Nerd in Denial

Iraq

2006-10-19T01:19:00.000-07:00

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 )

2006-09-15T15:18:00.000-07:00

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.

2006-08-10T03:40:00.000-07:00

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.

2006-07-23T02:42:00.000-07:00

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

2006-07-12T22:29:00.000-07:00

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?

2006-06-25T00:32:00.000-07:00

"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

2006-06-15T11:20:00.000-07:00

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.

The Constitution has too many loopholes for retards.

2006-06-08T23:01:00.000-07:00

My dad keeps telling me I should write for the school newspaper. Not editorials, fuck that shit. This is why editorials in a college newspaper are generally terrible:

1. Most of the people writing them live in a tiny box world where other opinions or reality are disregarded. There's the typical anarchist guy who likes death metal and has long hair who hates democracy, and the housewife attending STATE SCHOOL who detests the public school system and actively endorses home-schooling. The irony kills me, along with the First Amendment.
2. People do not know how to write. Not: "People do not know how to write for a newspaper." The fuck are you doing on a newspaper staff if you're unable to get from A to B? Christ. Enroll in composition; you're at a university and have no excuse for writing poorly.
3. Every piece is incredibly one-sided, which my dad tells me is, "the point of an editorial." But the people writing them should at least be informed and researched on their topic, right? That's great that you just have an opinion. Where's the evidence backing your radical assertion? Whether or not you include any proof, you're also leaving yourself open to counter "letters to the editor," most of which have done some research and can offer counter-claims to the garbage that was printed a week earlier i hate this fucking newspaper i wouldn't wipe my ass with it ok

Fuck that shit. I will stick with internet blogging, and write stories for that sad excuse for a college rag. At least that pays.. somewhat. The fuck am I going to do with a BA in history?

LOLGAWF

2006-05-31T00:46:00.000-07:00

When the nerd thing got old in high school, I tried the whole goth/industrial retard thing. Aside from developing a broader taste in music, I got to meet a whole new set of people who were quite possibly worse off in social situations than the nerds at school who NEVER LEAVE THE BIG SCREEN TV ROOM ON CAMPUS. Seriously, do you fags ever go home? Probably not.. smells like a gym locker or a con suite.

Only at a goth club would people pay $20 to gain entrance to a darkly lit room characterized by loud bass/bondage scenes, then proceed to spend the following three hours either:
stomping around/seizuring on the dance floor
standing in a corner with a few people while making disparaging remarks not limited to the music ( what they are playing/what they should be playing ), the other patrons, or the decor
paying for watered down long islands at $10 a pop while trying not to touch anyone else seated at the bar

Anyways.

I bought into the whole hottopica/eyeliner/weird hair colors/pierced body parts/moronic jackass thinking for a long time. Even after I stopped dressing like I had fallen into the discount bin at America's Thrift Store TM!123ekjsd;lk I was still a fucking snobby bitch.

I guess my wakeup call came about two months ago, when I reluctantly agreed to attend "Carnevil Night," at a warehouse masquerading as "fetish/industrial night [weekly themes! retards and whips!] at THE TORTURE CHAMBER," on one evening, and "hardcore gay leather village people buttsex at THE JUNGLE VILLAGE," on another.

I couldn't have been more out of place. I was wearing goddamn blue jeans and a t-shirt. Sneakers. Halfass pigtails. Everyone else was dressed like crossdressing circus midgets or Resident Evil zombies in their grandma's frilly black funeral clothes they dug up and wore, because they're HARDCORE. Navigating my way through a dance room where a DJ spun the same song and derivatives of it ( imagine a monotoned guy singing about sucking people's blood and becoming one with a corpse or some shit accompanied by a synthesizer, and you've got DARKWAVE ), I discovered an impromptu movie theatre where patrons sat in lawn chairs and watched House of a 1000 Corpses.

Of all the movies to show, you pick this garbage? I wouldn't wipe my ass with the reel. Dismissing this momentarily I proceed into the OPEN NIGHT AIR where there's like five million lawn chairs and a fucking portable toliet. I deal with the stare-downs, the contempt. Hell, it's even returned. Whatever, where can I get a drink?

THERE IS NO BAR. IT IS, GET THIS, BYOB.

