Two Years Later...

The time has come to memorialize a faithful old companion. Last week, the Wife said goodbye to her first car. Such a melancholy thing is life. At every end, a beginning. At every goodbye, a hello. We lament today for old red, sure a... what am I saying? Good riddance you POS! Burn, burn, burn...

But the old red car has one last story to tell. First lets review the ways you've tormented me; it has been awhile my old nemesis. Check the links for the full posts.

From The Mouse: Posted 5/4/2010

I am not an eye witness to the mouse. I didn't see the mouse. I will try to describe the beast using the details I took from my wife's rambling. The rodent, almost mythological in proportions, reached a massive length of over ONE INCH! That would make its fangs almost half a millimeter long. The demon creature has it out for my wife; she fears it will escape the car and enter the house in the night to murder her in cold mouse blood (kind of like how Mickey Mouse likes to sneak into Marvel Studios at night and rape Spider Man). The rain was still beating down when my wife demanded we stop so she can evade the evil mouse's advances. We soon came the the small gas station on our road and stopped under the cover. The wife leaped from the car and began to ramble on and on about the rodent and her hatred. At one point I think she slipped into tongues. Maybe the rat used its ESP to invade her mind. After a furious search, I found no sign of the mouse; at all.

From The Bad Friday: Posted 5/14/2010

To my disdain, the car which that clever little rodent chose to inhabit broke down only days after his arrival. It just stopped. Well as you can imagine, upon hearing this news, my lovely, caring, compassionate and all knowing wife made her expert opinion be known. That little vermin must have been the reason for the car's sudden reluctance to start. I reassured her this was probably not the case. For a week the car was in the shop. The verdict? A blown fuse going into the starter, probably blown by some sort of short in the wiring. How ever did this short come about? The mechanic suggests that a mouse very well could have caused such damage.

So she drives off to work. I go home to revel in the glory of a day off. Later, I receive a text from the wife letting me know that the car smells of dead mouse. This news brightens the day further. At least it's dead; now I just have to solve that problem. Soon I sit down for some relaxing video games; peace. It's right then, that she calls me. We have just pissing-down-a-hair-clogged-drain bad cell phone service at our house. I cannot believe I was able to hear what she said. "Car won't start. I'm at Krodel park." I'm not even mad. For a moment I just stand there, bent in some funny angle striving for the optimum cell service of one bar. "Sure." That's the best I can manage before leaving to pick her up.

From A Loss for Words: Posted 5/24/2010

I have off tomorrow what should I do? Well shit kids that's a rhetorical question. Tomorrow I have to take my wife's taint of a car to Huntington to the dealership to get worked on because the little POS still won't run. If the TV I bought last Christmas needed as much maintenance as the cars we own, I would not stand for it. Did you ever think of that? Break it down, most of the stuff we buy needs much less maintenance than our cars. Hell, I guarantee my wife and I use our TV more hours a day than our cars. I'm sorry I don't have to change the oil in my TV, or check the @$%#ing tire pressure! Car companies are you listening? no...

On a side note, the TV I am referring to in this post is, as of Winter 2012, also broken...

From Holeless Pillow: Posted 5/26/2010

Oh, the suck I have endured. I bitch a lot about the wife's car, so I'll only say, it still sucks. Hard. We've spent money and time on it, we are frustrated. Things are out of hand. The house is a mess. Clothes, they aren't washed. We had to use the remainder of the Disney Princess paper plates from her birthday party to eat dinner. We have no food at the house; none. We DO have a giant tower of pizza boxes.

The truck I am using to drive while her car is being worked on? Its breaks went out on me today! THE BREAKS WENT OUT! You realize I was driving when this happened? WTF!!???!!? I could have seriously wrecked. I am not making this up.

From The Tire: Posted 9/29/2010

It is in this vehicle of death; a car that begins seizures like shakes at 55 mph, I decided to leave the safety of home and set out upon the open road.

