Feel old yet? The original video was made in 2000 and then this guy became an internet phenomenon in 2006. There was even a
LOLsuit... And a gosh darned movie. Sorry, n0s3y|afk, I will not be mentioning the Berlin Fuckparade horseshit that spawnd this whole horrid meme. Too Degenerate. ; )
i often drive up to michigan to a very close liquor store. almost every time i drive there, there is some sort of drama or issue going on. the store is about 200 yards from the ohio/michigan border, and it attracts a large quantity of cartoon-ish characters.
1. the rich dirtbag with a mercedes buying hennessy to impress the locals
2. the drug dealers who drive suped up late model muscle cars who are also buying hennessy
3. the down on his luck trailer trash who is scraping up change to buy a 4lolo or some other cheap shit
4. a large group of african-american women who work during the week, but wish to "let it all hang out" on the weekends. usually, they are buying the tiny bottles of hennessy that cost around five bucks. they are there to meet up with the guys who drive muscle cars mentioned above.
5. four thousand light infantry, 400 heavy calvary, 1000 archers, and around 2000 local farmers who were given hammers, pitchforks, and anything they could get their hands on
tonight was normal, except for the fact that one woman was sitting in her car, crying. she was wearing one of those "high-vis" vests, a corona mask, and dirty work clothes. nothing about her said anything about being sexual, but she was hurt and it was quite evident.
i did that thing: "hands making a roll down your window" sign, and she did. i asked her if she was okay, and of course she said she was. but of course, she wasnt. i'm not a white knight, but when you see a tiny woman drink down a pint of old grandad, you know things arent right. i asked again.
"no no," she sobbed. "everything is okay!" and she started her corolla and drove out of the parking lot in the general direction of where i was going.
i had my purchases, and slowly eased myself into traffic. her car was red, and it was about 500 feet in front of me. i was focused on a left turn lane because i was going home, but then i saw her car suddenly swerve right. her car jumped the curb and then tried to swing left back into traffic, but that wasnt going to happen.
she clipped a small toyota pick up truck and then bounced back into traffic... and then she sped off, not looking back.
This one is gonna need a little backstory before the image tells a different tale. The home is a tear down. That means it is scheduled to be destroyed and removed, thus we didn't care if the tree landed on the home when we cut it down. By the way, when we first entered the home, it was full of stripper clothing, and "free drink" cards from a local titty bar. Seems the evicted owner spent all of his money on the women that worked there instead of paying his rent.
There is a video of the tree falling and hitting the home, but since most people hate my host, I wont embed the video here. If you really want to see it... click that link. It probably wont work because your name is Erotica.
Some controversy over who sent me this link first. I saw the Ballsac link first, but our dear leader Erotica says that she sent the link a full day earlier. You, the reader can vote who was first by sucking it. Also, TOOL.
About six months ago, I buried a Cub Cadet in some mud. I was trying to back it up close enough so that I could use the dump bed to deposit a LOAD of fill dirt into a HOLE. However, the whole thing slid and I was left with problem. My first reaction? Nah, I'm not gonna fix it...I'll just take a picture!
When guys get together at work or head on down to the bar, there is usually a lot of banter going on between them. Younger guys like to talk about how big their dicks are, and argue with each other about who they have fucked. The older guys usually talk about the good old days and stretch the truth about their experiences.
Normally, it is all in good fun. Nobody gets too out of hand or really ridiculous.
And then you run into that guy.
That Guy is the guy who has to top everybody else's story. If you climbed a cliff, he has climbed a mountain. If you jumped out of an airplane, he has crash landed a lunar module. And the worst part about that guy is the fact that, for the most part, he never shuts up.
Recently, I had the misfortune of running into that guy. A crew was doing a job, and that guy, who had never done the type of work we were doing, began offering opinions. Quickly, the rest of the work crew figured out that he was that guy and knowingly moved away from him. However, since I was "in charge," I was stuck teaching him.
I was stuck. I had to listen to ridiculous stories that grew more and more outrageous. At the end of the work-day, i was twice as tired as i normally would be.
My father, in his infinite wisdom, purchased a 1970 Pontiac Safari station-wagon.
Yes, they came in normal colors of that time, like powder blue, dingy brown, and burgundy. And yes, they could be purchased with a manufactured stock boring "small" engine (a tight 400 cubic inch motor with a 2 barrel carburetor). However, my father wanted more and he opted for another, far stranger color, and the 455 HO engine that had a 4 barrel carb, giving this beast almost 400 horsepower. It also weighed close to two tons.
