Iraq

One of my best friends since high school ended up joining the Army a year or two after he graduated. I don't know why he did, and to this day he's clueless. Long story short, after basic and BS around Baghdad he winds up in the middle of nowhere living in a tent with no AC and a shitty laptop. And yet, WIRELESS INTERNET. In the midst of MILES OF FUCKING SAND AND CAMELS. I digress.

So there's catching up via AIM, and the inevitable photo exchange. The first picture he shows me isn't of him, his surroundings, or anything memorable he'd witnessed. None of these options was acceptable to Captain Slick. No, this photo was real real different.

It was a picture of the ground outside his tent, with the words "THIS SUCKS," hastily etched into the sand with a nearby stick. I can't think of a more fitting image or commentary for how shit is going over there, even two years later.

Why I hate conventions, issue #1 ( yaoi fangirls )

Yeah, it's been too long since I last touched this thing. School has been keeping me busy, along with my retarded ass gig waiting tables. It's a tradeoff: I'm a lazy, poor employee who can call the shots as far as scheduling/days off goes, and the money is either really good or really shitty depending on the day. Maybe I should just get out of food service entirely.

I digress.

I've been going to conventions since before I could walk, talk, and it was still acceptable to soil yourself in public ( Seniors are not allowed. If you're an old fuck with diapers, you should just park it at home on the can, because seriously? No one wants to deal with your very literal shit ). I don't know why the parents decided this was a fantastic idea. The dad's idea of daycare ( once I was 6-7 and BEYOND ) was leaving me in the anime video room, where over the course of several years I got to see such classics as Devil Hunter Yohko ( porno in the first five minutes! WHEN I WAS EIGHT! TAKE THAT TIPPER GORE YA FUCKING WHORE ) Sailor Moon 1-653456656 ( and they're still making more ), and some other crap I don't remember as well because it wasn't overplayed or porno. Blue Seed at Worldcon in San Antonio when I was 13. That's about all I recall ( it blends together after a while ). I saw way too much. Subtitled. The only plus side of this is that it bumped my reading grade level up a few notches, and by the time I was in 5th grade I had college level reading skillz. Represent.

More digression. Necessary backstory? Perhaps. The real reason I'm starting this whole series of "why I hate conventions," is to convey to what passes for a normal person the SHEER HORROR and TERROR and FAGGOTRY that is to be had at a convention of almost any genre. I'm specifically targetting these: anime, sci-fi, fantasy, furry, and I should do gaming cons but I've never been to one. For most of those people, it's just a change of scenery. Instead of rolling dice with other dorks in someone's basement, you pile into a car and drive ( when you're 27 and living at home, you can't afford airfare ) x number of miles to do the same shit with other dorks who are JUST LIKE YOU. How awesome is that?

It's the same with anime cons.. except these people aren't pretending to be characters and rolling kewl spells and leet dmg with dices peering at the board through greasy hair, glasses, and wiping their noses with the hems of their Metallica shirts. They're fat fucks who really think they're sailormoon or naruto from a parallel dimension. FYI, hailing from the midwest doesn't count. They're usually in latex, or some sad slapdash walmart attempt at recreating their favorite SUGOI DESU character from their favorite series. They favor a flat-footed Juggernaut charge from hell, their rolls swinging from side to side as they fling themselves at random strangers and bearhug/molest them ( defined as "glomping," def. 17. I could do a whole entry about this but I'll let urban dictionary fill you in for the moment ). Though I will admit, this is partial to the female of the species. The male prefers a shuffling, ambling gait, relying on his ninja headband markings to convey his desire to consume underage alcohol and have fumbling anonymous sex with another fat person, preferably a girl.

The worst things about these conventions are the various subcategories of subhumans they attract. I've never understood the appeal of yaoi ( What is it? Hentai for homos! ). For the longest time, I was blissfully unaware of what it was. All good things must come to an end: innocence, naivete, eyesight. Still waiting on the last one.

Ok, so you'd think gay guys would be all about this shit, right? That's what I thought. Boy, was I ever wrong.. and the internet was real prompt about correcting me. It's mostly chicks who dig this shit. Many of them are self-proclaimed lesbians, only making the situation worse. ( 1 dick bad, 2 dicks sliding against each other = good? ) What the fuck, ladies? Jmoney attempted to explain slash fiction to me, born out of jealous women who wanted Captain Kirk to stay away from the hot young thangs he inevitably snares in every episode. Instead of writing yourself into someone else's plotline ( Guess you can only push reality too far. Kirk would need a forklift in space to take you to dinner ), they stick him with MOTHERFUCKING SPOCK. WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS? FANTASIZE ABOUT THIS? WRITE ABOUT THIS AND THEN DIDDLE YOURSELF AFTERWARDS? FANWANK. There is nothing worse than slash fanfiction, as def. 63 can tell you. Fanfiction it it of itself I have issues with. You should write your own material. Twisting characters someone else made to get you and your bull dyke girlfriend off isn't respecting or honoring whatever crap insipired you to write in the first place. It's raping someone else's idea with a spiked steel dildo spinning at 70 MPH, guaranteed to FUCK SHIT UP.

