's not fucking rabies," Jake said.
They were sitting in the back of the gym, watching everyone throw the basketballs around. Jake could have done without the bouncing. If he'd had one, he might have taken an ice pick to his own head. About fifteen minutes before class ended, Coach Paulson came out.
"Alright boys," he said. "Hit the showers."
In the locker room, Jake couldn't even open his eyes. The pounding was louder. He closed his eyes, tighter.
Boom-boom......boom-boom......boom-boom.....boom-boom.....boom-boom.......
He took a shower, hoping that it would calm him down. But, it didn't help. The throbbing persisted. When he dried off, he looked at himself in the mirror. He was ashen. Completely pale. He wasn't sure, but he thought his brown eyes even looked lighter.
Jesus Christ, he thought.
His next class was homeroom. Then, he had lunch, and two more periods before he could get the hell out of there.
I can make it, he thought.
Homeroom was nothing. It was a chance for you to finish the homework you hadn't done the night before, or get started on the work you had already gotten, from today. The teacher didn't even talk to them. Jake put his head down on his desk, and drifted off to sleep.
His dreams were odd, though.
People swimming in pools of blood. He would reach in, but not to save them. To catch them. To have them.
In one dream, he was being followed by a large group. He couldn't see them, but he could hear them. They didn't speak. They moaned. They kept reaching out for him. He tried to get away, but he couldn't walk. He could only stumble along. He couldn't speak. He couldn't call out for help. He kept moving....slower.....They were going to catch him.
In another dream he was pulling apart a live chicken, and eating it.
In all the dreams, his face was pale. Almost with a green tint. His eyes were sunken, and gray. His lips were black. He didn't speak. He just grunted and moaned.
The bell jerked him awake.
He was breathing heavy. Lunch was finally here.
Relax, he thought. Just relax. Days almost over. You can go home, and go to bed.
He calmed himself down, and headed to the quad. Lunch times were staggered, so there wasn't much of a crowd when he got into the cafeteria line. He picked up his tray, plate, and utensils, and waited his turn.
"What'll it be, dear?" the cafeteria lady asked him.
Jake wasn't really hungry, but he felt like he should eat something. So, he looked up at the menu.
"Uhhh...Just give me the spaghetti," he said.
"Okie-dokie," she said. She took her spoon, reached out, and slapped a bloody, human brain onto Jake's plate.
He jumped back, and threw his tray on the ground.
"WHAT THE FUCK!?!!!!" he yelled, as he fell back, and landed on his behind.
Everything in the quad stopped. Everyone was looking at Jake, again. From his place on the ground he looked over, and saw the spaghetti noodles, laying all over the ground. He closed his eyes, and put his face in his hands. The throbbing was intense. He tried covering his ears, but it didn't do any good.
BOOM-BOOM......BOOM-BOOM......BOOM-BOOM.....BOOM-BOOM.....BOOM-BOOM.......
Someone put their hand on his shoulder.
"Are you okay, dear?"
It was the cafeteria lady.
Her voice sounded like it was an echo. He looked at her, but couldn't focus.
"Do I fucking LOOK okay?" he snapped at her.
He got up and tried to run, but he couldn't. His legs were numb. It felt like they were both asleep. He couldn't feel his steps. He was able to get a few feet, but was going to fast and fell down. He was able to, slowly, get back up. He could feel his breathing getting heavier. He was sweating, big time. He was able to slowly walk to the bathroom.
What's happening to me? he thought.
The circles under his eyes were darker. He was as white as a ghost, and his brown eyes were gone. They were black.
He leaned back against the wall, in the bathroom.
I've got to get out of here, he thought. I've got to get home.
He thought for a moment. He couldn't remember where his house was. He closed his eyes, and ran his hands through his hair. He could see his mom. But, he couldn't see his house. He shook his head. The woman was smiling at him.
Wait, he thought. Is that my mom.
He pointed his head down, and closed his eyes tighter. The woman in his mind reached her hand up to her own throat, and dug her nails into her neck. She was still smiling as the blood poured out of her neck, and she reached her now bloody hand out, for Jake.
The bell rang.
He shook his eyes open. He was still breathing heavy. The sweat was dripping down his face. He stumbled out of the bathroom, and back into the building for his next class. It was science. Mrs. Jenkins was his teacher. She looked up at him as he came in.
"Are you okay, Jake?" she asked.
"Uh-huh," he responded, and headed for his desk.
He sat behind the lovebirds. Tricia Miller, and Mike Elliot. Tricia was the popular, pretty, stupid, cheerleader. Mike was the popular, handsome, stupid jock. Together, they were the perfect, popular, stupid couple. They knew it. Everyone knew it. It was high school politics at it's best. They were joined at the hip, and various other places, depending on who was around.
Jake took his seat, behind Tricia.
He couldn't focus on anything. The pounding was incredible.
BOOM-BOOM......BOOM-BOOM.......BOOM-BOOM......BOOM-BOOM......BOOM-BOOM......
He kept drifting in and out. He didn't even hear Mrs. Jenkins talking. The strange dreams kept coming, and he would jerk himself awake.
He opened his eyes, and looked at the back of Tricia's head. There was something under her blonde hair, on her head. He could see it. It was pulsating, and tiny drops of blood were sprinkling down on his desk.
What the hell is that? he thought. How can she NOT feel that?
He could see it, almost bouncing up and down, under her hair.
Slowly, he reached up with both hands. He grabbed each side of her hair, and pulled it apart. He found himself looking directly inside her head, and her brain was right in front of him. He pulled her hair, tighter.
Tricia screamed.
Mike jumped up, and grabbed Jake's arms. He was able to pull him off of Tricia, and throw him to the ground.
"What's your fucking problem, Sullivan?" Mike yelled at him.
Tricia was holding her head, and crying.
Jake laid on the ground. His eyes were wide.
"Answer me!!!!!" Mike yelled at him, again.
Jake started to pull himself up.
He tried to speak.
"I....I....I could see inside her head," he said. "I thought she was hurt."
"You sick freak!!!" Tricia yelled at him.
Mike walked right up to him.
"You're dead, Sullivan," he said. "After school. You and me. You are dead meat."
"Gentlemen," Mrs. Jenkins said.
The bell rang. Jake bolted toward the door.
"Mr. Sullivan, get back here," Mrs. Jenkins said. But, he was already gone.
He pushed his way through the students that were crowding the halls. His head was pounding. They were all moving in slow motion. He suddenly knew what he was hearing. It was the blood coursing through their bodies. The noise was deafening.
BOOM-BOOM.....BOOM-BOOM.....BOOM-BOOM....BOOM-BOOM......BOOM-BOOM......
He went into the library. He knew no one would be in there. The school had cut so much, that they didn't even have a librarian. He pushed the door open, and stumbled to the back of the room, in between some large bookcases. He fell to the ground, and lay on his side.
The world was spinning. His head was pounding. He needed to get out of there. He was able to pull himself up onto all fours. He held himself there for a moment, and then threw up. A lot. After a moment he fell face down into it, and passed out.
The bell woke him.
He laid there, covered in his own vomit, for another 15 minutes.
