I’m in a bit of a poopy-doody mood (that’s a medical term), so I’m kinda phoning it in today, but that’s ok…… I can’t be at my best EVERYDAY, now can I?
Anyway, this video started hitting the interwebs last week. Some guy on the Metro North NYC railroad took some cell phone video of this uber-witch who decided it would be no problem to have a 30 minute phone call with her friend while on the train, yelling, cursing, and generally being WAY too fucking loud the entire time.
That is, until one of the conductors came over and asked her politely to please quiet down. THAT’S when our “lady of the hour” decided to get all huffy and to stand up and proudly proclaim “Do you know how educated I am????”
Check out the video from THIS link. Apologies for not being able to directly embed it, but it looks like the chick is suing the railroad so Youtube, at her request, took all copies of the video down.
Anyway, as you can see in the video, the argument escalates until the offending moron is thrown off the train.
I guess the reason why this video strikes a particularly nasty chord with me is because EVERY damn time I have to take the Long Island Railroad into New York City for business, there is some asshat JUST LIKE THIS sitting right next to me, cackling away loudly while the rest of the car is trying to sleep, not caring one fucking bit that she is annoying the SHIT out of everyone around her.
Because she’s better educated than the rest of us, see?
Now that I’m looking at it from HER point of view, it makes perfect sense….
Seriously, there are mornings on that train that I want to reach out and KILL the offending person making all the racket. Kudos to the conductor for keeping her cool….
…. And for keeping a sense of humor about the whole thing. After they booted the bitch off the train, the conductor got onto the loudspeaker and announced that everyone is to speak softly and not use profanity on the train, "especially those people who went to Harvard or Yale or are from Westport."
I know this story kinda became news last Friday, but I’m gonna post it now anyway.
It’s only a week late. So what? Can’t a girl take some extra time to make herself look presentable and sexy for you? I had to fix my face! You want me to look good for you, right? Well, looking THIS good takes time!
Sorry, I seem to have accidently channeled the conversation I have with Friz EVERY FUCKING TIME WE HAVE TO GO OUT SOMEWHERE!!
I’m back now.
Where were we?
Anyway, last Friday Japanese researchers announced to the world that they have discovered a way to end world hunger!
Isn’t that awesome? For the first time in human existence, man has discovered a way to create a reusable meat source that doesn’t involve the killing of animals!
There’s only one SMALL catch……
It’s really insignificant, really. Honestly, I’m not even sure why I’m bringing it up……
What’s the catch, you might ask?
The meat is made out of poo.
No. Fucking REALLY.
Here, I’m gonna go vomit in the corner while you watch this…..
Ok, I’m back. Anyone have a breath mint?
Of course, if we all start eating Poo Burgers, I have a feeling that the worldwide demand for breath mints might start to raise dramatically, so you might want to start hoarding them now.
My favorite part of that video? Even though it’s treated as a serious discussion, and the scientists are obviously very proud of their huge scientific advancement, they still feel silly enough about the whole thing to label the freezer where they are keeping the meat, “SHITBURGERS!”
Anyway, who’s gonna be first in line for this new culinary treat?
Gives a whole new meaning to going thru the McDonalds Drive-Thru and ordering a “Number 2”, doesn’t it?
Raiders is, hands down, my favorite film of all time. It is a movie that changed the way I looked at movies as a kid, and I know it sounds strange, but it helped to shape the kid I was, and the person I would become.
When Raiders first opened, on June 12th, 1981, a 13 year-old Slyde had decided he didn’t want to see it, thank you very much. He had heard that the movie was about an archeologist searching for an ancient artifact, and in my youth-addled mind it sounded to me like it was a National Geographic documentary. That just sounded boring as shit to me, so I passed on it.
Towards the end of Summer of that year, they decided to re-release it, and my childhood friend Rich kept harping all damn Summer how “mint” the movie was (ah, the 80’s!), and that I HAD to see it. So, when my parents told me they were going to see it, I asked if Rich and I could come along.
That turned out to be, at the time, both the best and worst decision of my life.
It was the BEST decision because I finally got to see the movie that, to this day, I would watch more than any other movie EVER. That movie became fucking MAGICAL to me.
It was the WORST decision because Rich was a right prick the whole time. He was one of those kids who just HAD to rub it in if he knew something that you didn’t, and since he had seen the movie already, he kept leaning over to me during the film and telling me what was about to happen. After the scene where the truck blows up that we THINK is carrying the basket with Marion in it, Rich leaned over to me and whispered, “Don’t worry.. she’s not dead. They switched baskets!”, I promptly punched him in the nose and moved my seat.
But in the end, not even a thoughtless youngster could tarnish what would become one of the best movie experiences of my life. I fucking LOVED Raiders, from the opening scene to the closing credits, and that feeling of awe-inspiring AWESOMENESS has never left me.
