The coldest winter I ever spent.
Alright so my fat little brother with the giant red afro came to visit up until last week. We were walking down Mission St. one day when some Mexican guy saw Red's hair and shouted, " E-Stu-Pee-Dough!" I shot back, "I'm not sure what he said but what ever it was it sounded dumb, because it was in Spanish...whatever the hell he said".
Then a couple of this guy's homies went over and told him not to talk shit until he learns the word 'shit'.
Anyway Red's back in Fosterville...I mean Houston. Ha! If I was there I'd volunteer at the Astrodome and bring a bunch of dirty cock suckin' Big Easy ghetto chicks back to my parents dirty ass house and barbecue a shit load of pork ribs. I geh-roan-tee. You bettchah!
So I made it to the 2nd interview for another white collar job. I keep going for marketing gigs but when I show up these people want me in sales. This is bullshit. With a degree and honors and all that shit all I can get is a poor man's 'Death of a Salesman' role. Fuck it. Why work then? I mean really this warped sense of things should be spattered across TV screens not going up to old geezers who run law firms, trying to get them to switch over from Fed Ex to UPS. That's all these jobs I've been interviewing for have been. Bullshit. I guess all the real jobs really have moved over seas.
Glorified door to door sales. "In person" or "face to face" marketing. Everything comes around I guess. This must be the second season for the door to door vaccuum salesman who spreads his seed accross the arid SouthWest.
I'm thinking of blowing this popsicle stand, and going up to Oregon. I've been here for a fuckin' while. Not that long though. Which is what bothers me.
So Stalker Bill emails me and says a bunch of my LJ shit is read aloud at a party. What the fuck. You fuckers wait till I'm gone to tell everybody how great I am.
I'm not Nietzche I don't need people getting on my nuts after I'm dead. Talk me up while I'm still around. Don't wait for the maggots to start crawling on my sack...again.
One night where I would have had a decent chance of getting laid or at least fucking a house plant, and I'm not there! Shit.
So anyway I think I may be headed to Oregon soon because my sister's psychotic boyfriend says that she's going to start waking me up at a decent hour. Fuck that. I'll decide what hour is a decent one in which to get up because that's the hour I open my eyes, take a shower, and take a dump. There hasn't been much blood in my feces lately. I think that's a good sign. The 'roids have finally decided to die down. I think its this vego diet. Allows for smooth pooters. Mmm smooth pooters.
So anyway speaking of my sister's psychotic boy friend, who just left to pick her up at the airport, he went wacky Friday night. Friday night I come home from a bar, thinking about how lascivious this world is, and I lay down. I think about how I don't have any friends in this town. I think about how ultimately this will probably just be one big ass vacation instead of some great escape. I think about how I ought to be getting laid. Then I hear my sister's boyfriend come into the apartment and curse.
Alot of shits and fucks. I hear him in the kitchen. I hear metal clanging. He's getting the knives. I can hear it. He goes outside. I hear his voice. I go outside. He's confronting the Mexican gangbangers across the street. He's telling them to "come on". He walks off. I decide he's just being crazy so I go back inside. A couple of minute later I hear him screaming again. I go outside. He walks off from the Mexicans again who won't do anything because well, he IS crazy. I talk to him. He decides to confront them. I persuade him and the gangbangers that he is indeed high and everybody just needs to forget shit ever happened. I think it worked.
We get inside and his mouth is all bloody. I thought it was the gangbangers. Little did I know this crazy bastard had just broken a pool stick and beaten a bunch of bouncers at a bar after having been kicked out. One of the bouncers followed him and beat his ass, until he stabbed that nigger. The Mexicans just talked shit to him as he was walking home, and he wasn't having it. Wicked goings on. Sometimes I wish more shit like that happened around me. Most of the time I'm glad they don't.
I need to go to a titty bar in a serious way. Fuckin' Fart Hammer Styleeee.
Then a couple of this guy's homies went over and told him not to talk shit until he learns the word 'shit'.
Anyway Red's back in Fosterville...I mean Houston. Ha! If I was there I'd volunteer at the Astrodome and bring a bunch of dirty cock suckin' Big Easy ghetto chicks back to my parents dirty ass house and barbecue a shit load of pork ribs. I geh-roan-tee. You bettchah!
So I made it to the 2nd interview for another white collar job. I keep going for marketing gigs but when I show up these people want me in sales. This is bullshit. With a degree and honors and all that shit all I can get is a poor man's 'Death of a Salesman' role. Fuck it. Why work then? I mean really this warped sense of things should be spattered across TV screens not going up to old geezers who run law firms, trying to get them to switch over from Fed Ex to UPS. That's all these jobs I've been interviewing for have been. Bullshit. I guess all the real jobs really have moved over seas.
Glorified door to door sales. "In person" or "face to face" marketing. Everything comes around I guess. This must be the second season for the door to door vaccuum salesman who spreads his seed accross the arid SouthWest.
I'm thinking of blowing this popsicle stand, and going up to Oregon. I've been here for a fuckin' while. Not that long though. Which is what bothers me.
So Stalker Bill emails me and says a bunch of my LJ shit is read aloud at a party. What the fuck. You fuckers wait till I'm gone to tell everybody how great I am.
I'm not Nietzche I don't need people getting on my nuts after I'm dead. Talk me up while I'm still around. Don't wait for the maggots to start crawling on my sack...again.
One night where I would have had a decent chance of getting laid or at least fucking a house plant, and I'm not there! Shit.
So anyway I think I may be headed to Oregon soon because my sister's psychotic boyfriend says that she's going to start waking me up at a decent hour. Fuck that. I'll decide what hour is a decent one in which to get up because that's the hour I open my eyes, take a shower, and take a dump. There hasn't been much blood in my feces lately. I think that's a good sign. The 'roids have finally decided to die down. I think its this vego diet. Allows for smooth pooters. Mmm smooth pooters.
So anyway speaking of my sister's psychotic boy friend, who just left to pick her up at the airport, he went wacky Friday night. Friday night I come home from a bar, thinking about how lascivious this world is, and I lay down. I think about how I don't have any friends in this town. I think about how ultimately this will probably just be one big ass vacation instead of some great escape. I think about how I ought to be getting laid. Then I hear my sister's boyfriend come into the apartment and curse.
Alot of shits and fucks. I hear him in the kitchen. I hear metal clanging. He's getting the knives. I can hear it. He goes outside. I hear his voice. I go outside. He's confronting the Mexican gangbangers across the street. He's telling them to "come on". He walks off. I decide he's just being crazy so I go back inside. A couple of minute later I hear him screaming again. I go outside. He walks off from the Mexicans again who won't do anything because well, he IS crazy. I talk to him. He decides to confront them. I persuade him and the gangbangers that he is indeed high and everybody just needs to forget shit ever happened. I think it worked.
We get inside and his mouth is all bloody. I thought it was the gangbangers. Little did I know this crazy bastard had just broken a pool stick and beaten a bunch of bouncers at a bar after having been kicked out. One of the bouncers followed him and beat his ass, until he stabbed that nigger. The Mexicans just talked shit to him as he was walking home, and he wasn't having it. Wicked goings on. Sometimes I wish more shit like that happened around me. Most of the time I'm glad they don't.
I need to go to a titty bar in a serious way. Fuckin' Fart Hammer Styleeee.