I wish it had died with the Enterprise. Nah, it couldn't go the route of the pog or the Furby. It's more alive today than it ever was out in the gamma quadrant. It's taken over anime, games, even Harry fucking Potter. It's mutated into galleries upon galleries of NC-17 comics masquerading as fan-made manga ( doujinshi is synonymous with homo gay sex fuck up a particular anime or game ), not to mention pages upon pages of slash fanfiction written by single 40 year old women with 20 cats and confused fat hot topic teenage hookers, respectively.

I think my singular encounter with a rabid yaoi fangirl sums up the entire hideous organism. It was a couple years ago at a local convention. Picture this: I'm in the dealers' room, killing time and braincells, and going out of my skull with boredom. I'm walking past the lone, clearly marked yaoi stand en route to a bitch in back selling pretzels.. when I notice the two patrons eagerly flipping through the boxes of repression. Both are older women, on the heavy side.. one is black and one is white. Both have glasses. The bigger of the two, hence dubbed La Vaca Blanca, decides to move on to greener pastures. The second chick, who I'll call BlackPowerFist keeps on truckin'. I'm past the booth by now, smiling at a stereotype and preparing to enjoy a hot pretzel when I hear

BlackPowerFist: "EX~~CUSE ME!"

Knowing this couldn't end well, I turn around and watch the scene as it's unfolding. BlackPowerFist had pulled a doujinshi out of the bin, waving it in the vendor's face. He appeared to be a confused, green type of kid-- maybe his mom blackmailed him into selling her dirty laundry? The world may never know. Said doujinshi depicted three characters, one with long hair and looking decidedly more feminine than the other two.

BlackPowerFist: "There's something wrong with this one. This is CLEARLY A GIRL!"

So indignant with rage was she, red of face and free hand clenched in revolution! Revulsion! So consumed by the irony of it all, I spluttered along with the vendor. Unlike him, I was free to laugh in her face.. which I did for about ten minutes.

I suppose it's a good thing women like this find each other and pair up. You can pretend your 50 cats are the children you're unfit to mother and shower them with all of your unrequited love in Canada.

Peeling an onion.

Insomnia strikes again, and inevitably I wind up back here to horrify and entertain all 3 of you with stories that should be illegal to recount. I'm tired of walking downstairs in the wee hours of the morning and discovering the father figure jacking it in front of THE COMMUNAL FAMILY PC ( more importantly, CHAIR & KEYBOARD & MOUSE UGHHGHHF BLEACH PLZ ).. and then having him pick a fight with me because I caught him red-handed. COOOOOOOOOOOOOL

That's like the time he bought an entire box of Vidalia onions from a local farm and insisted he was saving us a bunch of money.. forgetting that NO ONE ELSE LIKES THEM. The mom predicted, "half the box will go bad because we will not eat all of them." After several weeks of no one eating his culinary onion-related disasters, half of the box did spoil while he moped and bitched like a petulant child. If you are going to the trouble to cook for someone, at least make something everyone can enjoy, instead of something only you like. I don't understand this. He makes some dumbass shit and calls it supper ( IE: HAMLOAF. WHAT THE FUCK IS HAMLOAF?! ) and then bitches about how no one else eats it or appreciates his efforts. It makes my brain hurt as I tear away each and every instance like this, be it cooking, cleaning, or yardwork. Insignificant things that are blown way out of proportion.

Look at the martyr with his infinite list.
Toiling and boiling, he sweats at the mill.
His self-imposition's the kicker, the twist--
It's all for nothing! He works harder still.

Was browsing sites earlier and caught the "signs your spouse is cheating on you," and present criteria matches up pretty nicely. Secretive computer use time, unexplained money disappearing/shifting accounts, long cell phone convos under the cover of a potent box fan in the loft, picking fights over trivial shit as an excuse to storm out of the house.. doesn't paint a pretty picture. The idea that he was doing something on the side has been in the back of my mind for at least a year now. It's adding up to the wrong total and I'm reluctant to say anything, to push the line in a house where it's so shakily drawn to begin with. The tranny shit and high school mom catching you tossing off in the bathroom hijinks aside, I'm scared. Frustrated, upset, and angry. Don't know what I want to find. Don't know if I should look and upset the lies that are continually painted over. When one cracks, there's another fresh layer to replace it.

This is my one allotted emo entry for the year. Use yours wisely.

Tranny surprise. Maybe my dad isn't the one with the problem.. Nah.

J-money and Behemoth requested I post more in here as well as this specific incident. They're mad because I wouldn't tell them at work beyond vague hints. Anonymous commenting's here to stay. Fun shit. Onwards:

Earlier this weekend, mom and pop jumped in the car. Destination: his high school reunion in the middle of nowhere ( the midwest ). Yesterday after work and various other nonsense, I decided this was a good opportunity to attempt repairing his shitty computer. Reformatting, reinstalling, the whole excruciating process that is Windows XP.. assuming you still have the shit that was sent with the computer.

