Dreaming is Weird

Dreaming is fucking weird. Did you ever wake up and thank baby Jesus that it was just a dream? I sure as hell do. I had a dream that I won't forget the other night. Not because it was really cool or exciting, but because it was so fuckin' weird. In my dream I lived in an apartment that did not resemble my current apartment in any way. It almost looked like a hotel room and it was upstairs instead of underground like my current apartment is. It was also in the middle of a busy city somewhere. There was a guy in a trenchcoat that kept luring me outside the building to talk, but then when he talked, nothing but gibberish came out of his mouth. He would say something totally unimportant and I remember how confused I was. And then he would just say "I don't know", and walk away. When I would return to my room, items from my room would be missing. The strangest thing about the items that were missing was the fact that they were unimportant and/or weird items. For example, one of the times I came back into my room, the top half of both of my lamps were missing. "Who knows how to cut lamps so perfectly?", I questioned. And what did this person want with the top half of my lamps? Lamps are pretty useless when halved. And who did this? Was it a friend of the man that kept luring me outside? I'm guessing they were in on this together. And why was all the good shit still sitting around, untouched? My wallet and electronics remained in tact. No one will ever know who was behind this.

Stuff That Sucks and Blows

I don't like stuff that sucks! I don't like stuff that blows! But aren't sucking and blowing pretty much the same thing? I really don't understand the whole thing. I mean, clearly, there are differences between the two. But, anyway, I've just been thinking about shit that I spend my quiet afternoons hating in this world and thought I should document it for future earth-people:

-People who can't even take care of themselves, but have kids. Wear a rubber, ya fuckface!

-Guys who wear white shorts with a white shirt. The absence of color pisses me off!

-Guys who wear sunglasses at night or indoors. You guys suck! And don't even think about putting them on top of your head like a hat, cuz that pisses me off too!

-Lance Armstrong bracelets. Just wear a rubber-band and snap it on your wrist when you feel like you need to be reminded to stay strong you pussy.

-People who don't like "It" when they've never even tried "It". But, on the other hand, I definitely would never eat a bowl of fish assholes.

-People who say FYI. Of course it's for your information, otherwise I'd be telling someone else ya stupid prick!

-Also, don't say "What can I do you for?", when you really mean "What can I do for you?", because this creates all sorts of over-analyzation. Money? or Help?

-Pretty much all French words should be left alone by Americans: 2-shay, moteef, tray-awesome. Yeah, I spelled them wrong on purpose cuz I hate French. I even hate the word "resume' ". Do I make one because I want to "resume" working or what? Fuck French stuff.

-Commercials that suck ballsac! Come on commercial people! Stop making those fucking stupid "Can you here me now" and "I'm Jared, and I lost a thousand pounds" commercials. They suck ass and we should be brainwashed of them forever! So, stick with the cool shit and we'll all appreciate it. You can't go wrong with talking dogs, singing babies, or cats with attitudes.

-People with severe, self-inflicted appearance disorders. Put on some make-up or something! I'm actually mad at you for coming out into public today!

-Dirty puppies are gross. Rub some Head and Shoulders on that filthy, oily, smelly puppy of yours ya trashy bitch! And if it's a pit-bull or if it's really ugly, it's twice as filthy as a normal puppy

-I don't like people who don't like to watch videos of people getting hurt while doing extreme sports, leisure activities, or just playing ball with their son.

-I don't like Dr. Phil. He's a nut-job and a dildo.

-It makes me angry when people bother me when I'm trying to poop.

If you agree with me on any of these gripes, then good for you! If you disagree, there is always room to better yourself by becoming annoyed with things worthy of being annoyed by and documenting them accordingly.

Sluts at the Mall

I was walking around the Mall of America the other day, and I noticed that there are a lot of slutty, spoiled girls in this area....a lot of bitchy chics with personalities like stinky catfish. They all look like rotten little she-devils who lack long-term goals and puke up their lattes so they don't gain a half an inch on their waistline. One 11-year-old girl says to the other, "OMG, I can't believe he cheated on you. I'd so cheat on him if I were you." (As they walk into Victoria Secret with lattes in one hand and their $600 iPhones in the other). I didn't even fricking know what cheating was when I was 11. And, I didn't have the world at my finger-tips....just my wang.

Now don't get angry, gals. I'm not saying there aren't really nice, goal-oriented, church-going ladies walking around. I just don't notice them. Good job slutty girls! Goal accomplished!

Dr. Phil Me Up!

