It’s always important to remember…

22 04 2008

That if you have rancid Italian-food gas, release it when your boss’s boss is not standing right in front of your fan.


What the hell is wrong with you people?

18 04 2008

More ludicrous stupidity that led more innocent–if very stupid–souls to my den of iniquity. By the way, if you tell on me to God, I’ll totally shit on your pillows. The good ones.


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The New Schedule! Whee!

16 04 2008

So, you all may have noticed that it’s almost four AM and I’m busy writing a blog post. This could mean one of two things: I either quit my job to devote myself full-time to half-assing my blog, or your fucking clocks are all broken.

The correct answer?

I’m actually working the 4-1 shift at work to bring in more move-out money. I just started on Monday, but already it’s been three days of sleeping an hour and a half, waking up (slightly), and rushing off to work for nine hours with no lunch break.

I think I’m going slowly insane, also.

A Wicked-Fast Update

18 03 2008

Okay, here’s the news before my latop dies:

I’ve written a whole metric shitload of things which may or may not make it here. They are awesome, and if that fact makes you all quivery, you’re not alone.

Tomorrow will mark the second whole week I’ve bee without power. It is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever had to deal with.

This weekend I’m going to rock my effin’ fucking socks off in Rockport with the Girlfriend and Sal. It will be epic, in the sense that it will be really fun, not that it will be a long poem about Greek heroes.

Electricity is easy to steal and save, as long as you’re willing to go to terrible lengths to do it. I can charge my phone and laptop pretty much wherever I can find an outlet, although most places frown on that sort of thing.

When you live in the country–as opposed to the city–having no electricity means having no water. For the first time in my life, I’ve been drinking bottled water. I’m so ashamed of myself.

I will attempt to continue these blitzkrieg updates as long as I can. Wish me luck.

The best way to start a fight

9 03 2008

You know, there’s something terribly satisfying about fighting. I don’t mean that in a Fight Club sort of way, especially since that movie wasn’t even really about fighting at all. I just mean that some things are just better after your face gets pounded nearly off of your head. I’ve had my ass thoroughly handed to me over the years, and while it’s not a religious experience, it can do wonders for the frustrated or woebegone soul.  

I used to be a fighter in my younger years. I boxed, and got myself into a fair amount of “street” fights. I also took a whopping month of kung-fu when I was nine, so I’m a pretty dangerous martial artist, too. You should see some of the shit I can pull off in Soul Calibur.

Anyway, last night I got ridiculously drunk at a local bar. I don’t mean that I had a few, or that I worked up a good buzz. I mean I got fucking drunk. Not only that, but I also tried my damnedest to get into a fight. I’ve had a pretty hard time lately, and things have ben more or less intensely frustrating. So, in true American Male fashion, I set about resolving my personal issues by beating the everloving Christ out of a total stranger, in public, in the presence of at least one cop and several large bouncers.

Believe it or not, but it’s incredibly difficult to start a fight. Even in Texas, and even when I’m being an immense asshole, people will try anything to avoid having to come to blows. I tried everything except full-on bodily attacking someone, and got absolutely nowhere. It’s not like I’m intimidating or anything. I’m six feet tall, and weigh only 180, most of which is not visibly muscle. So, it had nothing at all to do with me being “scary”.

One guy, God bless him, even went so far as to apologize to me for nearly knocking him over wit a hard shoulder to the chest, which was so obviously intentional that I couldn’t have made it clearer if I had worn a sign saying “Moustache Rides Free Punches for Everyone!” People these days just are not inclined to fight, I guess.

It’s pretty sad, too, that the last good one I got into was about five years ago. This asswipe was picking on a couple of my friends, one of whom actually owned the apartment we were partying at. He was offering shots to them, and slapping them when they refused. When he came around to me, I stood up and decked him without warning. I think he was even unconcious for a few minutes, but I don’t know, since his buddy actually tackled me to the floor to prevent me from really laying into him.

His big manly response? Oh, just to throw a whiskey bottle at my head and scream like a girl.

Anyway, fuck them. Sometimes I just want to fight, and there aren’t any babies or crippled women present.

Blogging in the dark

5 03 2008

So, the electricity at my house got disconnected today. There was really nothing to be done about it until tommorow, and I am a lazy sack of ass anyway. Luckily, this here laptop runs on BATTERY POWER OF AWESOME, and therefore doesn’t need to be plugged in. If the AWESOME POWER OF BATTERY runs out, I can just take it to work, and recharge it.

On a related note, I bet there aren’t many people out there who blog in the flickering light of a dying candle. Well, besides the incredibly fat chat room trolls, who might get a sense of enjoyment out of cyber-balling 12 year-olds in the light of a romantic candle or two.

Oh, and the goth kids. There’s nothing better to inspire shitty poetry than candlelight.

Besides them, though, I’m all alone. That’s really not so bad, either, except that there’s something furtive and paranoia-inducing about looking at porn with all of the lights out. Makes me feel dirty. It’s much better to jerk off in the honest light of day.

The only problem with not having any electricity is that I am biologically incapable of going to sleep without reading. I’ve tried it before, and unless I’m drunk or absolutely sexed-out, I can’t do it. It also doesn’t seem responsible to try to sleep with a candle burning. This is going to be a long night.

Well, I guess we could flip a coin.

29 02 2008


Earlier, I was talking to my girlfriend (future co-Schroederist Kelly) about babies, when she happened to bring up the details surrounding her birth. It seems that she wasn’t the easiest child to bear (no, she wasn’t horned or fat), and during her birth, there arose a relatively common but frightful phenomenon. In addition to other issues, she had become entangled in her umbilical cord, and was strangling.

The doctor, a man no doubt renowned for being a total jackass, asked her father, Guillermo*, one of the most obscenely tactless and insensitive questions I’ve ever heard. He said, “If it comes down to it, who would you rather I save?”**

My first thought–unvoiced until now–upon hearing that was, “What the fuck is wrong with that man?” I’m not up-to-date with my physician’s ethics, but I’m pretty sure that falls into the category of “Bedside Manner for Doctors Who Enjoy Being Shot in the Stomach”.

I don’t even understand the mentality behind the asking of such a stupid thing. What are you supposed to say, “Well, Doc, what’s market value on infants these days?” 

To Guillermo’s eternal credit, he responded, “I can’t make that decision.”

Anyway, when Kelly and I have children, whatever complications arise, I hope to never be confronted with a similar situation. I can handle the stress and terror, but I would sincerely hate to go to jail for circumcising a grown man during the birth of my child.

*Guillermo was a Mexican immigrant–also a college student and revolutionary, which is pretty awesome–who then became a Canadian citizen to better ease his American nationalization. Pretty crafty.

**Honestly, I don’t see how there could be an option. It’s not a fucking Lady and the Tiger scenario.