The thing had tinted windows: blue tinted, not like the dark tinting that you see on cars today, and the radio's antenna was embedded within the front windshield's glass, not mounted on the hood. It had wood paneling on top of my father's choice: a nifty chrome/green paint, highlighting the "safari" aspect of the car's legend.
I am forced to say it again: It was the greatest car ever created.
This car was a protective womb. Just look at that beautiful ride! Not only did both of my sisters learn to drive in that tank, but I did as well. Nobody would think twice about cutting you off if you were at the helm of that behemoth, nor would they question your authority if you pulled ahead of them to change lanes. And on top of all that, it took me home from baseball practices and baseball games. I cannot tell you how welcoming it was to sit in the very back of that station-wagon, stretch out on the dark astro-turf interior carpeting, and let the warmth of the sun ease tense muscles and sooth sore bones.
If I order chicken wings and some dipshit wants to know if I want boneless wings, I have a problem. A serious problem.
This alarmingly earnest complication stems from the fact that boneless meat of any kind is made up of protein sewage.
Boneless chicken wings are neither boneless nor are they wings. They are a disgusting sludge invented by some fat ass bean counter who had designs to sell the floor sweeping gruel waste left over in the chicken shop's mop bucket.
Boneless chicken wings are made of mechanically separated chicken that has both pressed and ground bones and the slop made from all the other foul runoff chicken trimmings that nobody wants to eat and is, for the most part, inedible.
It only becomes worse. Mechanically separated meat protein is 75% of the poison that fast food restaurants serve you. At least you know what you are getting into when you order a 20 piece happy meal chicken pack of shit, however that does not stop you. Tomorrow, you will gobble down yet another Biggie sized helping of rubish...and relish it.
But first, a quick note about just how I really feel about cell phones. I wrote this in 1998 and it still stands today as a reminder.
Cell phones and their use are a constant source of behavior that could be considered beyond the pale of rude. I dont know how many times I have heard people complaining about drivers, workers and customers using cell phones. Chances are though they do the same thing themselves. The fact is, just about everybody is a culprit when it comes to pissing somebody off with a cell phone. We are, by nature, uncaring bastards who have more important things to do in this speedy and hectic world than to interrupt an ever so important phone call from hubby who wants to know what is for dinner. . . at 8:00 in the morning.
Before I even begin my next story, I want to state for the record that cell phones themselves, not just the use of them, are by far the rudest invention ever created. They are little rude extensions of ourselves (the rudest species ever created) from their annoying rings and beeps to their pale and sickly glow to the constant brainless texting that has become vogue recently, they literally drip with uncouth smugness and they allow us to seal ourselves off further from our fellow man. Yeah, I come off as a crotchety old man, irritated by those damned kids and their newfangled stuff, but I really do have an honest point here. Talking face to face to people is a big source of being rude and being a bastard to other people, but at the same time there is a flip side to that rude coin. . .we can also talk out our differences and avoid or apologize for nasty behavior because we actually see what is going on on the other end of the conversation. Also, you are much less likely to tell somebody STFU when they are standing right in front of you. If you did that, more often than not, you are gonna get a punch in the nose.
Cell phones make an envelope around people. If I am talking on my cell phone, you are probably not going to interrupt me to tell me the total for my purchases or expect me to help you with my end of the couch if we are hauling furniture. Interrupting people is rude! Since when did overt rude actions suddenly countermand normal policies of kindness and helpfulness?
Now, on with the story. . .
It was probably late August or early September when this happened. I know this because it was insanely hot and humid out and I was driving a truck that did not have a working air conditioner. My hands were wet on the steering wheel as I cruised down the street just above the speed limit, and I am pretty sure I was in a bad mood for some reason. I was on the way to the local pool to pick up my kids. I had gotten a call earlier that I was to go and pick them up because their friends had not shown up for a scheduled session of pool time frolicking. So I hopped in the Bronco and headed over to the municipal pool to pick them up.
I said that I was in a bad mood and I know the reason why I was. I had been sequestered in my apartment under the power of the air conditioner barely begun to cool off from my earlier foray to the pool to drop the kids off in the first place. Things like taking me out of a comfort zone tend to rile me up. Its true. Ask anybody who has dealt with me on a personal level for any sort of time.