Gotta get home, he thought. Gotta get home.
He pulled himself up. He had no balance. He ambled his way over to the door, and pushed his way into the hallway. He wasn't sure where he was going.
He kept stumbling down the hallway, until he heard a voice.
"SULLIVAN!!!"
It was coming from the other end of the hall. It was Mike Elliot.
He came at Jake.
"Did you think I would forget, Sullivan?" he said.
Jake just stared at him.
"Huh?' he said.
"Did you think I would forget that I was gonna kick your ass?"
Jake just shook his head.
"I....Uhhhh....." he answered slowly.
Mike pushed him, and he slammed against the wall.
"Did you think you could grab Tricia, like that, and get away with it?"
Jake didn't answer. He couldn't, anymore.
Mike slammed him against the wall, again.
"Now, you're gonna pay, you sick fuck!!" he said.
Jake just stared at him.
"What's the matter, pussy?" Mike said. "Don't you have anything to say?"
He grabbed Jake by the shirt, and held him against the wall. Jake grabbed onto his hands, leaned his head down, and bit down on his right index finger.
Mike screamed.
Jake held on as hard as he could. When Mike tried to pull back, he bit down as hard as he could until the finger came off in his mouth.
Mike screamed, again. He pushed Jake away from him, and fell down on his back.
"YOU FUCKING, SON OF A BITCH!!!" Mike yelled. "HOLY SHIT!!!!"
"YOU SICK, PIECE OF SHIT!!!"
He held onto his hand, and ran down the hall, away from Jake.
Jake stood there. He still had the finger in his mouth. The blood oozed down his mouth, to his chin, and onto his clothes. He spit the finger out, onto the floor, wiped his chin off, and licked the blood from his hand. He turned and stumbled down the hall, to the stairs, and headed down. His body moved slowly, and his walk had no balance.
"Mr. Sullivan," he heard a voice say.
It was his economics teacher, Mr. Williams.
"Did you forget that you were supposed to come see me, after school?"
Jake stared at him.
"Let's go," Mr. Williams said. He turned, walked into the classroom, and left the door open behind him.
Jake stumbled for the door. When he got into the classroom Mr. Williams was at the board.
"Have a seat," he said. "We're going to go over everything you decided to nap through during class, today."
He turned, and started writing on the board.
Jake ambled forward. He moved past the desk, and toward the teacher. When he got to him, he pushed Mr. Williams against the wall, grabbed him from behind, and dug his teeth into the side of his neck.
Mr. Williams screemed.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH.......JAKE!!!!!!!!!!!!"
His mouth filled with his teacher's warm blood, and he bit down harder. He felt good for the first time, all day. He pulled back, grabbed the teacher's head, and slammed it against the chalkboard, cracking open his skull. He let the body fall to the ground. Then, he bent down, and pulled the broken pieces of skull back, and started digging for the brain.
Jake Sullivan no longer existed.
For that matter neither did Mr. Williams.
About two hours later, Mike Elliot was sitting in a bed, in the emergency room. His hand was wrapped in gauze, and he had an IV attached to his arm. He was talking to the police.
"We couldn't find the finger," the officer said. "Sorry, son."
"You've gotta catch that sick bastard," Mike said. "He's nuts."
"You don't know how right you are."
"What do you mean?' Mike was starting to feel tired from the IV.
"You may have gotten off, easy," the officer said. "If we have the time right, after he....uh....bit your finger off, he went into a classroom and murdered one of your teachers. It was pretty violent, from what we could tell."
"Jesus Christ," Mike said.
"Yeah," the officer replied. "You try and get some rest. If we have any more questions, we'll be in touch."
The officer left.
Mike closed his eyes. The drugs were helping, but his hand still hurt like hell. He didn't even want to think about what this meant to his team, or his future. He just wanted to go to sleep, but he couldn't. His head was throbbing.
boom-boom....boom-boom....boom-boom....boom-boom....boom-boom...............
Friday, September 5, 2008
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
A Blogger Writes His Ticket To Hell....Probably Gets A Window Seat
I think that God owes the media an apology.
You see, we in the media require a certain amount of suffering in order to make our money. On a good day, there will be GREAT human suffering. In the event of GREAT human suffering, we get to jack up our ad rates, and make even more money. Then, we can all buy new cars.
However, when CERTAIN SUPREME BEINGS put together a massive storm, and lead us to believe that there will be GREAT human suffering, but seem to lose interest at the last minute, that costs us money. I don't wanna mention any names....GOD......But, we mobilized, and sent our best reporters to New Orleans, for what amounted to nothing more than some heavy rain. Thanks for nothing.
No people stuck on top of their houses.
No video of animals desperately swimming for their lives.
No rape or murder in the Superdome.
No "money" shots of small children, clearly abandoned by their families, sitting in the street, crying.
AND, perhaps worst of all, no Sean Penn. We had our second unit teams camped outside Sean Penn's house, waiting to see when he was going to charter his own jet, and fly down to New Orleans, hop into a dinky row boat, and try to save people. A truly compassionate God would have, at the very least, sent Sean Penn there. It would have given us something to do.
No, we in the media got nothing. You could see it in the eyes of the reporters for the past couple of days. They looked like the kid who was sure he was getting a new bike for Christmas, yet opened up a 3 volume set of the Encyclopedia Britannica, with a faux oak display case for easy access. I thought they were going to cry.
It is time that God started realizing that we, in the media, have children to feed, too. We have mortgages to pay. Car payments to make. Food to buy. A little consideration for OUR needs would be nice. We are willing to work out a deal, if necessary.
Here's what WE need. The media works in a "Four Quarter" year. Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall. God, if you could arrange a major, domestic disaster, with great loss of life, possible minority involvement (Hispanic would be best since we are getting killed by Telemundo), in an impoverished area to maximize death/destruction, THAT would be great. Ideally, these "disasters" would come during the Fall and Spring periods, as that is when we set our ad rates. Anything where we could put stars from our new line-up would be super. Preferably during a warmer time, as we could get the girls from "Gossip Girl" in bikinis.
During the Winter/Summer months, you (God) could provide us with a similar-type disaster, in an impoverished nation that no one has ever heard of/been to. If it happened in a place where the weather was nice, that would be super, as it tends to get a little cold in certain parts of the U.S. during the winter. Baring that, a celebrity murder during this time period would be workable. It does, though, have to be a "beloved" celebrity. For example, OJ was beloved. Phil Spector was not. We got A LOT of mileage out of OJ. Not so much, with Spector. If this is a possibility, God, please think Tom Hanks/Ron Howard/Barry Manilow.
In return for your cooperation on this, we in the media would be happy to play that Mel Gibson movie, where they beat the holy crap out of your son, for two hours. As ad rates are down this year, though, we would insist on "digitally enhancing" the movie, in order to provide a minimal amount of "product placement." This would more than help to cover our losses, after you dropped the ball on the whole "Gustav" thing. For example:
Guy #1: Let's beat him some more!!
Guy #2: Yeah!!! Then, let's crucify him!!!!
Digitally Added Guy: Yeah!!! And, let's do it with lumber we bought at Home Depot....Home Depot. You can do it. We can help.
