Sunday, April 29, 2007

Riding the Shopping Cart

I like to ride the shopping cart at Costco. I look out for a long, clear runway in an aisle, run as fast as I can, and hop onto the back of the cart, usually by placing my feet on the bottom support cross-member. Buzzing along for 50 feet or so I find extremely fun and it makes me feel like the kid that I am. Speed. I behave this way while driving the car, too, but who cares if you knock over 40 cases of Pop Tarts.

This probably doesn't come as any surprise to you, me being a regular idiot male, bored out of his wits while his girlfriend does the actual shopping.

But what gets me is that I never see any other guy do this. Why is that? Am I the only one in this mid-sized city who goes with his lady to Costco and does this with the shopping cart? C'mon fellas... have some fun. Jeezuz H. Christ, be a kid.

Saturday, April 28, 2007

You belong face down on the sidewalk, anyway

The next time I have to change my route or pace because some dumb, fat, smoking chick walks out of the bar without even looking, totally oblivious to the fact that I'm going to walk smack into them if they don't see me, I'm not going to change my route or pace, and I'll walk smack into them, I swear. It's my sidewalk, get the hell ouf of my way, you pig.

Credit Cards in Restaurants

I'm a reasonable guy. I understand that when I'm buying a half rack at a stop-n-rob liquor store at 1:00 A.M. and Mr. Pimple Face asks to see my ID when I hand him my Gold card, that he's just looking out for the store, his job, and the safety of my credit score. But what boils my blood is when I go to half way decent restaurant in the early evening, have dinner and wine with my date, pay with my card, and the schmuck asks me for my ID: "Mr, Maniac, may I please see your ID."

"Oh yes, of course. Certainly," as if I'm sucking up to the cop who just pulled me over. "Do you want to see my fucking registration, too?"

Yeah, I know. He's looking out for me. Well fuck him. The only thing I know is that he thinks I'm a fucking thief, that this Gold card really couldn't belong to an ugly bastard like me, that he's thinking "Lady, do you know who you're with," and that he's ready to call the cops on me (in fact, he's got is G.E. Cordless phone in the other hand). You just fucked yourself out of a half way decent tip, you ass hole.

What's really fucked up is when it happens on multiple occasions with the same ass hole wait person.

Thursday, April 19, 2007

Blockage

I was tromping down the sidewalk, quickly, energetically, and in sync with my heavy breathing, my heart bobbing through my chest like Uma Thurman breaking through her coffin. I was doing so well. A layer of sweat blanketed my forehead. I was feeling great and I didn't want to slow down. Then it happened: blockage. I came upon two overweight broads, waddling down the middle of the narrow path, strolling at a snail's pace, smoking cigarettes and polluting the air that I would nearly immediately and involuntarily suck into my lungs like a drowning man. In it went. My chest started to hurt. I was breathing too hard. I was so pissed. I switched into a gallop and got around them.

I needed some payback. I took a heavy drag from my cigar and exhaled my cloud of smoke right into their path. That'll teach them. Cunts.

Friday, April 13, 2007

Daily Race

Every morning I race to work. I drive as fast as I can, weaving around all those parked cars on the highway. I love to jam my accelerator pedal down, triggering a downshift. Man Oh Man, am I a race driver.

Most days I cruise through a school zone at 45MPH - the speed limit, or, maybe 10 MPH more - in time to avoid the "20 MPH, asshole, or it's your ass!" threat that plagues this city. There are more school zones here per square mile than casinos on The Strip. But the fact that it's not yet a school zone doesn't stop at least seven idiots from slowing down to 15 MPH anyway to show how safe and responsible they are. Eat my dust.

I don't care if a dust-eating granny pulls up at the stop light right next to me. It no longer makes me feel like a schmuck. It's no longer a matter of "You won't get there any faster, so just please drive safely, jerk!" At least I had fun getting there, and fast.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Notice to Confident Women from Restless Male


If you hurt my feelings -- badly, I mean -- and I shut myself off from you for a day or two, then you ask me what's wrong, and I am up front and honest with you, DON'T FUCKING BE DEFENSIVE. Because if you are, you are completely, totally, loudly, and utterly telling me -- to my face -- that my feelings didn't fucking matter in the first place, that there was no fucking reason to get all upset, that I fucking "misunderstood" something. And don't ask me, "Did you even look/read/see it before you got all freaked out?" FUCK THAT. Do you think that my hurt feelings were just something I wanted to do? On purpose? Kiss my ass.

Are You a Geek or the Pope?

You know, some folks refuse to even try to understand basic computer usage principles, but not because of a lack of curiosity or some obstacle in the way of understanding. It's because they want you to think they are as humble and modest as the Pope. It's much better to be the Pope than a “geek” who understands how to copy a damn letter to a floppy disk. You hear it all the time: "Oh, well, yeah, I'm just a nincompoop when it comes to those darned things." Translation: "I am one with God and I will just take your word for it that you can copy or upload a file. I am, of course, above actually spending any time learning how to do it myself. That would be like getting my knees dirty replacing the plumbing under my house while making a seven-figure salary. To hell with that, geek. You do it. And, by the way, can you do it for me? I'll buy you a cup of coffee?" I think this is just a bunch of fake humility.

These are invariably the same jerk-offs who are in front of you and driving 10 MPH under the speed limit. Why? To prove how “safe” they are as a driver. “Yeah yeah yeah, you're safe, and I'm bored. Get the f out of my way! Take your safe driving bullshit to the shoulder if you're too afraid to actually drive. If you want to just stop, that is OK with me. But don't do it in the middle of the left-hand lane in a 55 MPH zone, PULL THE F OVER YOU CONCEITED BASTARD! Fake humility and being controlling.

Look How Good a Parent I Am
You know those mothers who talk to their rug-rat kids just a little bit too loudly in close proximity to others around them? It's just so you can overhear snippets of "How to be a Good and Loving Parent." They're proving to you how responsible and caring a parent they are. OK, I'm good with good parenting and all. But that's like talking too loudly on your cell phone when you're annoying your captive audience on a bus. “Yeah yeah, your kid just farted and you're in my way.”


I wish people would just let go.

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Blogging and Low Carb Burgers

Blogging is just like eating a Low Carb 6 Dollar Burger at Carl's Jr. You are out there alone, at a table, not making eye contact with anybody, and at the same time you're trying to eat the world's most embarrassing thing to try to eat: A juicy cheeseburger without the bun. Yeah, there's the lettuce that supposedly "wraps" everything into a tight little bundle, but, to date, that has never worked for me. And you know that every other customer -- and their two rug-rat kids -- is staring right at you like you are the most animalistic consumer of fast food on earth. You don't confirm this, though, because you're too embarrassed to look to see if the other person is looking at you which they probably are. After the first two bites, the entire thing usually collapses and then it looks like you are eating hamburger stew, dripping wet and with just your hands.

So this is my second post to the blog.

Speaking of eating that burger. Not only is it embarrassing to eat, what with everyone shaking their head at you, fool, but now you have to embarrass yourself even more by cleaning it all off yourself, all in front of the same people. Don't look now.

They ought to have little "face showers" at each table. That way, instead of just napkins, you can be provided with a hot table-side hand and face shower. It's perfect. There could be a little wire frame-work that can "pop up" onto the sides of the table to drape a small shower curtain around the table. There will be a vertical slit and two holes on either side for your head and hands to enter the shower. It's all fastened up by Velcro. Two can do it at one time. Napkins can be used to dry off.

Next to the Diet Sodas and Iced Tea there could be a tap for soap. One squirt into a little catchup tub is all that is needed for two people.

WTF is a "Screening"?

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