On Thursday I had to deal with...
...getting up so early I actually woke up ten minutes before I went to sleep.
...heat. It had to be over ninety degrees by 9am. You see, we live in a desert.
...hearing a local radio station playing an excerpt from the guy who won American Idol. Fuck me in a cheap hotel, that shit is awful. His voice is TERRIBLE. Was that the best they could do? I've heard vagrants drunk on racing fuel who sing better than that.
...seeing the ass-crack of a woman who had no business showing ass-crack. I'm pretty sure Fatty McPorker's Plus-Size Emporium sells belts.
...a woman trying to pull off the dreaded terricloth shirt/shorts combo. It's never wise to choose your clothes for their absorbency.
...people who smell like Frankenstein's cock invading my personal space.
...the waitress at the Mexican restaurant where I ate lunch. Although I ordered a "burrito", she must have thought I asked for "Rosie O'Donnel's tampon", based on the horror she placed in front of me.
...the drive home from work. Stop-and-go traffic is bad enough; now add one-hundred degree weather and no a/c in the rolling deathtrap I drive. I was sweating like Clay Aiken eating a tall stack of johnnycakes.
I was almost home when something happened that made me smile. A teenage girl rear-ended a guy at a red light.
It made me smile because the guy was an old man in a sports car. God, what a cliche. No one was hurt and there wasn't any damage to either of the vehicles, but Mr. Desperately Holding On to His Youth acted like it was a head-on collision.
I was on his side until he got out of the car and shouted "What are you, stoopid or somethin'?" in a thick New England chowderhead accent. He was wearing a black turtleneck and had his hair slicked back via Michael Douglas as Gordon Gecko, circa 1987. He was such a stereotype I had the sudden urge to don a straw hat and a corncob pipe and play My Old Kentucky Home by beating a mason jar with a banned book.
It was suddenly funny to me. The girl was totally at fault; she wasn't paying attention to the road and bumped into him. But sometimes douchebags need to suffer. And sometimes they need to suffer for my amusement.
...getting up so early I actually woke up ten minutes before I went to sleep.
...heat. It had to be over ninety degrees by 9am. You see, we live in a desert.
...hearing a local radio station playing an excerpt from the guy who won American Idol. Fuck me in a cheap hotel, that shit is awful. His voice is TERRIBLE. Was that the best they could do? I've heard vagrants drunk on racing fuel who sing better than that.
...seeing the ass-crack of a woman who had no business showing ass-crack. I'm pretty sure Fatty McPorker's Plus-Size Emporium sells belts.
...a woman trying to pull off the dreaded terricloth shirt/shorts combo. It's never wise to choose your clothes for their absorbency.
...people who smell like Frankenstein's cock invading my personal space.
...the waitress at the Mexican restaurant where I ate lunch. Although I ordered a "burrito", she must have thought I asked for "Rosie O'Donnel's tampon", based on the horror she placed in front of me.
...the drive home from work. Stop-and-go traffic is bad enough; now add one-hundred degree weather and no a/c in the rolling deathtrap I drive. I was sweating like Clay Aiken eating a tall stack of johnnycakes.
I was almost home when something happened that made me smile. A teenage girl rear-ended a guy at a red light.
It made me smile because the guy was an old man in a sports car. God, what a cliche. No one was hurt and there wasn't any damage to either of the vehicles, but Mr. Desperately Holding On to His Youth acted like it was a head-on collision.
I was on his side until he got out of the car and shouted "What are you, stoopid or somethin'?" in a thick New England chowderhead accent. He was wearing a black turtleneck and had his hair slicked back via Michael Douglas as Gordon Gecko, circa 1987. He was such a stereotype I had the sudden urge to don a straw hat and a corncob pipe and play My Old Kentucky Home by beating a mason jar with a banned book.
It was suddenly funny to me. The girl was totally at fault; she wasn't paying attention to the road and bumped into him. But sometimes douchebags need to suffer. And sometimes they need to suffer for my amusement.
19 Comments:
LOL. Gold, as usual, Todd.
I wuv you todd...
hehehheh...
Bugger I think I might be drunk.. hic.. oops... smirk
My whole week has been reasonably shit thus far. I'll have to look out for some 'rear ending' of my own....
Vast right wing conspirator: I've been rear ended six times. Shit happens. Get over it.
I saw that it's been so hot there lately. I'm too fat for that kind of heat. I need to go purchase an air conditioner before it's too late.
What's great about the situation, Todd, is that when they suffer for YOUR entertainment, they suffer for OUR entertainment as well.
This is why I believe in God.
waaakkkkkkeeeee uuuuppppppppppp
Oh, you're on a roll. Bastard deserved to get his car hit.
my god you're a funny, funny individual. a very cynically funny individual.
is cynically a word?
You're leaving that awful place soon, right?
oh, and about that cheap motel.....
Rosie O'Donnell's tamp---blllllllllllaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
You are one messed up MO-FO
boy you sure do know how to turn a phrase.
"I've heard vagrants drunk on racing fuel who sing better than that."
Ha!
Your love for your fellow man is an inspiration to all. I need a tissue...
Marty Feldman, who acquired Frankenstein's cock for Herr Doctor, of course, was asked what it smelled like in an interview for a German magazine. Germans are some sick fucks, you know.
If memory serves, he said it had that new car smell, with a subtle hint of Limburger cheese and just a tantalizing wisp of old McDonald's french fry grease.
Marty died in 1982. WE LOVE YOU MARTY!!!
dena,
oh, you flatter me so.
vast,
I think you were hit much harder than this guy. Besides, you aren't an old man with a sports car.
sole,
your car doesn't have air conditioning?
tlsd,
drunk? For shame.
cherry,
rear ending? Are you having someone over?
kristina,
in all fairness, you live in California, so at least you have good weather. We have shitty weather and all of the bad drivers who moved here from California.
kat,
I ain't Skinny McGee. I'm burning up.
ubie,
I am but a humble servant of the lord.
le chat,
I'd love to sleep in.
shelly,
your blogger profile doesn't lead to a blog, but if you're a single female over the age of eighteen, I'd like to meet you at that cheap hotel.
fritz,
I'd like to make perfectly clear that no one was hurt and his car was not even slightly damaged.
jj,
have you ever been to vegas? I'm an accentuate the negative kind of guy; I'll have you hating Louisville in no time.
cold hands,
I was eating as I typed that line. My fat belly damns me to hell.
And we were very close to several cheap hotels; I would have gladly taken you to one.
mbfic,
I write about it instead of shooting them.
claudia,
but you adore me. Okay, like me. Alright, tolerate me.
dilf,
while others were learning marketable skills, I was practicing my phrase turning. I live in abject poverty.
By the way, it's good to have you comment. Do you drink Manhattans? I like a good Manhattan.
ladybug,
let's just say that Frankenstein can never be within a hundred yards of me, and leave it at that.
brooke,
I love you. Isn't that enough?
so I got...,
don't get too emotional. As long as we have his films, Marty Feldman lives.
No but I was hoping tonight when I go out I might get lucky.
Manhattans are fine. My rule of thumb is if the drink has been around for decades, then it's a proper cocktail. This does not however prevent me from serving Chocolate martini's to the wife.
cocolate martini's????!!!!!
HOW DO I GET ONE OF THOSE?
God I sound like such a lush...
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