Or, how about this:
Woman: They're killing Jesus. We have to help.
Man: If we try, they'll just kill us, too.
Digitally Added Guy: Why don't we sit back, and talk about this over a nice bowl of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup.......Campbell's Soup is mmmmm-mmmmmm good.
Of course, the details would have to be worked out, and we understand that. We also realize that many of us dodged a bullet, by NOT having to go to the Republican National Convention.
Before we move forward, we in the media would like to offer this bit of advice to God. While you have a good amount of experience running a universe, we find your programming instincts to be severely lacking. So, just remember this:
Boobs, babes, sex, dead babies, destruction, natural disasters, corrupt politicians, and racial unrest = MONEY
Happy people, sunshine, puppies, kittens, long walks in the park, and ugly people = WE ARE LOOKING FOR A NEW NETWORK EXECTUTIVE.
Don't consider this in any way, shape, or form a threat. We don't WANT to have to find a new God......But, that doesn't mean that we won't.
You see, we in the media require a certain amount of suffering in order to make our money. On a good day, there will be GREAT human suffering. In the event of GREAT human suffering, we get to jack up our ad rates, and make even more money. Then, we can all buy new cars.
However, when CERTAIN SUPREME BEINGS put together a massive storm, and lead us to believe that there will be GREAT human suffering, but seem to lose interest at the last minute, that costs us money. I don't wanna mention any names....GOD......But, we mobilized, and sent our best reporters to New Orleans, for what amounted to nothing more than some heavy rain. Thanks for nothing.
No people stuck on top of their houses.
No video of animals desperately swimming for their lives.
No rape or murder in the Superdome.
No "money" shots of small children, clearly abandoned by their families, sitting in the street, crying.
AND, perhaps worst of all, no Sean Penn. We had our second unit teams camped outside Sean Penn's house, waiting to see when he was going to charter his own jet, and fly down to New Orleans, hop into a dinky row boat, and try to save people. A truly compassionate God would have, at the very least, sent Sean Penn there. It would have given us something to do.
No, we in the media got nothing. You could see it in the eyes of the reporters for the past couple of days. They looked like the kid who was sure he was getting a new bike for Christmas, yet opened up a 3 volume set of the Encyclopedia Britannica, with a faux oak display case for easy access. I thought they were going to cry.
It is time that God started realizing that we, in the media, have children to feed, too. We have mortgages to pay. Car payments to make. Food to buy. A little consideration for OUR needs would be nice. We are willing to work out a deal, if necessary.
Here's what WE need. The media works in a "Four Quarter" year. Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall. God, if you could arrange a major, domestic disaster, with great loss of life, possible minority involvement (Hispanic would be best since we are getting killed by Telemundo), in an impoverished area to maximize death/destruction, THAT would be great. Ideally, these "disasters" would come during the Fall and Spring periods, as that is when we set our ad rates. Anything where we could put stars from our new line-up would be super. Preferably during a warmer time, as we could get the girls from "Gossip Girl" in bikinis.
During the Winter/Summer months, you (God) could provide us with a similar-type disaster, in an impoverished nation that no one has ever heard of/been to. If it happened in a place where the weather was nice, that would be super, as it tends to get a little cold in certain parts of the U.S. during the winter. Baring that, a celebrity murder during this time period would be workable. It does, though, have to be a "beloved" celebrity. For example, OJ was beloved. Phil Spector was not. We got A LOT of mileage out of OJ. Not so much, with Spector. If this is a possibility, God, please think Tom Hanks/Ron Howard/Barry Manilow.
In return for your cooperation on this, we in the media would be happy to play that Mel Gibson movie, where they beat the holy crap out of your son, for two hours. As ad rates are down this year, though, we would insist on "digitally enhancing" the movie, in order to provide a minimal amount of "product placement." This would more than help to cover our losses, after you dropped the ball on the whole "Gustav" thing. For example:
Guy #1: Let's beat him some more!!
Guy #2: Yeah!!! Then, let's crucify him!!!!
Digitally Added Guy: Yeah!!! And, let's do it with lumber we bought at Home Depot....Home Depot. You can do it. We can help.
Or, how about this:
Woman: They're killing Jesus. We have to help.
Man: If we try, they'll just kill us, too.
Digitally Added Guy: Why don't we sit back, and talk about this over a nice bowl of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup.......Campbell's Soup is mmmmm-mmmmmm good.
Of course, the details would have to be worked out, and we understand that. We also realize that many of us dodged a bullet, by NOT having to go to the Republican National Convention.
Before we move forward, we in the media would like to offer this bit of advice to God. While you have a good amount of experience running a universe, we find your programming instincts to be severely lacking. So, just remember this:
Boobs, babes, sex, dead babies, destruction, natural disasters, corrupt politicians, and racial unrest = MONEY
Happy people, sunshine, puppies, kittens, long walks in the park, and ugly people = WE ARE LOOKING FOR A NEW NETWORK EXECTUTIVE.
Don't consider this in any way, shape, or form a threat. We don't WANT to have to find a new God......But, that doesn't mean that we won't.
Monday, August 25, 2008
EAT LEAD, JUSTICE LEAGUE!!!!
I got bitten by a spider, or some multi-legged creature, this past weekend.
So, you are probably wondering how my super powers are coming along.
Not so good.
I still have to wear glasses.
My body mass is still, shall we say, squishy....at best.
My web making abilities are taking a little longer to come in than I had hoped.
When I was working in my basement, instead of being able to SEE the boxes starting to fall and being able to leap out of harms way, they just sort of fell on my head.
I am not climbing any walls.
AND, Kirsten Dunst has not returned a single one of my phone calls. In fact, based on some certified letters I have received, I don't think she'll be coming over anytime soon, and being forced to stay 500 feet away is NOT conducive to making out.
I'll begin saving the world as soon as everything kicks in. As much as I can, anyway. Seriously, if he was really that big of a pain in the ass, to villains, why didn't they just shoot him? He wasn't bulletproof. Sure, he has spider senses. But, I imagine that's only really effective against one, maybe two guns. If he's right there, just get a bunch of guys with machine guns to blow him away. Done. Now you can get back to your evil doing ways.
If you think about it, guns would really solve most of your basic superhero problems.
The Green Lantern?
Basically, just a guy with a ring. A ring that has to be charged. When he puts his ring on the charger, BAM. Done. No more Green Lantern.
Aquaman?
We've been over this one. He's barely a superhero as it is. Honestly, I might save the bullet. But, if you have to do it, wait until he's out of the water. He's useless. Kind of like me, if you need anything physical done. BAM. No more Aquaman.
Batman?
This one creates a problem for some. Apparently, his biggest power is that he's REALLY smart. So, yeah...He's smart....Can he think a bullet away? No? Really? Didn't think so. What's that you say? The suit? He doesn't always wear the suit. Sometimes he's Bruce Wayne. BAM. No more Bruce Wayne equals no more Batman.
The Flash creates a problem. As soon as he heard the gun cock, he'd run like the tights-wearing-sissy that he is. But, really, is that a problem?
Bad Guy #1: Now, we'll launch our master plan to take over the world!!!!!