I think most of you have probably figured out what's next. So, instead of boring you to death (I hope no one has died yet) the next portion of this tale will be over blown and exaggerated for thematic effect. I was just driving along, minding my own business when out of no where my front driver side tire explodes in a violent rage. Shrapnel is sent flying in every direction. I am sent swerving across the road. I hit the edge of the road and flip fifteen times down the highway before landing again. At this point I was still traveling at well over fifty miles an hour! The car careens left and right and only my nerves of steel and great strength are able the pull the car under control and bring it to a stop. For any one who is really worried about it, all that really happened was the tire when flat for no reason and I had to pull over.

It was shortly after this last post that the old red car stopped. One day it just said no more. For the past two years it has lingered in my yard. As much as I enjoy being a rural stereotype, it needed to go. So recently I made the calls required to have the vehicle taken away. Before this happy event could occur, I had to take one last tour through the haunted halls of the old mouse coffin. It must be purged of our personal items. Here is what I found:

A muffin pan.
Numerous boy band CDs.
A Coldplay CD.
A Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band CD.
A Credence Clearwater Revival CD.
Lynard Skynard's Greatest Hits.
A quick vac full of small pebbles?
Dead bugs.
$5.37
Two years worth of newspapers.
Two umbrellas.
A plastic Easter bucket.
A screw driver; flat head.
Two pins.
Trash, lots of trash.
And...

A large mouse nest, hidden under the trunk where you keep the spare tire. And under that nest? The Mouse. Dead, of course. The now ancient burial mount of the mythical beast finally discovered. Could this evil talisman sitting parked outside our home for the last two years be the cause of all the car troubles? Let me remind you the trouble has not been limited to the red car alone:

From Rage Quit: Posted 2/19/2011

I quit. Cars that is, I quit them. What two face backstabber came up with that industry? “Here I’ll sell you this vehicle for a ton of money but I’ll see you again real soon when you starting having problems with it.” Awesome. I’m going to buy some horses. I’ll ride everywhere I need to go. If something isn’t in reasonable range of me and my horse, then I don’t really need to go there. But knowing my luck the horse would break a leg and I’d have to shoot the damned thing and make some glue, or dog food. Even then, at least it would be useful to me unlike cars which break down and become the eye sore of rural lower class America. I might as well scatter a few plastic flamingos and half naked children around the yard and throw a barbecue. I’ll buy some Bud Light and wear a cut off denim t-shirt with a Dale Jr. hat and cook up some road kill steaks; skunk is in season. Odin help us all.

Around about ten minutes from our destination, we hit a large bump in the road. I thought nothing of it and we went on for a minute or so, when I realized the bump caused us to flat. We later went back to discover the hole was actually a branch of the Grand Canyon; how did I not see it? So since July we've dealt with three flats now. Actually, my wife and I are now past three years of marriage heading to four and we are averaging two flat tires per year of marriage. It was also very dark outside. Before I got out of the car, my wife asked if I knew how to change a tire and I almost lost it. She later clarified that she meant if I knew how to change the tire on the new car. I shook my head and told her to make me a sandwich. Then I threw that damned donut on the new car and we rolled out to the Olive Garden. I mean, we were already there, may as well eat.

I purged the car of all this junk and burnt the mouse carcase and nest as sacrifice to please the angered car gods. Oh Ford, father of thine cars, forgive me of my sins. Cleanse me of this mousy stank. Accept this gift of mouse piss soaked newspaper, seat foam cushion and other unrecognizable items. Take the body of this deceased creature and leave me be!

Remember the first Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie? (yes Michael Bay that is their FULL name!) Remember when they all sat around the fire and meditated and Splinter appeared to them and they knew he was alive and they will find him? I am at peace now. The soul of the mouse appeared to me and spoke comfort. My debt is paid, he goes now to a better place. Maybe a BMW or Lexus.

TMNT Aliens?

You may or may not know (or care), but next year a new live action Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle movie will be hitting theaters! I was so excited until I learned that Michael Bay will be producing. This news irked me some what. Then Michael Bay opened his month on the subject. Now I'm super mad. Here is the comment he made: "These Turtles are from an alien race," What? Aliens! What! Aliens? What... ALIENS!