So there I was, driving down the street, probably cursing under my breath, with sweat dripping down in my eyes from my badly cut hair. I had pulled out of my apartment complex and onto a pretty busy road that led about five miles to my destination. Nobody was around. No cars, no joggers, no young couples out with the stroller. It was THAT hot out.
Little side streets dotted both sides of the main strip I was on. They either led back into the community or they were service roads for the businesses that were interspersed between the laid back family homes. Lots of these service roads led to parking lots in front of their respective businesses, but some of these roads snuck back behind the businesses like little alleys.
I am always looking at these alleys because you cannot see what is going to come out of them. The buildings are right up next to the road, so you are never quite sure if somebody is hidden back in there, waiting to turn out on to the main road.
I must have glanced at the radio or was busy lighting a cigarette. Whatever happened, I did not notice the guy in the black luxury, freshly washed and waxed, car pull right out in front of me until it was much too late. I slammed on the breaks and yanked the wheel sideways to avoid hitting him, but there was just not enough space or time to fully miss the gleaming black car. I tapped the driver side front corner and only left minimal paint damage to the vehicle. It was at this point that I glanced over at the other driver to see if he was all right and I noticed that he was, despite being hit by a truck, still talking on his cell phone.
I was incensed. Not only had this guy pulled right out in front of me without looking to see if the coast was clear, he had done it while he was talking on a cell phone. Obviously this call was important, how could it not be? He was so tuned into his call; he had not even bothered to hang up after the collision. What if he had hit a kid on a bike? What if he had run into a school bus full of cheerleaders? Nope, that call was business.
I get out of the vehicle to see what kind of damage had been done. The big bumper on the truck had only a few minor scratches, probably minor enough to avoid the insurance call I had previously thought I was going to have to make. His car was torn up pretty badly; it was one of those newer models of car that the front end is entirely made out of plastic and composite materials. Crumple zones crumple for a reason. . . He climbed out of his mashed vehicle, cell phone still in hand, and gave a cursory glance at his front right side.
Yeah, you got it right, I would like a two liter bottle of Sprite with all that. . . gimme the total on that, buddy.
He was ordering pizza! It took every bit of my being to keep from reaching into the cargo area of the Bronco, pulling out the softball bat located there, and bashing his skull repeatedly until either I felt better about the situation, or he had some sense. . .whichever came first.
You okay? I asked, biting back my anger.
I figured I would hear something like yeah, gee man, sorry about doing that. . . I looked down for a minute and I thought there were no cars coming. But I did not hear that. I heard him on his phone again. This guy was dialing up his wife now, assured that she needed to know exactly how much his pizza and two liter bottle of Sprite was going to cost her when the delivery boy showed up on her doorstep.
He finally maneuvered around his open car door and glanced bleakly at the dents and torn plastic on the front of his car. Oh yeah, I just hit a guy too he stated dully to the little devil machine attached to his face. He snapped the phone closed again, but only for a second.
Now he was using the little beast to snap pictures of the damage. At the same time, he was digging in his back pocket for what turned out to be his wallet and his insurance card. Yes, that is probably the best thing to do in that situation. But you only do that once you see if the other guy is all right and that there is no more further danger to yourself or the other driver. He hadn't even answered my question yet.
You got insurance? he asked and my blood pressure skyrocketed.
Yeah, um are you all right? I asked again. He gave me a cursory wave as if to say everything was okay, meanwhile the little annoying noise of the phone camera never stopped.
You think we need the cops or insurance involved? he said around the phone.
I thought about answering him with a "yes" because if he didn't put that goddamned phone down, the cops were going to be needed to keep me from tearing his intestines out with my teeth and his health insurance company was surely going to be interested in that. But no, I told him that everything was fine on my side of the situation, I just wanted to get my kids. We handed each other our insurance information and got back into our vehicles and went about our merry way.
Thing is, he never looked me square in the eye. I am sure that later on if I decided to sue him over whiplash, he would never know who I was, would have no clue if he had to point me out in the courtroom except for the neck collar I would be wearing. He had never taken a picture of me, just the damage to his car.
I just left Kroger with some small purchases. While I was in there I decided I wanted some Pop-Tarts...also, Kroger had a good sale on them. I start down the aisle and make it about half way down before I realize I shouldnt have gone down there.