Bad Guy #2: Yeah. The governments will kneel before us.....Oh no.....The Flash is here!!!
Bad Guy #1: What's he doing?
Bad Guy #2: Just.....sort of.....running around, really.
Bad Guy #1: Oh....Well....Granted, that's a little annoying. But, I don't think that should stop us.
Bad Guy #2: Agreed.
Bad Guy #1: Can we shoot him?
Bad Guy #2: I think he's too fast.
Bad Guy #1: Okay......Whatever.....Let's do this thing.
Superman, of course, creates a problem. He's bulletproof. You can shoot at him all day, and he'll just get bored. Luckily, every boneheaded criminal on the planet seems to be able to get their hands on kryptonite. The common flaw is that they ALL do something stupid.
Bad Guy #1: Where'd you get the kryptonite?
Bad Guy #2: Ebay. I outbid this guy from a comic book store in New Brunswick, New Jersey.
Bad Guy #1: Good job.
Bad Guy #2: Thanks. It was more than I wanted to pay. But, I figured that, since we were trying to take over the world, it would be a good thing to kill Superman.
Bad Guy #1: Yep. Well, I guess we should go and get started.
Bad Guy #2: Are you sure? I don't think he's dead yet.
Bad Guy #1: Oh, he's mostly dead.
Bad Guy #2: Shouldn't we make sure he's ALL dead? I mean, he IS Superman.
Bad Guy #1: No....Come on....I wanna get this started. Make sure you take the kryptonite off him, too.
Bad Guy #2: Why don't we just leave it on him, and make sure he dies? I mean, we don't have to be here for that.
Bad Guy #1: Why do you argue with me? It makes PERFECT sense to take the kryptonite, which we can do NOTHING with, off of him when we leave......I swear.....Sometimes I think I'm the only one here who WANTS to take over the world.
Bad Guy #2: No, no. You're right. I'm sorry. I'll take the kryptonite, which we can't use for anything else, off of the MOSTLY dead superhero, and we can go. What could POSSIBLY go wrong?
Bad Guy #1: Thank you. I'm sorry I snapped.
Bad Guy #2: It's okay. I understand. The stress of taking over the world, and all.
Bad Guy #1: Where is The Flash?
Bad Guy #2: Uhhhhhh....Still just, kind of, runnin' around out there.
Bad Guy #1: Okay, good.
That's not how I would do it. I would leave the kryptonite ON Superman, and just let him fade away and die. Then, I would rule the world, and you would ALL be forced to talk like Kermit the Frog, and watch "Mystery Science Theater 3000" for the rest of your lives. Would that be so bad?
Someone just asked me about Wonder Woman, because she has those bracelets. That's simple. She only has 2 bracelets. If I bring 3 guns, I fail to see the problem in taking her out.
I believe that, if I have done nothing else, I have proven that there aren't many superhero-related problems that a gun can't solve. Personally, I don't have a gun. I would shoot myself. Not on purpose, mind you. But, I would play with it, or something, and shoot myself in the head. However, based on today's blog, this may be an improvement.
So, barring that, I will have to depend on my pending super spider powers to save you ALL from evil!!!!
Right now, these powers consist of nothing more than a small, itchy welt on my left arm.
I don't think this will instill fear in the hearts of the bad guys......Even though it's REALLY itchy.
Maybe I'll just buy a gun.
Casey
So, you are probably wondering how my super powers are coming along.
Not so good.
I still have to wear glasses.
My body mass is still, shall we say, squishy....at best.
My web making abilities are taking a little longer to come in than I had hoped.
When I was working in my basement, instead of being able to SEE the boxes starting to fall and being able to leap out of harms way, they just sort of fell on my head.
I am not climbing any walls.
AND, Kirsten Dunst has not returned a single one of my phone calls. In fact, based on some certified letters I have received, I don't think she'll be coming over anytime soon, and being forced to stay 500 feet away is NOT conducive to making out.
I'll begin saving the world as soon as everything kicks in. As much as I can, anyway. Seriously, if he was really that big of a pain in the ass, to villains, why didn't they just shoot him? He wasn't bulletproof. Sure, he has spider senses. But, I imagine that's only really effective against one, maybe two guns. If he's right there, just get a bunch of guys with machine guns to blow him away. Done. Now you can get back to your evil doing ways.
If you think about it, guns would really solve most of your basic superhero problems.
The Green Lantern?
Basically, just a guy with a ring. A ring that has to be charged. When he puts his ring on the charger, BAM. Done. No more Green Lantern.
Aquaman?
We've been over this one. He's barely a superhero as it is. Honestly, I might save the bullet. But, if you have to do it, wait until he's out of the water. He's useless. Kind of like me, if you need anything physical done. BAM. No more Aquaman.
Batman?
This one creates a problem for some. Apparently, his biggest power is that he's REALLY smart. So, yeah...He's smart....Can he think a bullet away? No? Really? Didn't think so. What's that you say? The suit? He doesn't always wear the suit. Sometimes he's Bruce Wayne. BAM. No more Bruce Wayne equals no more Batman.
The Flash creates a problem. As soon as he heard the gun cock, he'd run like the tights-wearing-sissy that he is. But, really, is that a problem?
Bad Guy #1: Now, we'll launch our master plan to take over the world!!!!!
Bad Guy #2: Yeah. The governments will kneel before us.....Oh no.....The Flash is here!!!
Bad Guy #1: What's he doing?
Bad Guy #2: Just.....sort of.....running around, really.
Bad Guy #1: Oh....Well....Granted, that's a little annoying. But, I don't think that should stop us.
Bad Guy #2: Agreed.
Bad Guy #1: Can we shoot him?
Bad Guy #2: I think he's too fast.
Bad Guy #1: Okay......Whatever.....Let's do this thing.
Superman, of course, creates a problem. He's bulletproof. You can shoot at him all day, and he'll just get bored. Luckily, every boneheaded criminal on the planet seems to be able to get their hands on kryptonite. The common flaw is that they ALL do something stupid.
Bad Guy #1: Where'd you get the kryptonite?
Bad Guy #2: Ebay. I outbid this guy from a comic book store in New Brunswick, New Jersey.
Bad Guy #1: Good job.
Bad Guy #2: Thanks. It was more than I wanted to pay. But, I figured that, since we were trying to take over the world, it would be a good thing to kill Superman.
Bad Guy #1: Yep. Well, I guess we should go and get started.
Bad Guy #2: Are you sure? I don't think he's dead yet.
Bad Guy #1: Oh, he's mostly dead.
Bad Guy #2: Shouldn't we make sure he's ALL dead? I mean, he IS Superman.
Bad Guy #1: No....Come on....I wanna get this started. Make sure you take the kryptonite off him, too.
Bad Guy #2: Why don't we just leave it on him, and make sure he dies? I mean, we don't have to be here for that.
Bad Guy #1: Why do you argue with me? It makes PERFECT sense to take the kryptonite, which we can do NOTHING with, off of him when we leave......I swear.....Sometimes I think I'm the only one here who WANTS to take over the world.