He later post this on his official message board (why does he have an official message board?) to TMNT fans:

Fans need to take a breath, and chill. They have not read the script. Our team is working closely with one of the original creators of Ninja Turtles to help expand and give a more complex back story. Relax, we are including everything that made you become fans in the first place. We are just building a richer world.

Michael

No Michael, I won't chill. Did no one else here see what he did to the Transformers? The last thing I need in the new TMNT movie is huge explosions that make no sense in a ninja movie; shaky, vomit inducing camera work and Shia Labeouf. But Aliens? I'm all for expanding the back story of the turtles. I'm also aware there is precedence in the TMNT universe for aliens, but the turtles themselves are turtles, from earth. I don't care if the Ooze comes from Uranus, the turtles are mutants from earth.

Big thanks to Ninja Pizza for all their up to date TMNT news including this topic. Great blog, go check it out.

Loquacious

No wonder this country is only getting fatter and fatter by the day. We are training our youth to be lazy. I meet up with a school bus route on my way to work every morning. I follow it for about half a mile through town before we part ways. During that time the bus stops seven times! Seven times in half a mile, all to pick up a single child at each stop! Would anyone like to explain to me why these kids can’t walk down the block and stand with the kids from the other house? It’s called a bus stop. You know, you meet up and all get on the bus at the same time. It saves everyone time (and would help keep me off blood pressure medicine). This part of the route could be reduced to two stops easily. I’m not asking for these kids to walk an uphill mile in a blinding blizzard on a busy country road. I’m talking one hundred feet on a well maintained, in town sidewalk. I guess it’s too much to ask the parents to have to watch their kids walk down the street a few feet and stand. They are more interested in getting the brats off to free day care so they can go back to their meth.

I guess you could argue I just have too much road rage or I should just leave for work earlier to avoid said bus. I suppose that's all true but then what would I have to complain about? The weather?

Word of the Week

Well Spleenwort was an utter mess. I didn’t manage to work that into anything other than some cop out tweets. Fail. Better luck to me this week I guess. What do you have for me wife?

Word of the Week: Loquacious

Loquacious: talking or tending to talk much or freely; talkative; chattering; babbling; garrulous: a loquacious dinner guest.
Characterized by excessive talk; wordy

Challenge: Use the word while ordering snacks at the movie theater Friday night.

Look into my Crystal Balls

I made a prediction in last week’s post about our luck with traveling and waiters. I was right and wrong. First I said we would have terrible service. Correct. We arrived at the Red Lobster (it's Crab Fest!) in Charleston at 4 p.m. and had to wait 15 minutes on a Thursday! I’d say 90 percent of the tables were sitting empty. If I were Don Draper I’d have destroyed that weaselly little host. He didn’t look at me once; just kept staring at and talking to my wife. Cellophane, Mr. Cellophane… Anyways when we were seated we were informed by the on call manager that our server was busy with the party room, so he would be helping take care of us. He proceeded to pull out a note pad to take our drink order. I’ve never waited tables, but I’m pretty sure I could remember two drink orders for the 30 seconds it takes to walk back to the drink area. The manager also took our food order, which he got wrong, even though he wrote it down…

My second prediction was that we’d get a flat tire, because we always do. I had good reason to think it would happen. Look here and here for proof. Well, thankfully, I was wrong this time. We did run over something about three miles from home that made me think it had happened. If at that point the tire went flat, I would have jumped out of the car and pooped in the middle of the street to prove my psychosis. I’d have gladly gone to the loony bin and spent the rest of my days playing go fish in the corner with imaginary squirrels; never having to deal with cars or tires or waiters or people again. But the tire held and we made it home safe and sound. The ticking time bomb that is my sanity continues.

Seeing how I made three predictions and got two right; (66.68% accuracy) I’m thinking I’ll write my own book of predictions like Nostradamus. I’ll go with 100 predictions, which means around 66 of them will turn out right if my numbers hold up. I’m crossing my fingers that the discovery of the cholesterol free cow and the invention of the laundry folding machine come true. Seriously, we have a machine to wash our laundry. We have a machine to dry it. Why don’t we have a machine to fold it for us? I’m looking at you scientists, drop what you’re doing and get it done.