I searched high and low for his install discs, sifting through all the shit on the desk, the file cabinets.. ones that appeared sticky were avoided. Half an hour later, they were nowhere to be found. This was no surprise, considering our family's history with Dell "computers," each one needs to be reformatted several times a year in addition to playing WHO'S GOT THE XP DISC?! It's like playing hot potato, watching everyone pass the buck over a period of days until it inevitably escalates into someone throwing and/or breaking something computer related. Guess who's usually responsible.

As I'm internally whining about the half hour of my life I will never get back, my gaze fell on a couple of battered cardboard boxes nestled behind the computer chair. By this point I was irate and irrational, making the fatal mistake known as CONSIDERATION. Reasoning that the boxes, while shady in nature and haphazardly concealed with an old blanket were also right by the computer. It seemed plausible at the time.. the discs could have ended up in them. Despite the innate knowledge that most cardboard boxes in my dad's possession are homo land mines wasn't enough to deter me. I was a trooper.

BOX # 1 was no help. The search was limited by the unusually high content of somewhat crusty blank tapes.. I refused to touch them. Next up to bat, partially shoved into BOX # 2 was the raggedy-ass blanket with a special surprise inside. There weren't any decoder rings or temporary tatoos, guys.. just a stained pair of crumpled briefs. Trying to quell my disgust, I threw the German cracker jack blanket aside.. making the biggest error of the whole fantastic evening.

In an earlier entry I discussed finding a DVD entitled "Transsexual Prostitutes 10," in his computer during a series of repairs ( runs like a pregnant chick with hemorrhoids ). At the time, I failed to realize it was not a singular DVD. Apparently dad went for the box set and ended up with half of the series, namely six through ten. Thoroughly disgusted, I kicked everyting into the corner and left the room. That guy can fix his own mistakes; he brought them all on himself.

This is America to me anyway

The other day I was riding through a national park, which features an 11-mile scenic one way road ( think rocky, uneven, middle of nowhere psuedo crash course with no rest stops or vending machines for half an hour in any given direction ) through a stunning valley, nestled in the midst of the Smoky Mountains. On the road are numerous pull-offs to admire the view, the preserved log cabins from the era of Deliverance, and any native wildlife dumb enough to throw itself under the wheels of an oncoming SUV. We pull over and exit our car to take full advantage of the offered view. The first thing I see isn't a deer, a mountain, or even a goddamn log cabin.

It's a fat caucasian woman eating nachos out of her minivan.

If that doesn't sum up America lately, I don't know what does.

Who is your daddy and what does he do?

"My papa is a tranny-fixer."
"You mean he's a mechanic?"
"He's not a mechanic, just a pervert."

I should probably start talking about something else before this goes beyond a running joke and becomes: THE JOKE THAT WON'T GO DOWN. I have a hard enough time keeping a straight face when my mother wryly inquires where all of her expensive olive oil has gone.

PLEASE KILL ME

Instead of being the useless progeny, today I decided to be proactive and fix my dad's PC ( since he had been bitching about it not working properly for months ). Considering his hobbies consist of: looking at porn, jacking off, working, and working out, it's no surprise his computer runs slower than an autistic kid attempting the one-hundred yard dash. It took me an hour to get rid of the spyware and screw around with msconfig. I still don't think I got rid of everything. Not that I care ( or am being paid to play punjab-techsupport in my own house ). Banished were the sons and daughters of AOL/Yahoo/MSN. Deleted were the folders upon folders of porno. Right royally fucked was the registry. Lo, behold; network connections does not freeze! All of this I could handle. What really ended the movement for household-peace was opening the DVD drive and discovering his copy of Transsexual Prostitutes 10. They made more than one? What the fuck.

No, seriously. This almost tops the time I found an entire cardboard box completely filled with tranny pics that were printed off the internet. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY PIECES OF PAPER IT TAKES TO FILL UP AN ENTIRE BOX?! WHAT THE FUCK, DAD? Can you appreciate what it's like to grow up surrounded by tranny pornography? I remember finding that shit when I was six years old. That probably explains a lot, and the running joke of me sporting a ten-incher while flaccid. Laugh the pain away.

But seriously, I go to work with this shit in the back of my head anyway. And you know it always goes from bad to worse. I'm minding my own business during the shift, amusing myself since it's slow. This ultimate minority I mentioned earlier, the really gay asian dude, says the worst shit sometimes. Tonight's gem was mentioned to me in passing by a closer, and I overheard more by the hostess stand. Apparently homeboy had grown bored and decided to bullshit with the void in the lobby. They asked him what kinds of sex toys he prefers. While I'm slapping myself in the face, the audience is treated to another auditory nightmare courtesy of Sammy:

"I do not like to use the cucumber for my ass. It is curved and hurts me! I prefer eggplants, it so big and after I am done, I cook with it."

This from the same man who came up to me and said he was on the rag. When I told him it wasn't physically possible, he giggled like a twelve-year-old girl and said, "but my ass is bleeding!" I didn't think it was still possible for me to be completely horrified and disgusted like that. When you're a kid and older people tell you there's a lot more to life, I think this is what they're really talking about.