Dr. Fill me up with a bunch of stinky horseshit!!!! Oh Dr. Phil! Please help me! I just can't quite figure out what the right thing to do is! Dr. Phil is a dipshit and an asshole. Just the sound of his voice makes me wanna puke on my Nikes. I hear people say, "Oh, that Dr. Phil saved my marriage", or "Dr. Phil is so smart!" Fuck No! Dr. Phil can lick on my ballsac. That fucker isn't smart. He just tells people the obvious. Like, if there is a huge bitch on there, he's like, "You have got...to...stop...eating!" No Shit?! "Holy shit Dr. Phil, you are so fucking smart, I almost shit my pants". Or if there is a cocaine addict on there, he says, "You have to stop doing drugs! Did someone push your head down and make you snort that cocaine?" "Umm... apparently Dr. Phil has never tried, or heard of cocaine because he would probably be familiar with the fact that it's really hard to say no once you've taken a sniff. I would love to go on that show with all my problems. "So Dr. Phil, how do I get rid of Goof-around-itis? Or how about a real bad case of the Silly-Willies?" He'd probably prescribe me a butt-plug and say, "Well, it always helped me when I had rough times". I think I'm gonna find Dr. Phil's phone number and leave a bunch of dirty messages on his machine, just to piss him off. Maybe I can make him feel bad and he'll stop doing that shitty show of his and give up on being a doctor. You're not smart Dr. Phil.......you're a fuck-stain.

Bathroom Bastards

That bastard! He shit on the seat!....Don't you hate when you walk into the bathroom and you really gotta take a dump and there is someone in the stall taking the dump of a lifetime? I walked into the shitter at BWW cuz I had a bad case of mud-butt and had to relieve some inner pressure that was building up like an over-stuffed vaccuum cleaner bag, only to discover that there were two douche-bags occupying both stalls. Of course they only have two shitters in the men's bathroom, cuz there is NEVER more than two guys at the same time that get the death-shits from Budweiser and Super-Spicy Blazin' Hot-Wings.... Right? Anyway, I looked through the crack in the door and saw this dumb fucker reading the paper. READING THE FRICKIN' PAPER! I have a potential level-3 disaster in my pants and this asshole wants to read while he's taking a poop that could have probably waited until tomorrow night. FUCK! Then I hear the noisiest shit ever in the other stall. "FTTTTTT! BOOOOM! SPLASH!"... "OH FUCK!" This guy must have dropped a kidney or some other vital organ. Finally, the guy wipes 8 or 9 times and the door opens. Out walks a smelly, dirty, rancid dude with a FUCK YOU hat on and a Metallica shirt. I'm never pleased to make eye-contact with the dude that just sat on the toilet that my ass-cheeks will soon be touching. There's just something wrong with it. I rush into the stall, holding my butt, only to discover that he shit on the seat! That bastard! He shit on the seat! How is it even possible to shit on the seat? I mean, come on! You'd have to be standing up and shooting it like a canon or something. So, I leave that stall in fear that if I used it, I may have gotten shitty-balls. Needless to say, I didn't get to poop there. I went next door to Pier 1 and smelled up the place. Then, I bought a wicker basket, in case I had to go again.

Everybody's an Asshole Except For Me

A lot of people think that they are the nicest person they know. I got news for ya shitballs! You're not nice! You're a prick! Don't worry! There is room for improvement! Everyone always takes care of good old number one: Themselves! This equation just seems to work out great. If everyone just took care of themselves, everyone would be taken care of! Here's some tips for all you self-indulged butt-pirates: 1. GET A DOG. If you're taking care of a dog, you're taking care of some"thing" else. That's pretty close to taking care of some"one" else. 2. BUY ME A BEER. Take care of me! I'm getting sober and slipping into reality really quickly, and it sucks. 3. CREATE A PYRAMID SCHEME. Pyramid schemes take care of tons of people! Unless you are on the bottom, then you're royally fucked! 4. GO FISHING. Make other people's lives better by getting out on the lake and getting out of their fuckin' hair! 5. TAKE A BATH. I don't wanna smell your nasty ass, just festering away next to me. Be a little considerate, ya rotten fuck!

With my help, you could become a respectable American that considers the feelings of others. Until then, just keep being an asshole!

Super-Size Psycho

I was nestling into my new apartment in December, 2007, when I saw a man across the street. He was a super-sized, dirty, sloppy, loud, obviously ignorant jackass, with a severe appearance disorder. He was screaming, "Wrestling champion of the world! Blah, Blah, Blah!", in a rather jackassy tone. I have seen this man many times since then. He walks down the street screaming obscenities and flailing his raptor-arms around wildly, shaking his tits around like an over-worked hooker. He wears old, tattered t-shirts that are three sizes too small, and his belly hangs well below his junk. I just wanna say, "Dude, if I can see your belly, get a new fuckin' shirt. You're not a hot girl. You're a dickless load of monkey-sperm!" He waddles like he's got a corn-cob up his ass and drinks beer outside on nice days. I see him and tremble with fear. The fear that creeps up your spine slowly and then hits you like a ton of dookie. I'm afraid that one night he is going to slip through my window while I'm sleeping and sit on my face with his pants clear down to his ankles. I often have nightmares about this waste of skin; this drain on society; this ignorant pile of rat-dicks. Someone should really slap the piss out of this asshole and send him back to the zoo, where he belongs.