Bad Guy #2: No, no. You're right. I'm sorry. I'll take the kryptonite, which we can't use for anything else, off of the MOSTLY dead superhero, and we can go. What could POSSIBLY go wrong?
Bad Guy #1: Thank you. I'm sorry I snapped.
Bad Guy #2: It's okay. I understand. The stress of taking over the world, and all.
Bad Guy #1: Where is The Flash?
Bad Guy #2: Uhhhhhh....Still just, kind of, runnin' around out there.
Bad Guy #1: Okay, good.
That's not how I would do it. I would leave the kryptonite ON Superman, and just let him fade away and die. Then, I would rule the world, and you would ALL be forced to talk like Kermit the Frog, and watch "Mystery Science Theater 3000" for the rest of your lives. Would that be so bad?
Someone just asked me about Wonder Woman, because she has those bracelets. That's simple. She only has 2 bracelets. If I bring 3 guns, I fail to see the problem in taking her out.
I believe that, if I have done nothing else, I have proven that there aren't many superhero-related problems that a gun can't solve. Personally, I don't have a gun. I would shoot myself. Not on purpose, mind you. But, I would play with it, or something, and shoot myself in the head. However, based on today's blog, this may be an improvement.
So, barring that, I will have to depend on my pending super spider powers to save you ALL from evil!!!!
Right now, these powers consist of nothing more than a small, itchy welt on my left arm.
I don't think this will instill fear in the hearts of the bad guys......Even though it's REALLY itchy.
Maybe I'll just buy a gun.
Casey
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Boxing Casey
I'm about to become an amputee.
I know that some people find that sexy. But, I don't think I'm going to lose one of my "sexy" appendages. What are the sexy appendages, anyway? I would think, maybe, the legs? Could be kind of a power trip. With no legs, they can't get away, right? You are in complete control. So, if you're into that sort of thing, I would think you would want someone without legs. But, this is just off the top of my head. I haven't done any actual research. I know there are "fetish" websites, and such. But, I'm too embarrassed to look at them. So, I'll just go with my gut. Legs.
I did see that movie, "Boxing Helana," though. It's nothing I want to pursue, but a Sherilyn Fenn with no arms or legs, dressed in lingerie, and propped up in a box, does have a certain measure of appeal.
Hmmmmmmm........
Perhaps this could be a lesson in how we should not rush to judgement. However, I doubt most amputees look like Sherilyn Fenn. But, again, I don't KNOW this because I don't go to those sites. Maybe I should. Just once. You know. For Research.
What was I talking about?
Oh, yeah.....
I'm about to lose my thumb.
You see, over the weekend, I was attacked by a giant, mutant piece of wood, which launched a splinter deep within the soft, white, underbelly of my left thumb.
I can't get it out.
It is, at this point in time, a nice, bright, glowing hue of red. Which I think means that it is infected.
I tried biting at it, but that did no good. All I accomplished, there, was tasting my own blood. (Kinda salty. In case you were wondering.)
So, I went high-tech. Tweezers. All this allowed me to do was see more of my blood (No. I did not go back for seconds.) After a period of time, I became, to use a medical term, "WOOZY." So, before I passed out, i decided to stop performing medical procedures on myself. This will become more common, if we ever get universal healthcare, where they encourage you to "self diagnose." But, for now, I opted to stop while I still had some feeling in my thumb.
The latest "procedure" that people are suggesting is using a needle. Apparently, in this ultra safe method, you super heat a random sewing needle, with FIRE, and then dig it into your flesh until the offending splinter starts laughing so hard at your stupidity, that it comes shooting out of your body. I'm gonna hold off on this one.
I wouldn't mind, so much, losing my thumb if this had come from a piece of my own wood. It didn't. I was cleaning out the garage, over the weekend, and had to dig through several boxes of other people's stuff, which my wife has forced me to move from house, to house, to house over the years. One can only assume that this was part of her master plan. Hoping that, at some point, I would do something stupid, and one of the pieces of junk would actually kill me. Playing the odds, it's actually not a bad plan. I do many stupid things.
So, from every house we have ever lived in, we have packed the worthless crap that OTHER people were smart enough to leave behind, and brought it with us.
We have a set of ugly curtains, that people have intentionally left behind, from every house we have ever lived in. We don't put them up. They're ugly. That's why the people left them behind.
We have two sets of patio furniture. TWO. Most people don't have one. We have two. One came from Michigan, and the other came from South Carolina. Other people left these behind. We took 'em. Cuz, you know, you NEVER know when you're going to need an extra set of ugly patio furniture.
That's just the tip of the iceburg. We have boxes of crap, that other people didn't want, but HAD to keep. My wife's justification for all of this is a charitable one. When I ask her if we can throw this stuff away, she says no. When I ask why, she says that we will donate it. When my wife says that we will "donate it," this is actually code for "We will keep it, and spend thousands of dollars moving it all over the country, in the hope that it will eventually kill you."
The problem is that it took too long for me to figure this out.
So, Sunday, as I was innocently moving a pile of old shelves, that do not belong to us, I was viscously attacked by a plank of wood.
Now I have a splinter.....
That is throbbing.....
And turning bright red.....
And poisoning my blood.....
And my thumb is, almost literally, dangling by a small thread of flesh, that is barely connected to my hand.
For the rest of my life, I will drop EVERYTHING that I try to pick up with my left hand. Which is probably why a "thumb amputee" is not even remotely sexy.
It's gotta be the legs.
I think I'm gonna go check out some of those websites.
Research purposes only. I swear.
Casey
I know that some people find that sexy. But, I don't think I'm going to lose one of my "sexy" appendages. What are the sexy appendages, anyway? I would think, maybe, the legs? Could be kind of a power trip. With no legs, they can't get away, right? You are in complete control. So, if you're into that sort of thing, I would think you would want someone without legs. But, this is just off the top of my head. I haven't done any actual research. I know there are "fetish" websites, and such. But, I'm too embarrassed to look at them. So, I'll just go with my gut. Legs.
I did see that movie, "Boxing Helana," though. It's nothing I want to pursue, but a Sherilyn Fenn with no arms or legs, dressed in lingerie, and propped up in a box, does have a certain measure of appeal.
Hmmmmmmm........
Perhaps this could be a lesson in how we should not rush to judgement. However, I doubt most amputees look like Sherilyn Fenn. But, again, I don't KNOW this because I don't go to those sites. Maybe I should. Just once. You know. For Research.
What was I talking about?
Oh, yeah.....
I'm about to lose my thumb.
You see, over the weekend, I was attacked by a giant, mutant piece of wood, which launched a splinter deep within the soft, white, underbelly of my left thumb.
I can't get it out.
It is, at this point in time, a nice, bright, glowing hue of red. Which I think means that it is infected.
I tried biting at it, but that did no good. All I accomplished, there, was tasting my own blood. (Kinda salty. In case you were wondering.)
So, I went high-tech. Tweezers. All this allowed me to do was see more of my blood (No. I did not go back for seconds.) After a period of time, I became, to use a medical term, "WOOZY." So, before I passed out, i decided to stop performing medical procedures on myself. This will become more common, if we ever get universal healthcare, where they encourage you to "self diagnose." But, for now, I opted to stop while I still had some feeling in my thumb.