Here are a few other predictions I’d say are a pretty fair bets to come true:

-The stock market will go up.
-The stock market will go down.
-After the Stock crash of 2020, Bacon will be recognized as the new world currency.
-In the year 2021 pigs will become extinct.
-All wars will soon be fought via video games. South Korea becomes most powerful country in the world.
-Rocky 7 is released in 2015. The plot involves Rocky being cryogenically frozen in 2011. In 2045 evil aliens come to earth and challenge us to a boxing match for control of the planet. They enter into the contest a robot version of Hitler. Our only choice is to unfreeze Rocky and put him through a rigorous training scene before doing battle with the evil alien robot Hitler. He loses, setting up Rocky 8’s story line.
-Rocky 8 will become the third highest grossing film of all time behind Avatar 5 in HD3DSHi-Fi+ and Shark Night 3D.
-France surrenders to someone.
-Samuel L. Jackson is elected first President of the Mother $%#&ing World. His inaugural address is televised on a 30 second time delay. In the speech he outlines the plots of every movie he’s ever been in; it takes five days.
-Planking is outlawed after a group of American college students are mistaken for building materials while touring Europe.
-Owling is outlawed after a group of American college students are shot while touring Europe.
-American college students are banned from Europe, so they go to Aruba.

Rantopia

You don’t have to fill these silences with idiotic, patronizing, sympathetic small talk. Seriously, shut up. I’m so tired of listening to the sound of your voice I could crap my pants and be happier. Why do so many people hate silence? If I’m sitting quietly, working; it does not mean I am bored, lonely, upset or desperately longing for human interaction. It means I am sitting quietly, working, hoping beyond hope to be left alone. Some people need their coffee in the morning, others their breakfast; I need three hours of not being asked if I’m feeling okay because I’m being so quiet. But noooooo, people come with their questions and their comments and their stupid little thoughts that probably wouldn’t make a blip on a CAT scan. Shut up. Sometimes it’s okay to just be quiet. Don’t we spend enough time being bombarded by noise? Remember silence is golden, and your face will be crimson if you don’t stop talking to me!

Speaking of word vomit, can anyone here explain to me how a conversation about the weather gets derailed so badly that it ends talking about anal caesarian section? I simply stated: “It’s hot out there.” Absently in a way that really means, I don’t want to talk to you, but I have to. The conversation went on to cover the heat and then this psycho old lady starts telling me about how she can’t get her kids to stop having grand babies. Apparently the Fourth of July is really hard on grandmas? According to her, it is. When did we start giving out gifts on Independence Day? She had a solution to solve this problem though, spay and neuter her children. I guess her only problem now is getting them all to the vet. Everyone, this is an actual conversation. Well, less conversation and more her talking at me while I try desperately to not laugh. Not the first chat I’ve had with her either. Once before she decided to inform me she was on the way to the hospital to have surgery. Apparently she had major complications from child birth. These complications have haunted her well into her sixties? Don’t worry she told me the complication. According to old crazy pants, the doctor was forced to remove her son via her rectum. Take a moment to read that again and soak in all the crazy. Done? Yeah, there is absolutely NO situation where a doctor would take that route to remove a child from its mother. Furthermore, why, why, why god why, are you telling me this?

Damn Pants

I must be fat as hell. How else can you explain the fear my pants have of my giant ass? They run from their seams screaming at the first squatting glance of my impending anus. Granted if I were the seat of my pants I'd be pretty pissed about being constantly scratched and farted in. But that is the job of pants, so get the job done! Boom. But these damned pants I've been hanging out in are cowards. Cowards! Can't handle a few squat lifts? Wuss. I mean all I ask is that I can walk around and do normal work related activities without having to worry about my pants shredding themselves apart at the shear thought of bending over.

Okay, so I guess you may have figured I'm having some pants trouble. Four pairs of pants in three years at my current job have split right up the ass seam. All of them at work. Three of them were small and unnoticeable, the fourth pair (and first) is its own dreadful little story.