When my family got our first VCR, the first movie I asked for was Raiders. In the years that followed, I would watch it again and again, every few weeks, savoring every bit of it. Even though I’ve since graduated to dvd’s and Blu-Rays, I STILL have that original tape.
That Fall, I pleaded with my parents to buy me a whip and the official Indiana Jones Stetson. In the end, I bought the hat myself, and against their better judgment, they bought a 13 year-old a real whip. I would set up soda cans in my basement, and practice for hours and hours, trying to get the snap and my aim just right to be able to hit every can on my first try. I got really fucking good at it, too. I practiced with gusto, thinking that when I one day became a super hero, I could incorporate the whip into my costume and that it might one day save my life from an army of evil ninjas.
I’m still waiting for that to happen.
But I’m ready.
When the sequels came out, The Temple of Doom and The Last Crusade, I took those days off from school so I could be the first person I knew that would see them. Even though they didn’t quite measure up to that special experience of the first film, the magic was still there. I loved ALL those movies.
And now, 30 years later, I still love them, and no matter how old Harrison Ford gets, I will always have a slightly gay man-crush on him, just for the way that he made a 13-year old boy feel during that very special Summer of 1981.
So, I might’ve seen someone get killed on Tuesday.
I took the day off from work so I could go to Mini-Me’s school field day, where he ROCKED the Balloon-popping competition and the Spongebob Relay race, thank you very much…..
Anyway, for dinner I thought it would be nice if we all went out to one of our favorite local restaurants to celebrate his complete awesomeness.
Friz was driving (because, let’s face it, I am WAY too fucking cool to be caught behind the wheel of the mini-van. If I’M driving, it’s the convertible or nothing). Anyway, as we were driving, I noticed some kind of commotion on the street, waaaaaay up ahead of us.
It kinda looked like two guys dancing.
You don’t really see too many men spontaneously getting jiggy in my neighborhood. Hell, that’s probably true in most neighborhoods, unless you live in the town of Glee. Or a bath house.
Regardless, as we drove closer, it became apparent that these dudes were NOT in fact dancing….
They were fighting.
They both looked to be in their 30’s/40’s, and there was a third guy, sitting on a bike, just watching them go at it.
Friz looked at me and said, “Oh my God, is that for real?”
“Looks pretty real to me.”
At that point I looked at Mini-Me, and he was clearly spooked by the whole thing. It doesn’t take a lot to pull him away from his happy place, and watching 2 guys punch each other in the face seemed to have done the trick.
While we were discussing if it was real or not, I saw the bigger guy knock the smaller one to the street, and start to unleash a flurry of haymakers to the dude.
On his last punch, the guy on the ground, who had been trying to get up, really got his lights knocked out. He looked like a marionette that just had his strings cut. He went limp, and crashed onto the curb, his arms splayed out over his head, into the street.
Friz cried, “Oh my Goodness! Is he dead?”
“I dunno. Pull over.”
“Pull over. I’ll go see what’s what”
“I am NOT pulling over this car!”
“Relax. I’m not gonna start swinging at anybody. I’ll just see if the dude is ok.”
At that point, my son hit Defcon 0 in the fear department, and started crying and yelling for me to stay in the car.
So I had Friz yelling at me in one ear, and Mini-Me yelling in the other, and I’m yelling for SOMEONE to just pull over the frigging car.
A nice family moment.
Anyway, Friz refused to pull over, and called 911 from her cell phone.
We continued on to the restaurant. At this point, my son was now consumed by fear with the assertion that since my wife called the police, “the killer would know that we called and would come after mommy”. No matter what I told him to assuage his fears, he was trembling with surety that mommy was a goner.
A relaxing family meal indeed.
On the way home, there was a police car in the street where the fight had occurred. This was over an hour later, so my hopes that the unconscious dude had just come to and walked away probably didn’t happen.
Anyway, my son was so freaked that he demanded he sleep with us, although, from my point of view, if the killer WAS in fact coming to exact his revenge on us for tattling, if it was ME I’d want to sleep in the backyard rather than NEXT TO the intended target. I don’t feel that he really thought that through very well.
At any rate, it’s been 2 days now and I have yet to see someone looking like Robert De Niro standing outside my house yelling “Counselor, counselor! Come out, come out wherever you are!”, so I think it’s safe to say that I’m probably not on anyone’s Revenge List.
It’s another one of those dreams where, try as I might, for the life of me I can’t seem to figure out what the heck my sexy subconscious is trying to tell me.
In my dream, I am standing around my house, talking to Friz, when suddenly I feel this great pain, and I realize that I can’t speak. It was like my whole body was seizing up on me.