In front of me are two of the largest women I have ever seen with about 6 children each are blocking the aisle. I turn to get out of the aisle and there is another beast behind me with her own litter of puppies.
I maneuvered through the first lady in front of me and get my Pop-Tarts. Next, there is only one behemoth left in the aisle and I am outta there...but no, she's manhandling her kids with one hand and talking on a cell phone with the other. While all of this is happening, she is also blocking the exit from the aisle with her cart.
"Excuse me, "I say. She doesnt hear me, or is just plain ignoring me. I figure she is ignoring me because she looks like that type of person: ghetto, pissed at everybody, feels the world owes her something. I guess she figured she would take her little slice of the world by ignoring my polite request.
"Excuse me," I say again. This time I know she hears me because she gives me a dirty look...as if to say "fuck you, white boy...I is stayin."
Finally, after this split second showdown of sorts, she continues to talk on her cell phone...telling whoever is on the other end "some asshole axed me to get the eff out of the way....no, he say "excuse me" but fuck him."
Finally, I am getting a bit steamed. I clear my throat and say...
"I have asked you twice in a nice manner to move so that I may leave the aisle. Please get out of my way, you fat inconsiderate slob, I want to leave."
She stares at me with her jaw on the ground...the cell phone is idle in her slack arm and hand. Its evident that she has never been talked to this way and is used to getting her way by bullying whoever is in her path. She moves her cart with a few sharp tugs and the dirty look on her face is priceless.
I would have dropped it at that, but as I am getting out of the aisle with my cart of purchases, she utters "muthafucka" at me under her breath.
I quickly turned to her and let her have it...
"Oh yeah, thats right...its the first of the month...this place is like an amusement park for you isnt it?"
Note: in response to the many people who asked, I purchased the frosted brown sugar and cinnamon flavored type of Pop-Tarts.
I have always loved tinkering with websites and with HTML coding, but I never really had the time or the energy to really delve into coding. In the past (around 20 years ago), I relied on a lot of web tutorials and chatting with other people online to figure out how all this works.
All of that being said, I am not a big fan of the "Web 2.0" horseshit. I don't care if somebody tweets something, likes something, upvotes something, or subscribes to something. I don't want to have to "ring a bell" to receive notifications. If I find something interesting on the internet, I will just pay attention to it. And that leads me to my next complaint.
Websites, most of the time, are jam packed with a bunch of crap that I don't need. This is why this website is here. I plan on making random posts using only notepad to do it. There will be no "reblogs" or "trackbacks" on bloggin.space. Only things that I find interesting, funny, sad, poignant, absurd, or important. If you really want to tell somebody about something I have done, copy and paste it.
"The rule of my life is to make business a pleasure, and pleasure my business."
Long known only for his famous duel with Alexander Hamilton, Aaron Burr is a very mysterious and colorful character in American history. He has been labeled a charlatan, a despicable traitor, an incredibly brave soldier, generous to a fault, a great man, and a loser. . .and just about anything in between. For most of his life, Aaron Burr lived a life that was legendary, building up armies of adventurers, defining what the United States vice presidency was, languishing in foreign prisons, and being expelled from countries by famous emperors. However you feel about this American enigma, you have to admit he was a colorful character.
Aaron Burr was born in New Jersey and spent most of his early life in and around New England gaining a fine education in Theology and then in Law. During the Revolutionary War, Burr distinguished himself as an incredibly brave soldier and was promoted several times; finally ending up in George Washington’s entourage at its base camp in Manhattan. While in this entourage, a brief glimpse of the Burr to come shone forth. While stationed with Washington, he made it clear that he had no wish to languish behind the lines and hungered for both battle and glory. Washington, ever distrustful of Burr granted his wish and sent him to go and to work with General Israel Putnam. While working with Putnam, Burr would make the foolish mistake of saving an entire brigade of American soldiers while they retreated from British forces in Harlem. Among the soldiers Burr saved was a young army officer named Alexander Hamilton, but more on him later. . .
For the remainder of the American Revolution, Burr would go and do many insanely brave things and develop a huge respect from the men who served under him. Finally, Burr was forced to retire due to his flagging health. He had developed a case of heat stroke during battle and remained crazed because of this debilitation for the rest of his life.
After leaving the army, he was not quite able to leave the war. He became a spy on behalf of George Washington and led several student uprisings against British forces garrisoned on New England college campuses. Throughout these strenuous activities he also managed to finish his studies in Law and became a lawyer.