You see children, I'd only been at the job for a few months. I was also the only man in the office so, naturally, I got plenty of hazing. So a few people were at lunch one day. It was me and a supervisor manning the place. I squatted down to pick up a rather heavy item. I knew as soon as I heard the rip. Unlike the other three rips, this one was huge. I mean from balls to belt loop. Any other normal man would have went to his supervisor and explained. But as you all know, I'm no mere mortal man. In my panic and frenzy to avoid anyone seeing the incident I carefully stole a stapler and moved to the mens room. In the restroom I pulled down my pants and attempted to staple the pants shut at the inside seam. I pulled myself together and remembered I only had twenty minutes until lunch break. So I walked back to my station, moved a chair to block my rear side and worked.

Twenty infinie minutes later I dashed out to my car and got in. The staples didn't hold when I sat down. They ripped apart, some flew right into my ass. Sure. So I drove to Wal Mart because being new to the job I only had the one pair of pants. As with all my great stories my final embarrassment ended at the Mart where I had to get out of my car and march into the store with my underwear clearly visible to all. I bought new damned pants; that would split in a few short months. Does this shit happen to everyone or is it just me?

Shorts

Existential Crisis

You’re going to die. Don’t worry, I will too. Everyone is going to die. Would it change how you live if you knew when, where and why? Sometimes I go through a philosophical crisis of being and ask questions like that; questions that have no real answer. Sure you could answer it, but how do you know that’s how you’d react? We don’t know ourselves nearly as much as we think or wish to. Sometimes I find myself wondering who the hell that guy in the mirror is, because I sure don’t recognize him from ten years ago. Ten years used to seem like a long ass time too, and now, it’s nothing. I guess time really is relative. He’s one nasty relative at that; the kind that you don’t see forever and then shows up at your Grandmother’s funeral and calls you fat. This philosophy is tiring, I know. You’re probably bored and wish I’d write some rant about babies first birthday or the latest thing that has pissed me off. But kids, life isn’t all rainbows and unicorn farts. Sometimes life sucks and no matter how much you poke fun at it, it still scares the hell out of you.

Have a Nice Day...

And the appropriate response to that would be? A blank stair as if confused by the sentence? A nasty frown? No response at all because you where too busy flapping your lips into the cell phone to hear me or give a rats ass that I just did all your work for you because your too stupid/lazy to fill out some simple forms all on your own? I understand only one of us is being paid to be nice. I’m pretty sure if I weren’t paid I probably wouldn’t be either, but come on people! What is going on in this world? Why can’t people be nice? What happened to thank you and you’re welcome? We have invented a million new insults that mostly make no sense but it’s too hard to force “Thanks” out of your fat, greasy, fast food smelling mouth!

Mail

I got a letter in the mail the other day from Dish Network. The letter stated it was from Dish’s CEO and was addressed to: Our Neighbor. My neighbor is the redneck hill jack who has ten barking dogs and three trucks that sound like Vesuvius when he fires them up; proving to all of us his wiener is indeed as big as the sound implies. He uses stray cats as target practice. His home décor can be described as a cross between outdoorsman and Apocalypse Now. On occasion Budweiser Corp comes by for some blood tests to see what an all beer diet will actually do to a person. You’re telling me that guy is the CEO of Dish Network and expect me to want to join up? A thousand channels all playing Bonanza and Dallas all day? No thanks, I’ll stick with my cable. Not like I need another item attached to my house to catch all the bird shit. I already have three cars for that.

Cell Phones

Cell phones, oh lord, cell phones! Cell phones at lunch, cell phones at dinner; cell phones at work, cell phones at play. Cell phones before, during and after sex. Cell phones at the movies! I’m so sick of cell phones. People just love their damned cell phones. Maybe someday they will be able to install them directly into our bodies. You know, the receiver will be up in the ear and they can place the key pad somewhere in your arm. I think if they let you pick where the key pad goes I’ll have them put it on my penis. That way whenever I have to call someone I’ll have to whip it out and people will be like:

“Hey, Daniel, um, you should probably put that thing away.” And I’ll be like.