In all situations where I am otherwise uncomfortable, be it a wedding, a dance, or a club-- there is one failsafe device I will always rely on: THE BAR. Whether the drinks are free, overpriced, watered down, or pure liquor, I'll drink as many as it takes.

Not only is there no real bar.. If I want to drink here, I have to bring it myself. After paying a $15 cover charge to gain entrance. And I have to tip the fag who gets it from the cooler five feet away. Only goth people could have come up with a system so completely fucking asinine. It's like working for a corporation. Let's proceed directly to becoming obsolete.

My real cue to leave began when a band in the dance room began to perform, and I use perform in the broadest sense. Think modern art performance. It consisted of fat naked men screaming at each other, throwing pig intenstines, and spraying blood at each other and anyone else who was unfortunate enough to get in the way. As I hurried past, the last image I left the club and the entire scene with was

A LARGE NAKED MAN WITH HIS KILT TUCKED INTO HIS BELT SMEARING PIG ORGANS AND BLOOD INTO HIS FAT WHITE ASS WHILE RUNNING TOWARDS A WALL.

I can't think of a better summary of that entire scene, except to note my reaction: Me running like hell in the opposite direction.

Hostess Hijinks

2006-05-30T03:09:00.001-07:00

I don't get it. Why are all hostesses completely worthless cumdumpsters? What is it about seating and occasionally bussing tables that turns you into a dribbling idiot? How hard is your job, compared to serving? Honestly.

I wonder about their screening process. They must pair you with one of the kitchen workers sporting a bojacked social security number, who lacks the ability to communicate in English. After that, you're pitted against each other on final jeopardy. If you lose or time out, are you immediately hired? What do they say to you? "Congratulations, you lost to an illegal immigrant who cannot piece together a single sentence in English. You're obviously overqualifed to hostess. Can you start Monday?"

The Hermaphrodite: There was this one particular hobag that really got under my skin. You know the type. Teenaged, white, skin fried to a crispy unnatural brown with hair to match. Dumpy and getting fat, with sad flat tits, a big ass, and arched eyebrows. Makes you think of an aging trophy wife. Anyways. She would always try to start some shit with me, whether butting into a conversation or triple seating me. She was a waste of space and OF COURSE-- she was with a black guy.

One evening, as the shift was winding down, I decided to phone a couple of people to see what their plans were for later on. Your typical Friday night hijinks. While I was a minute or so into my conversation, the Hermaphrodite starts clapping her hands and yelling at me while I'm on the fucking phone. I curtly end my conversation and we have the following exchange:

"Hey, Jessica.. how are you and your boyfriend doing?"
"Oh, we're alright _______. Why do you ask?"
"How does he cope with you being a hermaphrodite?"

Her previous acting like a kid with down syndrome at McDonalds with the clapping and yelling shit had attracted a few coworkers, who were also present for the exchange. They were also party to this idiot kicking me in the shin with pointy ass knockoff designer ankle boots. That shit hurt. It was worth it. I was laughing the whole time.

Seriously though. Your first reaction to a grade A putdown is kicking someone in the shins? What are you, seven?

The Retard: Every so often there comes an employee so dimwitted, so idiotic that you have to wonder if they are legally retarded. Most of the people who fall into this category are not retarded. They're just in high school or their first year of college. I found such an example in Alice, a former employee who was always a bit of a cow in high school and has come back to work after a year away at hickState looking worse than usual.

It's about 6. I've been at work since 4, and have had only 2 tables. It's slow, close to a holiday-- who the fuck is going out to eat when you can BBQ and get drunk at home? Apparently a party of seven can, and DOES! I notice in my peripheral vision a party is being set up in the back of the room. Having mentally dismissed it because it wasn't in my section, I proceeded to close out the last table I had. After a few minutes I glance at the party, who obviously hadn't been greeted yet-- I wonder what's going on and mention something to a manager. A couple minutes later, the Retard saunters into the room and we have this conversation, with the party close at hand ( my mistake. oh well they left me 20% ):

"You know that's your party right it's in your section."
"That's not my section, retard."
"Uhhh yes it is"
"No, it's fucking not. How is it that I know what my section is, along with everyone else in here, while you don't AND YOU HAVE THE FLOOR PLAN UP FRONT WITH YOU?! Is your short term memory really that bad? Are you mentally challenged, Alice? I'd lay off the pot if I were you. But if I were really you, I would probably kill myself because your waistline is larger than your IQ. People like you should be systematically located and exterminated."
"Today's such a GGREAATT DAY ALREADY!" obvious-sarcasm

And she stormed off like a kid who had a small temper tantrum at Big Lots or Wal-Mart or some shit. I hope I get fired. This job sucks.

