well crap on my crap
Fucking gas prices went up again.
You have no idea how much gas it takes to run this friggin Death Star. I know you probably think it runs on like, dilithium crystals or something, but really, it runs on good old premium unleaded.
That's what the galactic taxpayers are spending their hard earned dollars... it's our fuckin gas money.
But what can ya do?
It's kind of funny... like, we're in the middle of this massive galactic war... star wars if you will, but, for being in the middle of a massive war, there sure is a lot of down time.
Not that there's a lack of things to do... but it sure is easy to find time to spend just fucking around.
For instance, me and my buddy Dave the Stormtrooper were having golf cart races the other day.
You see, the Death Star is a HUGE friggin place, and it's not exactly easy to get from, say, the administration office to the cafeteria in less than a couple hours if you're just hoofin it.
So they give us these golf carts to ride around on. Of course they don't call them "golf carts"... they're officially called Imperial Personal Transport Devices or something... but they're just golf carts. They're just painted gray. And they've got the little Empire emblem on them.
So anyhoo, me and Dave were in the 23rd floor food storage warehouse, which happened to be empty because we are expecting a huge shipment of canned food so it had been all cleared out and everything.
That's just BEGGING me and Dave to fuck around in it!
So we got our golf carts and fashioned a make shift race track out of empty boxes and had our races.
Dave kept accusing me of using the force to slow his cart down but I was all "no way fucker, you just can't handle that I 0wn j00"
That's not nearly as bad as when we're playing air hockey. Fuckin Dave is CONVINCED that I'm cheating at air hockey. He just can't cope with the fact that I rock the air hockey table better than anyone else on this friggin Death Star.
He kind of pissed me off last time we played though. He crossed the line. I was trouncing him 9 to 6 in a game. We were going to 10 and had like, thirty seconds on the clock, and then he gets this like, somber look and he's all "If you strike me down now, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine" and i"m all "dude... just like... fuck you dude" and I stormed out.
People think that just because you're a public figure your life is suddenly some kind of fictional thing that they can joke around about. It's like... they can't comprehend the fact that I totally had to kill a good buddy of mine. I mean, sure, it had to be done, but shit, doesn't mean that I didn't feel kind of shitty about it afterwards. And like, I think it's TOTALLY uncool for people to joke around about it.
Fucking Dave.
He apologized for it later and bought me a drink so we're cool now, but sheesh, buddy... think a little before you open your fucking mouth. He's lucky I didn't crush his windpipe with my mind.
Anyways, speaking of drinks, I've had a few too many tonight. I doubt I've made any kind of sense whatsoever.
You have no idea how much gas it takes to run this friggin Death Star. I know you probably think it runs on like, dilithium crystals or something, but really, it runs on good old premium unleaded.
That's what the galactic taxpayers are spending their hard earned dollars... it's our fuckin gas money.
But what can ya do?
It's kind of funny... like, we're in the middle of this massive galactic war... star wars if you will, but, for being in the middle of a massive war, there sure is a lot of down time.
Not that there's a lack of things to do... but it sure is easy to find time to spend just fucking around.
For instance, me and my buddy Dave the Stormtrooper were having golf cart races the other day.
You see, the Death Star is a HUGE friggin place, and it's not exactly easy to get from, say, the administration office to the cafeteria in less than a couple hours if you're just hoofin it.
So they give us these golf carts to ride around on. Of course they don't call them "golf carts"... they're officially called Imperial Personal Transport Devices or something... but they're just golf carts. They're just painted gray. And they've got the little Empire emblem on them.
So anyhoo, me and Dave were in the 23rd floor food storage warehouse, which happened to be empty because we are expecting a huge shipment of canned food so it had been all cleared out and everything.
That's just BEGGING me and Dave to fuck around in it!
So we got our golf carts and fashioned a make shift race track out of empty boxes and had our races.
Dave kept accusing me of using the force to slow his cart down but I was all "no way fucker, you just can't handle that I 0wn j00"
That's not nearly as bad as when we're playing air hockey. Fuckin Dave is CONVINCED that I'm cheating at air hockey. He just can't cope with the fact that I rock the air hockey table better than anyone else on this friggin Death Star.
He kind of pissed me off last time we played though. He crossed the line. I was trouncing him 9 to 6 in a game. We were going to 10 and had like, thirty seconds on the clock, and then he gets this like, somber look and he's all "If you strike me down now, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine" and i"m all "dude... just like... fuck you dude" and I stormed out.
People think that just because you're a public figure your life is suddenly some kind of fictional thing that they can joke around about. It's like... they can't comprehend the fact that I totally had to kill a good buddy of mine. I mean, sure, it had to be done, but shit, doesn't mean that I didn't feel kind of shitty about it afterwards. And like, I think it's TOTALLY uncool for people to joke around about it.
Fucking Dave.
He apologized for it later and bought me a drink so we're cool now, but sheesh, buddy... think a little before you open your fucking mouth. He's lucky I didn't crush his windpipe with my mind.
Anyways, speaking of drinks, I've had a few too many tonight. I doubt I've made any kind of sense whatsoever.