“No, it’s cool. I’m just calling my wife.” I’ll probably keep the ringer on vibrate most of the time, although occasionally it’d be funny to turn it to loud so when people call my crotch starts singing Baby Got Back. Or maybe I’ll make my ring tone some Michael Jackson song so when I answer I can grab myself and yell. It sure would change the meaning of playing Angry Birds.

All Sorts of Crazy

It’s not enough that people are rude and inconsiderate and smelly and stupid and dull and mean and self centered, but now they are all going crazy. I don’t mean slightly neurotic; I mean dressing up like their dead mother to murder people psycho. In the past I have used the word crazy very lightly, as with other words. But recently I have decided to reserve the word for true acts of insanity. For example I would refer to someone who drives poorly as a crazy driver; even though all they are doing is going to fast or passing in risky spots. Now I consider a crazy driver someone who IS GOING THE WRONG WAY through a tight construction zone and gives you that “Get out of my way, I’m unstable!” look as they zoom by, barely missing your front bumper. The detour is clearly marked and there is plenty of traffic to follow. That’s crazy.

I previously thought everyone posting useless crap on YouTube was crazy. Now I realize they are mostly attention whores with low self esteem desperately yelling at the top of their lungs for someone to listen. (If you’re about to make a connection to those people on YouTube and this blog, please understand; I’m not yelling, you can’t yell in print.) Anyways, despite their absurd antics, most of the YouTube people are perfectly sane. The nutty people on YouTube didn’t put themselves there. Most of them were caught on film doing mentally questionable things like calling out rapists on the news or crying at a WWF convention or robbing a convenience store with a six foot long tree branch. They didn’t ask to be on the YouTube, they went berserker and someone captured it and uploaded it for all of us to see.

I have used the word crazy for just about anyone on a game or reality TV show. This was wrong of me. You see, these people go on those shows to try and get money. There is nothing crazy about trying to get money. Everyone is trying to get more money. People will do just about anything for money, that doesn’t make them crazy, just greedy. Actually most of the people on those shows are much more stupid than mad; see The Jersey Shore. Now, a show with crazy people is something like Toddlers and Tiaras. The mothers that dress up their children and put all that make-up on them and make them lose weight and yell at them are crazy. That is child abuse and they should be jailed or shot, which ever is cheaper. They are teaching their children that physical appearances are the only important thing when looking for a partner in life. That’s just nonsense because we all know money and status are equally important when selecting a mate.

I could probably devote a whole blog to how much we use words out of context or scale up and down their values. For instance I am a great offender of the word awesome. Granted most of the time I use it sarcastically, but on some occasions I’ll use it to describe a recent meal or other common event of my boring life. If the dinner I just ate at some restaurant was “awesome” what word could I possibly use if I’m walking down the street one day and Jesus appears and we have a good long talk about life and then he beats me down in a pickup basketball game? I can’t say it was awesome because I’d be comparing a simple meal to getting schooled on the court by Jesus Christ.

Death to Laptops

I've known for awhile now that I need a new battery in my laptop. When you own a laptop that is just a fact you have to face. But you see, recently, and just after the battery fully died, the power cord to said laptop also crapped it pants. I was able to fix it with duct tape, but this was only temporary. I guess duct tape can't fix everything; my world has been destroyed. This left me with no main computer and a two hundred dollar bill to get the replacement parts. Thus, I hate laptops. I have for a long time and this only reaffirms it. I don't care how convenient it is to sit with one on the couch while you watch TV. That's what the iPad is for, that and moister prevention.

You see, no matter how much money you throw down to get a laptop, eventually it will get cracked or bent or thrown off a dock in a fit of rage because the battery died just before you got in the final ebay bid on that giant William Shatner poster you always wanted. My wife wants our next computer to be another laptop and I told her she'll have to kill me in my sleep before I bring a new one of those over prices paper weights into my home. At least not before I get the shiny new iMac I want; but that's beside the point. Did I mention this is not the first time I've replaced the battery? Did I mention I've also had to replace one of the cooling fans? I know desktops have problems too, but they don't have batteries. You don't carry them around and expose them for hazards like weather, backpacks and stupid people looking over your shoulder at the library or coffee shop like they've never seen a laptop before.