4chan

2006-05-30T03:09:00.000-07:00

These people should be sterilized.

Restaurant retards

2006-05-17T01:28:00.000-07:00

I deal with my fair share of idiots on a day to day basis. I'm sad to say that most of the ones I encounter are at work-- be it coworkers or customers, there's no dam to stem the rushing rivers of retardation that I drown in every workday. Here's a couple that really get under my skin:

1) The smartass: A customer who fucks with you from the getgo to "keep you on your toes" ( not that most of the people I work with aren't tweaked enough already ), to impress their buddies/bitches/family with how socially inept they can be. Here's my favorite conversation with The smartass:

"Hi, I'm ______ and I'll be your server tonight.. blahblahblah"
"Hey there ______. I'm Jim, and this is Harry, and that's little Bobby and Sue-Ellen. Nice to meet you!!!11"

Thanks for the sarcasm, retard. If I wanted to be needled about my presentation I'd go read Dilbert cartoons for five solid hours. The only reason I'm giving you my name in the first place is in case there's a problem, GOD FORBID, you can pull someone aside and say "HEY THERE'S A PROBLEM" "Oh what is it sir, who's your server?" "______ IS OUR SERVER OK" and your problem gets addressed that much faster. I also love the people who tell you the food was terrible while handing you their empty plate. You're about as funny as the last episode of Seinfeld. It's played out. Common sense does not often go hand in hand with customer service, I've decided.

2) The raison d’être: I don't know what's wrong with these people, and I really don't care. I especially don't care why you're going out to eat at a shitty two-bit corporate restaurant, or why you can't have croutons on your salad, or why you like half and half iced tea. Clip:

"Hey guys, how's everyone doing tonight? My nam--
"We came here tonight because it's my mom's birthday and I really love your ( insert generic entree/burger here ) !"

You know why I'm here tonight? Because a journalist in Kansas got knocked up by her boss and they eventually moved to Georgia. Twenty two years later, I find myself working in a human cesspool, standing at your table and pretending to be interested in your mundane crap. I must hate myself. But enough about me, what are you drinking?

Another minority.

2006-05-13T00:30:00.000-07:00

I was going to add this on to the ultimate minority post.. but it's not about a person. It doesn't count. Last Friday I went to a restaurant that is:

ITALIAN
RUN BY JEWS AND CLOSES BEFORE SUNDOWN ON FRIDAY

And for dinner I had:

FISH AND CHIPS with
MALT VINEGAR

That's like going to a Mexican joint run by Chinese people and ordering a cheezeburger. Who does that?

Cuddly Christian Carebears

2006-05-12T23:54:00.000-07:00

What the hell is wrong with the American public? I stop watching TV for a few months, and the next thing I know Christianity's gone all touchy-feely. Mary wasn't a working girl? She married Jewsus? The church covered it up? Judas was really just a super-fantastic pal who took one for humankind?

You can't ignore the centuries the earlychristianchurch spent establishing itself as blahblahblah modern day Catholicism. The hombres in the early days were brutal editors and their pens really were swords. Peace out, Gospel of Thomas. Yes, FOSHO there are many works that didn't make the final cut into what we call the bible, and some of these have been recently unearthed or whatever. The dudes who had to throw the church together had to evaluate what had been written, whether or not it was "acceptable," aka does this convey our message properly, anything else is heretical. However clearly the lines were drawn, there are still many many many controversies over stupid crap and omg urheretic ur so out of my religion excommunicated biatch

A lot of people thought earlychristianity was an extension of Judaism. The question of establishment came back again and again, which is mirrored in the English monarchy. That's another topic for another day. The western roman empire fell and the east thrived in constantinople and officially split over what kind of BREAD TO USE AT THE EUCHARIST WHO THE HELL CARES IT'S FUCKING BREAD

I always used to laugh at teachers who said history repeats itself. By and large they're old, bitter, and mad because they are stuck with five gen-ed world history classes. This is the same shit. Another old writing surfaces that didn't make the team in the first season. Another controversy/heresy? God damn it, not another one. It's candy coated, shrink wrapped, and mass produced for the same kinds of people who deny the Holocaust. The Crusades never happened either. People are uncomfortable with the bulk of the content in Christianity; the massive support both Judas and Mary stories have received is a big indicator. They're uncomfortable with believing this crazy jacked up story and how Catholicism held the world in its grip and carried out bloody campaigns, the people's coins in their pockets and their men in foreign soil. We're making it all SAFE FOR WORK. It's FUNNY.