The latest "procedure" that people are suggesting is using a needle. Apparently, in this ultra safe method, you super heat a random sewing needle, with FIRE, and then dig it into your flesh until the offending splinter starts laughing so hard at your stupidity, that it comes shooting out of your body. I'm gonna hold off on this one.
I wouldn't mind, so much, losing my thumb if this had come from a piece of my own wood. It didn't. I was cleaning out the garage, over the weekend, and had to dig through several boxes of other people's stuff, which my wife has forced me to move from house, to house, to house over the years. One can only assume that this was part of her master plan. Hoping that, at some point, I would do something stupid, and one of the pieces of junk would actually kill me. Playing the odds, it's actually not a bad plan. I do many stupid things.
So, from every house we have ever lived in, we have packed the worthless crap that OTHER people were smart enough to leave behind, and brought it with us.
We have a set of ugly curtains, that people have intentionally left behind, from every house we have ever lived in. We don't put them up. They're ugly. That's why the people left them behind.
We have two sets of patio furniture. TWO. Most people don't have one. We have two. One came from Michigan, and the other came from South Carolina. Other people left these behind. We took 'em. Cuz, you know, you NEVER know when you're going to need an extra set of ugly patio furniture.
That's just the tip of the iceburg. We have boxes of crap, that other people didn't want, but HAD to keep. My wife's justification for all of this is a charitable one. When I ask her if we can throw this stuff away, she says no. When I ask why, she says that we will donate it. When my wife says that we will "donate it," this is actually code for "We will keep it, and spend thousands of dollars moving it all over the country, in the hope that it will eventually kill you."
The problem is that it took too long for me to figure this out.
So, Sunday, as I was innocently moving a pile of old shelves, that do not belong to us, I was viscously attacked by a plank of wood.
Now I have a splinter.....
That is throbbing.....
And turning bright red.....
And poisoning my blood.....
And my thumb is, almost literally, dangling by a small thread of flesh, that is barely connected to my hand.
For the rest of my life, I will drop EVERYTHING that I try to pick up with my left hand. Which is probably why a "thumb amputee" is not even remotely sexy.
It's gotta be the legs.
I think I'm gonna go check out some of those websites.
Research purposes only. I swear.
Casey
Friday, August 15, 2008
Well We're Movin' On Up.......To The East Side
Moving is a joy, and I highly recommend it to everybody.
In truth, I feel a little guilty. I mean, YOU haven't been able to experience the orgasmic pleasures that I've been able to engage in over the last several days. Don't be fooled. Some people will tell you that moving is a horrible experience. These people have NO sense of adventure.
Seriously, do you REALLY think that it's NOT exciting to have a small group of illegal immigrants come into your home, and place all your personal goods into cardboard boxes?
You don't?
Well, you're just crazy.
Personally, I have spent sleepless nights, dreaming about the possibility of a slimy, illegal thing handling my underwear. That's just fun is what that is!!!!
Then, when the "quality" individuals come to actually load your things onto a truck, that is a thrill in and of itself.
Me: They had to bring that in through the garage. Are you going to be able to fit it through the door?
Mover Guy: If we can't do it easily, we'll force it.
Me: Well, okay.....Wait.....What?
Mover Guy: We'll force it. You bought the insurance, right?
Me: Insurance? I....Uhhh.....
Mover Guy: You can buff a lot of the scratches right out.
Me: Uhhh....I don't think that's right.
Mover Guy: Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know that you were a PROFESSIONAL mover, like myself.
Me: Well, no. I talk on the radio.
Mover Guy: Oh....I'm sorry....Were all the heterosexual jobs taken?
Me: Shut up.
Then, after a series of VERY uncomfortable crashes, and scrapings, your stuff is on a large truck!!! Shoved in, good and tight, like the way you used to clean your room by shoving everything into the closet, and slamming the door real quick before it would come exploding out!!!!!
Then the journey REALLY begins.
Me: Well, we'll see you guys in New Jersey.
Mover Guy: (shuffling paperwork) Uhhh.....New Jersey?
Me: Yeah....We're moving to New Jersey.
Mover Guy: New Jersey.....That's......Sort of.....East-ish, right?
Me: East-ish?
Mover Guy: West-ish?
Me: This is gonna go good. I can feel it.
Mover guy: North-ish?
Me: Stop it.
After a stressful two days, with several frantic phone calls from the movers, your stuff arrives at your new home. You aren't a hundred percent certain, but you're pretty sure that the driver had NO idea that he had made it to the right house. Rather, he saw you standing outside your home, recognized you, and slammed on his breaks. Dumb luck. Either way, your stuff is here.
Now, you expect to have 215 boxes, containing most of your life, place in the room where they need to be. But, then you remember that illegal aliens......possibly illegal SPACE aliens......packed your stuff. So, when you look at the boxes, and try to determine which rooms they go in, you realize that they don't have any actual words on them. Rather, it's more of a collection of random letters that don't really mean anything. (Sort of like this blog, only funnier.)
So, because of this, you end up having several conversations with your wife that go like this:
Wife: Do you know which box the Tivo cord is in?
Me: No.
Wife: THE TIVO CORD!
Me: I heard you. I just don't know where it is.
Wife: It's about 3 feet long.
Me: There are 215 boxes, marked with made up words.....You see how this information doesn't help me, don't you?
Wife: It goes to the Tivo!!
Me: I sense that we aren't communicating.
Wife: You're an idiot.
Me: I understood that.
Wife: Well, then we are communicating just fine.
Then, if you are REALLY lucky, you bought a house with a pool. AND, if you are REALLY, super, neo, maxi-zoomed lucky, like me, YOUR DOG decides to take a dip in the pool......Your dog who can't swim......And, since you got out of the "doggie-snuff" film business YEARS ago, you get to jump into the pool, at around midnight, and save your dog. Mind you, this dog would NOT save you. This particular dog would probably bring the bullets to your execution, because it still blames you for putting ear medication in her ears, almost two years ago!! But, you do it. Mainly because your wife would get mad, seeing a dead dog in the pool, and she already hates you. Why pour gas on a fire?
After the movers leave, and you've placed your dog on suicide watch (just to be safe), you settle down. You find solace in the fact that all your stuff is now in one place. You try and close your eyes, and get in a little rest.....
Then, your wife screams from upstairs that you STILL haven't found the Tivo cord.
And you wish someone would pack you in a box, write make believe words on it, and take you someplace else.
Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to go look for the Tivo cord....So I can choke my self with it.
Casey
In truth, I feel a little guilty. I mean, YOU haven't been able to experience the orgasmic pleasures that I've been able to engage in over the last several days. Don't be fooled. Some people will tell you that moving is a horrible experience. These people have NO sense of adventure.
Seriously, do you REALLY think that it's NOT exciting to have a small group of illegal immigrants come into your home, and place all your personal goods into cardboard boxes?
You don't?
Well, you're just crazy.
Personally, I have spent sleepless nights, dreaming about the possibility of a slimy, illegal thing handling my underwear. That's just fun is what that is!!!!