And honestly, with mobile smart phones and tablet computers, I sometimes think the traditional laptop could be on the way out. But then again so could our civilization in general; did anyone watch Jeopardy a couple weeks ago, that Watson computer is just one more step toward Skynet. I was shocked when the show ended and Arnold Schwarzenegger didn't show up and start shooting at us with bazookas and mispronouncing simple english words. Technology is so helpful in helping us do things we never really needed to do in the first place. Really, all we NEED to do is eat to live, reproduce to replace and shit to, well you know, empty out. I guess in some way the computers are helping us do that; except for the people who sit in their basement and play video-games and watch porn, but do we really want them in the gene pool anyways?

Rage Quit

I quit. Cars that is, I quit them. What two face backstabber came up with that industry? “Here I’ll sell you this vehicle for a ton of money but I’ll see you again real soon when you starting having problems with it.” Awesome. I’m going to buy some horses. I’ll ride everywhere I need to go. If something isn’t in reasonable range of me and my horse, then I don’t really need to go there. But knowing my luck the horse would break a leg and I’d have to shoot the damned thing and make some glue, or dog food. Even then, at least it would be useful to me unlike cars which break down and become the eye sore of rural lower class America. I might as well scatter a few plastic flamingos and half naked children around the yard and throw a barbeque. I’ll buy some Bud Light and wear a cut off denim t-shirt with a Dale Jr. hat and cook up some road kill steaks; skunk is in season. Odin help us all.

You would probably like some context? So would I. I’d love to know what fate deciding ass hole crapped on my head. I have recorded my past problems in the automotive department in previous postings: The Tire, A Lost for Words, The Bad Friday and The Mouse: so I’ll spare you the recap. The wife and I decided to go to Huntington for dinner Friday night. In our normal run of luck, we both got off work late and were rushing around the house to get going. About three minutes after we left, my sometimes lovely wife turns and asks:

“Did I leave a bottle of Diet Coke in the dogs reach?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think I left the cap off! Oh my God, what if Winston (the dog) gets it and dies?” I assured her this would not be the case and the bottle was not left out. We proceeded to Huntington. Around about ten minutes from our destination, we hit a large bump in the road. I thought nothing of it and we went on for a minute or so, when I realized the bump caused us to flat. We later went back to discover the hole was actually a branch of the Grand Canyon; how did I not see it? So since July we've dealt with three flats now. Actually, my wife and I are now past three years of marriage heading to four and we are averaging two flat tires per year of marriage. It was also very dark outside. Before I got out of the car, my wife asked if I knew how to change a tire and I almost lost it. She later clarified that she meant if I knew how to change the tire on the new car. I shook my head and told her to make me a sandwich. Then I threw that damned donut on the new car and we rolled out to the Olive Garden. I mean, we were already there, may as well eat.

After a moment, I started thinking; perhaps some place is open that could change the flat real quick so we don’t have to drive the donut home. The Wife called both Wal-Mart’s in the area, one was closed and the other didn’t answer. I gave up until we got to the mall and I remembered that Sears has an auto center. Saved! And they where still open! We pulled up and showed them the tire. This was the first time I had a chance to see the flat in the light. I noticed at the same time the mechanics did, the large dent in the rim. They quickly informed me they could not fix it and sent me away because they wanted to close and go home to their families or porn, feel free to incert the word of your choice. People helping people, that’s what this world is all about.

So we went to Olive Garden. The relatively short wait seemed like a silent eternity as we sat and watched the fat nine year old girl across the waiting room wearing spandex short shorts do cartwheels and jumping jacks in the crowded space while the parents just pretended the kid wasn’t fat or annoying. Way to carbo-load your poor child and teach them to eat away their sorrows. Good luck with Weight Watchers in twenty years kid. Finally we were seated. I was happy to sit until I realized two things at the exact same time. First, those little mozzarella pushers put us right by the kitchen door that did nothing but slam all night. Second, they sat us at Andre the Giant’s special reserved table. If I’m uncomfortable with the height of the table, my poor wife (who is a foot shorter than I) must feel like a Hobbit.

