Go 'Stroooos!!!!
I was at a bar last night waiting for my sisters and my/their friend Jan (who I want to put a weiner into). Some blonde chick comes over. I watch the world series as she watches the UCLA game. Hot but too snooty. Stuff was OK.
Then everybody showed up all at once. I knew the Astros wouldn't do so great in the Frozen Gangland that is Chicago. Especially with Clemens' stiff back. The old fart should have been reserved for the warmer climate. The arthritis (misspelled don't care) doesn't respond well to the cold. 'The Rocket' may soon have to be called 'The Rocker' (as in rocking chair). Fuckin' 43 year old man pitching in the cold. Seriously bad call. Really bad. The wonders of sports science and geriatric medicine did hold up fairly well considering the circumstances.
Some guy who talked and acted gay came over to our table and started hitting on my sisters. I couldn't care less, except that he kept rubbing in the Astros defeat. I mad a motion with my pint glass that I would break the rim and shove it through his throat. He went away for a minute. Like any shit fly he came back and started talking my sisters up. I stared daggers through him. When we were leaving he said something like, 'hey you have your team I have mine', or some shit. I could only respond with, "I'll fucking hit you".
Then my sisters and bone-able friend and I all went to some Thai place, after looking at some mmm...fairly talented street urchin's extremely derivative work. I took one look at his pictures and said, "do you remember The Maxx"? He said yeah, and that he steals the heads of some of the figures in his pictures from that comic. Sam Kieth is original and good. This guy is a bum. The Thai place was good. I'm the only vegetarian hold out.
I had a sizzling plate that burned my finger, full of shrimp and scallops and fish, Oh My! It was dam good but it caused me to be bound to the toilet for an hour or so earlier. My left leg fell asleep three or four times as I was sitting there.
I tried all sorts of different positions to make myself shit. I totally took my pants and drawers off from around my ankles. I spread my legs. I brought them back in slightly as if I was giving birth. I got into the the classic squatting fecal position. I rubbed my belly. Upward on the right side along the ascending colon, then right to left, then downward on the left side atop the descending colon. I think it helped.
I was wearing a yellow long sleaved shirt. I have this one and my official Star Trek shirt. Whenever I'm wearing one of them I pretend I'm in the Captain's chair aboard the Enterprise, when sitting on the pot. I said to myself, "Captain's Log Stardate 10-23-05. The shit is moving slowly through the ASS-(hemmo)-teroid field. Hopefully sometime in the next millenia we will land safely in the Shit House Nebula. This is a painstaking ordeal. It is trying the patience of myself and my crew. The left saunter paddle has shut down many times now. Scotty and Uhuru have been rubbing it down trying to keep the pins and needles at bay. Moving ahead with caution is the best way to ensure we will be without a breech in the worm hole".
Speaking of things that could caus a breech in the wormhole, Gay Ali called me today. He's worked at Walgreens everyday for the past 10 days. Bullshit. The keep giving him raises. I told him with this new job that I have, I am making more than he does. He wants to know what I am going to buy him. Ahh what a queer. It was good hearing from him though.
I should find something to do with myself. Shouldn't you?
Then everybody showed up all at once. I knew the Astros wouldn't do so great in the Frozen Gangland that is Chicago. Especially with Clemens' stiff back. The old fart should have been reserved for the warmer climate. The arthritis (misspelled don't care) doesn't respond well to the cold. 'The Rocket' may soon have to be called 'The Rocker' (as in rocking chair). Fuckin' 43 year old man pitching in the cold. Seriously bad call. Really bad. The wonders of sports science and geriatric medicine did hold up fairly well considering the circumstances.
Some guy who talked and acted gay came over to our table and started hitting on my sisters. I couldn't care less, except that he kept rubbing in the Astros defeat. I mad a motion with my pint glass that I would break the rim and shove it through his throat. He went away for a minute. Like any shit fly he came back and started talking my sisters up. I stared daggers through him. When we were leaving he said something like, 'hey you have your team I have mine', or some shit. I could only respond with, "I'll fucking hit you".
Then my sisters and bone-able friend and I all went to some Thai place, after looking at some mmm...fairly talented street urchin's extremely derivative work. I took one look at his pictures and said, "do you remember The Maxx"? He said yeah, and that he steals the heads of some of the figures in his pictures from that comic. Sam Kieth is original and good. This guy is a bum. The Thai place was good. I'm the only vegetarian hold out.
I had a sizzling plate that burned my finger, full of shrimp and scallops and fish, Oh My! It was dam good but it caused me to be bound to the toilet for an hour or so earlier. My left leg fell asleep three or four times as I was sitting there.
I tried all sorts of different positions to make myself shit. I totally took my pants and drawers off from around my ankles. I spread my legs. I brought them back in slightly as if I was giving birth. I got into the the classic squatting fecal position. I rubbed my belly. Upward on the right side along the ascending colon, then right to left, then downward on the left side atop the descending colon. I think it helped.
I was wearing a yellow long sleaved shirt. I have this one and my official Star Trek shirt. Whenever I'm wearing one of them I pretend I'm in the Captain's chair aboard the Enterprise, when sitting on the pot. I said to myself, "Captain's Log Stardate 10-23-05. The shit is moving slowly through the ASS-(hemmo)-teroid field. Hopefully sometime in the next millenia we will land safely in the Shit House Nebula. This is a painstaking ordeal. It is trying the patience of myself and my crew. The left saunter paddle has shut down many times now. Scotty and Uhuru have been rubbing it down trying to keep the pins and needles at bay. Moving ahead with caution is the best way to ensure we will be without a breech in the worm hole".
Speaking of things that could caus a breech in the wormhole, Gay Ali called me today. He's worked at Walgreens everyday for the past 10 days. Bullshit. The keep giving him raises. I told him with this new job that I have, I am making more than he does. He wants to know what I am going to buy him. Ahh what a queer. It was good hearing from him though.
I should find something to do with myself. Shouldn't you?