Then, when the "quality" individuals come to actually load your things onto a truck, that is a thrill in and of itself.
Me: They had to bring that in through the garage. Are you going to be able to fit it through the door?
Mover Guy: If we can't do it easily, we'll force it.
Me: Well, okay.....Wait.....What?
Mover Guy: We'll force it. You bought the insurance, right?
Me: Insurance? I....Uhhh.....
Mover Guy: You can buff a lot of the scratches right out.
Me: Uhhh....I don't think that's right.
Mover Guy: Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know that you were a PROFESSIONAL mover, like myself.
Me: Well, no. I talk on the radio.
Mover Guy: Oh....I'm sorry....Were all the heterosexual jobs taken?
Me: Shut up.
Then, after a series of VERY uncomfortable crashes, and scrapings, your stuff is on a large truck!!! Shoved in, good and tight, like the way you used to clean your room by shoving everything into the closet, and slamming the door real quick before it would come exploding out!!!!!
Then the journey REALLY begins.
Me: Well, we'll see you guys in New Jersey.
Mover Guy: (shuffling paperwork) Uhhh.....New Jersey?
Me: Yeah....We're moving to New Jersey.
Mover Guy: New Jersey.....That's......Sort of.....East-ish, right?
Me: East-ish?
Mover Guy: West-ish?
Me: This is gonna go good. I can feel it.
Mover guy: North-ish?
Me: Stop it.
After a stressful two days, with several frantic phone calls from the movers, your stuff arrives at your new home. You aren't a hundred percent certain, but you're pretty sure that the driver had NO idea that he had made it to the right house. Rather, he saw you standing outside your home, recognized you, and slammed on his breaks. Dumb luck. Either way, your stuff is here.
Now, you expect to have 215 boxes, containing most of your life, place in the room where they need to be. But, then you remember that illegal aliens......possibly illegal SPACE aliens......packed your stuff. So, when you look at the boxes, and try to determine which rooms they go in, you realize that they don't have any actual words on them. Rather, it's more of a collection of random letters that don't really mean anything. (Sort of like this blog, only funnier.)
So, because of this, you end up having several conversations with your wife that go like this:
Wife: Do you know which box the Tivo cord is in?
Me: No.
Wife: THE TIVO CORD!
Me: I heard you. I just don't know where it is.
Wife: It's about 3 feet long.
Me: There are 215 boxes, marked with made up words.....You see how this information doesn't help me, don't you?
Wife: It goes to the Tivo!!
Me: I sense that we aren't communicating.
Wife: You're an idiot.
Me: I understood that.
Wife: Well, then we are communicating just fine.
Then, if you are REALLY lucky, you bought a house with a pool. AND, if you are REALLY, super, neo, maxi-zoomed lucky, like me, YOUR DOG decides to take a dip in the pool......Your dog who can't swim......And, since you got out of the "doggie-snuff" film business YEARS ago, you get to jump into the pool, at around midnight, and save your dog. Mind you, this dog would NOT save you. This particular dog would probably bring the bullets to your execution, because it still blames you for putting ear medication in her ears, almost two years ago!! But, you do it. Mainly because your wife would get mad, seeing a dead dog in the pool, and she already hates you. Why pour gas on a fire?
After the movers leave, and you've placed your dog on suicide watch (just to be safe), you settle down. You find solace in the fact that all your stuff is now in one place. You try and close your eyes, and get in a little rest.....
Then, your wife screams from upstairs that you STILL haven't found the Tivo cord.
And you wish someone would pack you in a box, write make believe words on it, and take you someplace else.
Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to go look for the Tivo cord....So I can choke my self with it.
Casey
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Semi-blog
This doesn't really count as a blog. This is just the first time that I've had access to a computer in close to a week.
My stuff is here, in Mt Laurel. My family is not yet here. It's just me and my father-in-law, right now. He doesn't talk much. Just stares at me, and mutters. I can't be certain, but I'm pretty sure I heard the word "whimp" when I was moving a particularly heavy box. Normally he calls me "blister," because he says I show up when the work is done. I don't think he understands that I don't have a "real" job, where "real" work is done. Every so often he looks at me and says, "Let me get this straight, they pay you to do what?"
Once I am unpacked, I am planning things for the blog. I've had a recent burst of inspiration. There will be the usual cartoon that is my life. But, there will also be an online novel. Plus, something a little more warped. I may even start a seperate website for that. I have to figure out how to do that. People always tell me that it's easy to start a website. Then, they start talking about it. This causes my mind to shut down, and I go to my happy place, which is currently on a couch, watching "Entourage," and weird kids programming. But, I'll get there.
I come back to work on Tuesday. I haven't yelled at anyone in over a week, so I might be a little bit on edge. I would yell at my father-in-law. But, I think he could kill me with his pinky.
See you in a couple of days!!
Casey
My stuff is here, in Mt Laurel. My family is not yet here. It's just me and my father-in-law, right now. He doesn't talk much. Just stares at me, and mutters. I can't be certain, but I'm pretty sure I heard the word "whimp" when I was moving a particularly heavy box. Normally he calls me "blister," because he says I show up when the work is done. I don't think he understands that I don't have a "real" job, where "real" work is done. Every so often he looks at me and says, "Let me get this straight, they pay you to do what?"
Once I am unpacked, I am planning things for the blog. I've had a recent burst of inspiration. There will be the usual cartoon that is my life. But, there will also be an online novel. Plus, something a little more warped. I may even start a seperate website for that. I have to figure out how to do that. People always tell me that it's easy to start a website. Then, they start talking about it. This causes my mind to shut down, and I go to my happy place, which is currently on a couch, watching "Entourage," and weird kids programming. But, I'll get there.
I come back to work on Tuesday. I haven't yelled at anyone in over a week, so I might be a little bit on edge. I would yell at my father-in-law. But, I think he could kill me with his pinky.
See you in a couple of days!!
Casey
Friday, July 25, 2008
Thank You, In Advance, For My Foreclosure
I'm taking Monday off so that I can place myself further into financial ruin.
I'm closing on my house.
So, in order to celebrate going several hundred thousand dollars into debt, I'm going to take a day off of work. Somehow this doesn't make sense. At a point when I need money, more than ever, I've decided NOT to go to work.
I don't own a house, now. I've owned houses in the past. But, right now, the house my family lives in is owned by my in-laws. They claim this was to help them with tax issues. I think it was so that they could control my life.
Me: I am the king of my castle!!!!
Mother-In-Law: Really? Because I was just looking at the deed, and....uh.....
Me: Shut-up.
Mother-In-Law: Don't talk to me like that in my house.
Me: I.......damn it........I'm going to my room.
Mother-In-Law: Your room?
Me: STOP IT!!!!!
My point being that, before Monday, I will have virtually no debt. Then, as if by magic, I will be thrust into a world of mortgage payments, and APR's, and re-financing, and flux capacitors', and such. And, when I say "me," I really mean "Brooke." My wife does that. I can't handle the money. I'll buy candy, and everybody knows it.