Our conversation the rest of the evening was on our misfortune, the costs involved in fixing the tire, my concerns about drive home on the donut: among others. Yet all these pressing matters and still, after dinner and the movie as we settled into the car for the ride home, my lovely, caring, beautiful wife turns and asks: “Do you think the bottle of Diet Coke is okay?”

I drove the car off an embankment, into the Ohio River. I’m writing this from the beyond. Have a nice life.

*Rage quits*

Sweating the Small Stuff

One of these days I’m going to slip at work. Instead of saying, “Have a nice day!” or “Thanks for choosing us!” I’m going to loose my mind and say something to the effect of: “Next time you have a thought, make sure to call your doctor: he’ll want to know you’re slipped out of the coma.” But, they probably won’t get it.

It’s the small stuff. Sometimes it is stuff no one else even notices. I can handle the big problems, because they can be fixed. Everyone notices the big problems and wants to fix them. But everyone says you’re crazy or nitpicky when you go bat shit insane because someone took the last coffee pack and didn’t tell you and now everyone’s annoyed with you because you didn’t order more. I try hard to do the best I can and keep to myself, in everything: life, job. But this small stuff is slowly chipping away at my very soul; soon I’ll have enough pieces to make a horcrux.

I’m sweating buckets of small stuff. If you sit in line at McDonalds for five minutes and then get to the speaker and still don’t know what you want: please die. They have… hamburgers. If you like Avatar because of its awesome 3D and original story: go Google Pocahontas and then go outside, look around and realize everything you see is in 3D, why is it more awesome when you box it down and put it on a movie screen? If you drive ten under the speed limit in light rain and twenty under the speed limit in light snow, please drive thirty under the speed limit off a cliff. If you like Twilight, if you think the books are well written, if you think the movies should be nominated for awards: I don’t know you. Vampires do not sparkle.

Dear old people: learn to use computers; if it kills you, you probably weren’t that far from death anyways. If your name is ridiculous and made up, because your parents were drunk when they conceived you and high when they named you, go change it; no one is stopping you. Teachers, you get summers off, holiday breaks, weekends off, snow days, spring break and are generally out of the school building by at least four-thirty. Stop whining, you have a great job! Guy with huge lift kit on his truck, you can jack that sucker up all you want buddy; it will never make your penis bigger. Speaking of impotent, retard hill jacks- if your house looks like an abandoned meth lab and you have four starving kids that don’t love you: yet you own a really nice pimped out car, a 72 inch TV, fifteen dogs, every season of The Dukes of Hazard on DVD and Blu-ray or have a tattooed map of Azeroth on your ass, I have no sympathy for you or your hepatitis.

And I haven’t even scratched the surface.

Bescumber

Hello, my name is Daniel. When you first meet me you'll probably think I'm an asshole, until you get to know me and find out I'm just a little socially backwards; until then, suck it. If you don't like me because you never took the time to get to know me, please do me a favor and keep it to yourself. Please don't call my damned boss and tell her you don't like me, what's that going to prove? I hate idiotic, self centered, turd munching, shrimp boating, fart sniffing, rat fink, low life, gerrymandering, retarded, soulless, dickless, classless, fat, carpet bagging, tit sagging, microphallic, underwear staining, ninnyhammer, pieces of vain filth who get pleasure out of causing trouble for others. Please, get in a car accident. I mean seriously who is so bored they call in to complain because the person who waited on them didn't smile big enough? Call me cold and unfriendly? I'll show you cold and unfuckingfriendly...

First thing tomorrow morning I'm going to call the doctor and make an appointment with a plastic surgeon. I need to put a permanent smile on my face so people don't walk by me and ask if I'm just an unhappy person anymore. Seriously, who stands around when they aren't doing anything and smiles. That's just weird, you NEVER trust a person who always smiles.

Deep breath... I'm sorry about that, but not really.

dump.