People have believed some crazy shit throughout the centuries, Catholicism and all.

god forbid anyone pick up a book

Sunday is the worst time to work.

2006-05-07T03:27:00.000-07:00

10% may work for Jesus, but it doesn't work for me
I'm not Mary Magdalene, that hooker works for free

How does it feel to be an ultimate minority?

2006-05-03T20:11:00.000-07:00

Here's a list of some of the ultimate minorities I work with or have worked with in the past. I'm not kidding. It's like minoriteam, only funny.

1. A gay Jewish black man native to Georgia. Smokes menthols, drinks PBR, and occasionally rides the H-train.
2. A Vietnamese teenager born and raised in Alabama. Trace of a southern accent, enjoys godawful jokes and Taco Bell.
3. A homo Chinese immigrant. When I first met him, I thought he was really fruity or really Chinese. It turns out he's both. Fucks minors, insists he's on the rag because his ass is bleeding, and makes way too many faggot jokes. I need to make a seperate entry about the guy, he is something else.
4. An Italian lesbian on ice. Flashes random female coworkers. Her tits are saggy and the nipples are dark. That was a shitty end to my Friday night shift.
5. A middle-aged single white mom.. who does way too much blow with the Mexicans in the kitchen. Loves rap and anal sex.
6. A balding older white guy who keeps to himself, aside from remarking, "I'm horny!" to male coworkers. Who does that? Seriously. Apparently runs a male escort service on the side. Swears he's straight. Google doesn't lie.

Well, alright. The last two are perversions of an existing stereotype, but it's still awesome. This shit practically writes itself. Fuck Adult Swim.

Restaurant jobs suck.

2006-05-03T03:13:00.000-07:00

I've worked in the food service industry for longer than I care to admit. The place I'm at now is another one of those corporate chains that urge us to "focus on the family," while pushing shitty cheap ass beer on rednecks in a Baptist county. People that willingly drink that carb-free Michelob swill need to have a heart attack and die over their 12 ounce ribeye.

A fair share of my coworkers fall into two categories:
1. Partytime high school/college retards who get drunk and/or high at work and use the employee database as their little black book
2. Burnt out old people pushing 30 who couldn't finish college and get tweaked at work

Both are pretty irritating. I relate more with the second group because I've never been a fan of the kegger, and fucking people you work with is like banging your sister-- once the secret's out, so are you. In the midst of all these idiots there are a handful that stand out aside from yours truly. Some of the shit that happenes with these people on the job just blows my mind. Here's one story of many more to come:

Date Rape Nate was a 22 year-old college guy who worked with me for about two weeks. A month or so prior we hired two hostesses in high school. One of them has a class with my sister, and I'll be damned if I can remember which one. They're 17, identical twins, and have a serious case of ghetto ass. We're talking mad junk in the trunk. Nate decided to introduce himself to one as she was walking by the table. A simple:

"Hey, how's it going?" or
"SUUUUUUUUUUUUUP"

This wouldn't suffice for Nate. He had more tact and class than that. He knew better. Nate said hello the only way he knew how-- by grabbing a minor's ass and squeezing it like a piece of prime rib. The end result? He wasn't fired, despite grabass twin complaining and calling sexual harassment. That wasn't enough for the restaurant. They had an open door standard to maintain. They didn't discriminate on race, gender, orientation, or whether or not you had a DUI or sold cocaine (Fact: 1 out of 2 of these people have been in jail for a DUI). Those corporate fools hire anybody.