This has always been a problem with me, and money. I very rarely buy things I need (food,) but I often buy things that neither I, nor ANYONE else needs (Kermit The Frog hat.) I think my main problem is that I don't like shopping. So, I have to make it exciting. Sadly, at 38, buying a Kermit The Frog hat makes it exciting.
I suppose that I COULD buy exciting things. Lingerie? No. Can't buy that. If I buy anything for my wife, I have to do it online. I know that there are guys who CAN do that, and will make a big show of it. I'm not one of them. I think the big problem is that I'm 5'10", and my wife is 5'9". So, in my mind, anything that I buy for her LOOKS like it might fit me.......And I KNOW what they're thinking.
Lingerie Girl: Can I help you, sir?
Me: Yeah, I'm looking for something for my wife.
Lingerie Girl: Of course, sir. And, what size is your wife?
Me: I dunno. She's about my height. So.....
Lingerie Girl: Oh.......I see.
Me: Huh?
Lingerie Girl: Are you looking for something to sleep in? Or, do you want something to wear under your clothes?
Me: I.....Wait.....What?
Lingerie Girl: Do you prefer satin, or something in lace?
Me: Uhhhh....I don't think you understand.......
Lingerie Girl: (winking) Oh, I think I understand, sir. Lots of men come in for their...uh....WIVES.
Me: No....I.....I wear boxers....I'm not....
Lingerie Girl: We just got some new crotchless items in, if you're interested......
Me: NO!!! I have to go.......I have to buy.....tools......and.......things.....
So, I buy all that stuff (FOR MY WIFE!!!!) online. Then, when it arrives at my house, my wife opens it up, takes it out of the package, gives me that "knowing" look, and promptly puts it into her lingerie drawer which is where lingerie goes to die. If you listen closely, you can actually hear the garter belts screaming before she closes the door. Sad, really.
Can't blame a guy for trying.
So, I end up buying video games, and books, and candy, and such. I suppose that it's true that guys never really grow up. Especially me. I wear clothes that rarely match. Most days, I wear a baseball hat. I ALWAYS wear tennis shoes. This is why it's so odd that someone is going to loan me a pile of money to buy a house.
I wouldn't even give me a pile of money, to buy a house. I've never even MET the guy who's going to give it to me. If I had, I can't imagine that he would WANT to lend me this kind of money. There would certainly be better investments. Like......Oh.......I don't know......Setting it on fire.
When I go in, for the closing, on Monday I thought about wearing my suit. Yes, I have a suit. It's gray. That way I can wear it when someone dies, or gets married. But, I think it would be okay for a house closing. That way, the money guy would feel better about giving me money.
"Wow!!" he would say. "That gentleman in the suit is one mature, responsible, 38 year old, father of two. I have no problem loaning HIM all this money.......Wait a minute..........Is that a Pepe Le Pew tie that he's wearing?"
Sadly, yes. It is. The same one my father tied for me, two years ago and I keep pulling over my head, because I don't know how to tie a tie. I bought it when I bought the Kermit The Frog hat........AFTER I left the lingerie store......Wearing my boxers, damn it....... I SWEAR TO GOD!!!!!
Casey
I'm closing on my house.
So, in order to celebrate going several hundred thousand dollars into debt, I'm going to take a day off of work. Somehow this doesn't make sense. At a point when I need money, more than ever, I've decided NOT to go to work.
I don't own a house, now. I've owned houses in the past. But, right now, the house my family lives in is owned by my in-laws. They claim this was to help them with tax issues. I think it was so that they could control my life.
Me: I am the king of my castle!!!!
Mother-In-Law: Really? Because I was just looking at the deed, and....uh.....
Me: Shut-up.
Mother-In-Law: Don't talk to me like that in my house.
Me: I.......damn it........I'm going to my room.
Mother-In-Law: Your room?
Me: STOP IT!!!!!
My point being that, before Monday, I will have virtually no debt. Then, as if by magic, I will be thrust into a world of mortgage payments, and APR's, and re-financing, and flux capacitors', and such. And, when I say "me," I really mean "Brooke." My wife does that. I can't handle the money. I'll buy candy, and everybody knows it.
This has always been a problem with me, and money. I very rarely buy things I need (food,) but I often buy things that neither I, nor ANYONE else needs (Kermit The Frog hat.) I think my main problem is that I don't like shopping. So, I have to make it exciting. Sadly, at 38, buying a Kermit The Frog hat makes it exciting.
I suppose that I COULD buy exciting things. Lingerie? No. Can't buy that. If I buy anything for my wife, I have to do it online. I know that there are guys who CAN do that, and will make a big show of it. I'm not one of them. I think the big problem is that I'm 5'10", and my wife is 5'9". So, in my mind, anything that I buy for her LOOKS like it might fit me.......And I KNOW what they're thinking.
Lingerie Girl: Can I help you, sir?
Me: Yeah, I'm looking for something for my wife.
Lingerie Girl: Of course, sir. And, what size is your wife?
Me: I dunno. She's about my height. So.....
Lingerie Girl: Oh.......I see.
Me: Huh?
Lingerie Girl: Are you looking for something to sleep in? Or, do you want something to wear under your clothes?
Me: I.....Wait.....What?
Lingerie Girl: Do you prefer satin, or something in lace?
Me: Uhhhh....I don't think you understand.......
Lingerie Girl: (winking) Oh, I think I understand, sir. Lots of men come in for their...uh....WIVES.
Me: No....I.....I wear boxers....I'm not....
Lingerie Girl: We just got some new crotchless items in, if you're interested......
Me: NO!!! I have to go.......I have to buy.....tools......and.......things.....
So, I buy all that stuff (FOR MY WIFE!!!!) online. Then, when it arrives at my house, my wife opens it up, takes it out of the package, gives me that "knowing" look, and promptly puts it into her lingerie drawer which is where lingerie goes to die. If you listen closely, you can actually hear the garter belts screaming before she closes the door. Sad, really.
Can't blame a guy for trying.
So, I end up buying video games, and books, and candy, and such. I suppose that it's true that guys never really grow up. Especially me. I wear clothes that rarely match. Most days, I wear a baseball hat. I ALWAYS wear tennis shoes. This is why it's so odd that someone is going to loan me a pile of money to buy a house.
I wouldn't even give me a pile of money, to buy a house. I've never even MET the guy who's going to give it to me. If I had, I can't imagine that he would WANT to lend me this kind of money. There would certainly be better investments. Like......Oh.......I don't know......Setting it on fire.
When I go in, for the closing, on Monday I thought about wearing my suit. Yes, I have a suit. It's gray. That way I can wear it when someone dies, or gets married. But, I think it would be okay for a house closing. That way, the money guy would feel better about giving me money.
"Wow!!" he would say. "That gentleman in the suit is one mature, responsible, 38 year old, father of two. I have no problem loaning HIM all this money.......Wait a minute..........Is that a Pepe Le Pew tie that he's wearing?"
Sadly, yes. It is. The same one my father tied for me, two years ago and I keep pulling over my head, because I don't know how to tie a tie. I bought it when I bought the Kermit The Frog hat........AFTER I left the lingerie store......Wearing my boxers, damn it....... I SWEAR TO GOD!!!!!
Casey
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