Hooters

Crazy Carl and I walked into Hooters in St. Cloud for a Bloody Mary a few weeks ago. There were hooters everywhere. There were a few waitresses that I felt were kind of "left-out" because of their bee-sting boobies. The girls with small jugs seemed really mad at the world; like they were somehow cheated by God and baby Jesus. I think they should not give these girls hope that they have big hooters by hiring them. I don't care who you are....if you go into Hooters, you expect to see hooters, and you expect them to be huge! I looked at the wall between staring sessions and noticed a hand-painted sign which read: "Our Waitresses Are Flattery Operated". I thought, "Really!?" So I grabbed the nearest waitress, literally, and said, "Nice Turd-Cutter! Now get me a beer!" She's like, "Excuse me?" I'm like, "What? Aren't you flattered? I thought that would make you operate a little faster?" She said, "No, sir". I said, "Well, take that sign down then." Then, to make things even more odd, a whole group of ladies comes barging in and sits down at this huge table. Crazy Carl and I read eachothers' minds. We both looked at eachother and a bubble formed over each of our heads which read, "Lesbians?"

Dance Dilemma

The other day, I experienced my first ever "Dance Dilemma". I walked into a nightclub, and apparently, it was 80's music night. But, not just 80's music; it was 80's music with a new-age techno beat, instead of a good, soothing beat. From one end of the bar, I heard the ever-so-popular "Locomotion" song with a fucked-up beat that sounded like a baseball bat whacking a steel garbage can full of porcelain figurines. Into my other ear, crept "Walk Like an Egyptian" with an even MORE annoying, trancey, industrial noise chiming in the background. I was so confused, so I ordered a Coors Light and started dancing. I started to do the Locomotion. I was really tearing it up and cutting a rug. In the back of my mind, I noticed the other song, and started to Walk Like an Egyptian. This went back and forth for minutes. Eventually, the dances intertwined and wove together. I found myself doing the oddest dance I'd ever come across: The Loco Egyptian. The dance is intriguing and involves a lot of arm-flailing and cursing. After 6 Coors Lights, the flailing and cursing gets stronger and stronger. They kicked me out. That's the last time I did the Loco Egyptian.

New Colors Suck

I remember a day when I could be damn sure that I could buy a red hat, a green shirt, and some blue undies. Now, unfortunately, I have to buy a "starfish"-colored hat, a "teal mist"-colored shirt, and "mocha"-colored undies. Are you fucking serious? Mocha? It's brown, you dumb bastard. Why don't they just come out with "shit"-colored slacks that you can get at Kohls? I think it would be more entertaining. "Hey, Bob. What color are your pants?" "I don't know. Let me check the tag. It's shit color, Steve." "Oh, okay." I even saw some clothing described as Sprout (light green), Lake (blue), Balsam (grey), and Mojito (light green). Actually, Sprout and Mojito are the same fucking color. Gosh, that sure pisses me off. It makes my blood boil and my asshole pucker when I here a guy at JCPenney trying to decide which shirt to get. "Honey, should I get the Laguna or the Lake colored shorts?" "They're both the same! Liver-Dick!" Doesn't make much sense to me. I was actually relieved when I saw a sign that said "White Shirts". Holy shit! They still make white! Kick Ass! Let's party! I thought for sure that white would be called "Cloud" or "Marshmallow" by now. So, next time you head out to buy some clothes, beware that you are about to get an eye-full of shit and it's gonna make you angry, if you're like me. Be sure not to confuse your colors.

Chemicals

It always seems like chemicals are the driving force of my day. I get up and drink a caffeine-containing beverage of some sort, like coffee or redbull. Then I get to work and drink chocolate-cherry-flavored Dr. Pepper until lunch. In between drinks, I devise plans on how I'm going to manipulate little collections of chemicals used to make drugs, in order to test their quality. Yay, then I leave work to head to a friends place, where we will enjoy a cigar and a stiff morgan-coke. Nicotine and alcohol rush into my brain, making me forget how troublesome the world is. I then usually retire to my square that I call my apartment, or "The Hill", which is short for Hillsboro Court. If I'm lucky, some of the chemicals that I was manipulating at work will get on my skin and somehow make their way into me and I'll therefore be forced to sleep like a little bitch until 6 am when I get up and do it all over again. Put a big smile on your face! You are also chemically dependent! And if you're not, you're probably not a real American. You lack what makes America great. The freedom to fuck up our bodies with dangerous chemicals with no immediate consequence. Have a chemically-influenced day!