Then, while she is standing there trying to talk to me, I realize that I am on the verge of passing out. I’m fighting to stay awake but I can’t do it, and I hit the floor, seeing nothing but blackness as I pass out.
When I come to, I find myself in a hospital, strapped down to the bed. Friz is there, and I ask her what the hell happened. She tells me that I have some kind of really dangerous, near-fatal disease, but they THINK they cured me but they aren’t sure.
So, I’m strapped to this bed and start flipping out, when I ask her how long I’ve been there in the hospital, and she tells me that I’ve been in a coma for 5 days. I must say, that she seems to be quite chipper about it. In real life, she can be quite vindictive too, but I must say that being happy that I’m near death seems a bit over the top, even for her.
Anyway, in the dream, I am suddenly unstrapped to the bed somehow, and I try to stand up, and I feel an incredible pain in my sides. I can barely walk and I’m starting to flip out again.
When Friz sees my confusion about my inability to walk, she turns to me and says “Oh yeah, that. I decided that since we were here in the hospital anyway, I told them to give you a double hip replacement. I figured it couldn’t hurt. That pain you’re feeling is probably the big metal hinges that they inserted into your hip-bones.”
When I asked her why the HOLY FUCK she told them to do that to me, when I had no damn problem with my hips at all, she says “I don’t know… I thought it would be funny”
Then I woke up. I awoke with the almost-unstoppable urge to reach over and strangle the life out of Friz while she slept, but what passes for my sanity finally kept me calm enough to remember that I really can’t blame “Real-Life Friz” for the things that “Dream Friz” does.
But I DO believe that she really WOULD be spiteful enough to do that to me in real life. Just for kicks, ya know?
I really don’t understand why I bring out the worst in people. I’m so sweet and bangable.
Anyone else out there having trouble commenting on posts lately?
For me, it started about 3 weeks ago. I have been unable to leave my usual witty and heartfelt comments (like “Show me your Hoo-Ha’s!”, for instance) on about 20 percent of the blogs that I normally read.
It actually started before I left for vacation. I had checked the Blogger Help forums at the time, and it looked like a lot of people were affected and that they were working on it.
Well, it’s now been almost a month and I’m still having a right bitch of a time leaving comments sometimes.
On SOME blogs, after I write my comment and hit submit, it takes me to the blogger log-in screen (like I wasn’t logged in, even though I am!). Then I log in again, and it takes me back to my comment which has not yet been posted. Then I hit “submit” again, and have to log in again, which takes me back to my comment again, where I can hit “submit” again. And again. And again.
Well, I for one am going to take a stand and state now for the record that this new log in procedure sucks! So far I’ve clicked the “submit” button about 4,000 times and I still haven’t been able to leave a comment yet. This is by far the best online security feature I have ever seen!
Anyway, I’ve done some more digging on the forums, and for those of you who DON’T know, the problem seems to be with blogs that don’t pop up a new window when you try to leave your comments. Frankly, I don’t know why everyone doesn’t pop up a new window, like I do here, cause it’s much easier in my opinion, but those of you hard-asses who don’t have a pop up are the ones causing all the trouble.
I’d like to say that Blogger is working on a fix, but they probably aren’t since it’s been going on for weeks now and no admin ever replies on the forums. Some people have said that if you uncheck the “remember me” checkbox, that will fix the problem for now, but I’m doubtful. I’m also devilishly handsome, but I fear that’s not going to help me this time.
Anyway, I’ll try the “remember me” thingy today as I do my weekly blog-reading-roundup, but if you don’t get a comment from me again this week, that’s why.
So, you can either change your blog to have your comment box pop up in a new window, or NOT have me hit on you and tell you how hot you are in your in your comments until this is resolved. Which would be a shame for you guys…. I know how me showing you some attention really brightens up your day.
I don’t remember my dreams too often, but when I do, they usually involve me trying to get laid.
Case in point:
Last night, I was watching Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World again, which is a movie that I considered to be just “so-so”, but every fucking time it’s on TV I end up watching it again, so I guess something about it has grown on me.
Anyway, last night it must have left an impression on me, since I dreamt that I was in an office building with Knives (who I have never really considered to be too attractive, but admittedly in the movie she plays a high school girl and as randy as I am, I try to stay away from jailbait so maybe that’s why she’s never done it for me).
In any event, I’m not sure what me and Knives were doing in the office building, but she started coming on to me (as ALL women do, given a few minutes), and I ended up doing naughty things to her in the elevator. I must say, I wasn’t a fan of her before, but this morning I find myself an ardent supporter of her work. As in the movie, she was quite flexible and really aimed to please. Maybe it’s that whole submissive Asian thing.
Whatever. She really put out, and for that, my dream-self is quite grateful.
Because you never know what you might dream about. If I had eaten a hot tamale before going to bed, I might have ended up banging Michael Cera instead.