A week after he'd been on the floor I started hearing things about Nate. How partytime for Nate translates into unwanted affection for an unlucky lush trapped by her blood alcohol content in someone else's apartment. Apparently DRN had forced himself on some such chick at a party and she cried rape. Counselors, legal advice, angry accusations on both sides.. it's like divorce court. But the incident didn't result in his immediate termination. No, Nate had to quit because his studies were suffering. His father complained his tuition was going to waste and that work was too much of a distraction. I don't think work was the problem, dad. I'm not telling you how to raise your kid, but getting hammered and raping someone at a party, getting tied up in court; I think that's more distracting than a part time job. Call me crazy here. I'm sure raising a big scary hairy rape machine is a lot harder than it sounds.

A few of us wrote a small poem about Date Rape Nate, and how we'd miss him since he's gone. I'd like to take this chance to introduce a bit of culture into your lives and share it with you:

No means yes and this condom is slack
It hurt when you pulled the hair from my back

Origins of Great Traditions

2006-05-02T18:15:00.000-07:00

If I have to hear about gay marriage one more time, I'm going to start screaming until I have a seizure or pass out. You can't talk about gay people getting hitched without going back to the whole nature versus nuture debate. Honestly? There's merit in both theories.

Some fags recall sucking their pal Bobby off under the porch of their dirty shack in Alabama. Pint-size lezbos gave up on the American dream of a five-incher in suburbia and make a beeline for the closest playing field. No grass on the great American pasttime. Do people really "remember," being attracted to the same sex from their childhood(s)? It's possible. I remember my dad's pornography collection that ranged from chicks with dicks to double penetration. I also recall playing doctor with various chicks and dudes in my neighborhood. I don't remember being attracted to one gender over the other so much as thinking, "this is what I'm supposed to do."

People are more influenced by what they encounter in their childhood. Experiences have direct developmental consequences on children. The daughters of the flower power burnout generation have walked in on their mom going at it with a bike dyke two weeks after KC and his Sunshine peaced out of their lives along with the marijuana plants under the windowsill. Pampered private school kiddies discover dad playing hide the sausage with the well-paid pool boy because mom got half in the divorce. Nuture. I grew up around hermaphroditic porno. An indirect result would be my preference in relationships: I like to be the guy.

So while you can tell a fuckload about a person based on their childhood, it's not an excuse whether you're chopping up hookers or coming out to your parents. This is why fags can't get married. There aren't any rational thinking people left in charge. It's a culture of excuses, diagnosis, and medication. The American blame game. We medicate kids for acting up like a kid's supposed to and call it ADHD. Some old bitch spills McDonalds' coffee on her lap and wins the lawsuit against the corporation. Kids act a fool at recess, and coffee is hot. We shouldn't be facilitating this moronic thinking.

Why are the puritanical assholes so desperate to preserve the sanctity of an institution that has a 50% success rate? Their excuses wax biblical. .. A threat to the sacred union between a man and a woman? Have these people ever been to Vegas?

Survey says no.

I don't need the Internet. The Internet needs me.

2006-05-02T04:04:00.000-07:00

I should start off by explaining who I am, and what I intend to accomplish with this "blog." I hate that word. I hate these self-important websites that give preteens and fat bitches an entitlement complex community on the motherfucking internet.

I don't care about how your day was. I have no interest in the 500 pictures people post of themselves.. IN THE SAME DAMN POSE. I don't want to comment on your trendy anime friends only entry to read entries that are all mundane crap and bitching about Idaho having no Japanese influences. Do the world a favor and stop breathing.

Now back to the original issue. I'm a 22 year-old in denial. What I should be is no longer what I am perceived as. I grew up with the Star Treks and the anime conventions and the fat people in latex. I loved all of it except the obese monsters in cartoon costumes. Am I still nerdy? It's possible. Do I feel nerdy? No. Everyone's trying to find themselves on the fucking internet. I thought I had a handle on that before we took the plunge with AOL back in '96. Christ. What goes with this territory is the inevitable cross-section of crazy antics I've encountered in the past 20 odd years. Some of this trash is too stupid for words. I kicked thyroid cancer's ass at 19. After that I lost interest in a lot of shit I used to like. Am I obligated to play the part of the nerd when I no longer identify with it? Nostalgia's a sly device. It makes us recall unpleasant occurances as fond memories of our youth. No one wants to pony up and face themselves in the mirror. Why do you think there are so many movies and cartoons made about people who pretend to be billionaires at their high school reunions?

You are who you want to be. I'm still working on that one.