Thursday, June 5, 2008

Quick Hitters Ain't Only For Weed

"Here I sit, broken hearted, came to shit but only farted..."

I can't say that I have a particularly exciting topic in mind to write about today, since I was up rather late watching the hockey season officially end (Go Wings) and something about Energy Drinks that kept me up later than I needed to be, like God was holding my eyelids up with His toothpicks.

With that in mind, I just have a few points that I was thinking about and that I wrote down. I suppose that I could expand on the ideas at some point, maybe not. After all, I am very lazy and quite frankly, this isn't my life, I got other shit to do today.

Here goes...

- Is there anyone more positive yet more clueless about life than a graduating High School Senior? Really, they're all of 18, never been out of the enclave of their homes and towns but seem to walk around like they matter.

Hey kid. You don't know shit. Sure the sky's the limit - but did I mention that you have to build your own plane? Get cracking. (Or have Daddy buy you one...)

- My kid went out and bought a bag of those Big M&M's the other day. Do we really need bigger M&M's? Seriously, if I feel like I am so hungry that I want more M&M's, I'll just go nuts and eat two.

- Rumor has it that there were tons of women lined up outside of theaters waiting to see the new Sex and the City movie dressed as the characters, complete with stiletto heels, toting martini glasses sipping Cosmos and transporting inserted diaphragms.

It's too bad that there wasn't a new release of a Star Trek film the same weekend, because we were all one strategically placed Lindsay Lohan poorly attempted parallel parking job away from taking out twice as many losers.

- How are those "Economic Stimulus Checks" we are all getting treating you? Let me all got a full tank of gas with them didn't you?

- Whatever happened to "The Proclaimers"? "Now I would walk 500 miles and I would walk 500 more, just to be the man that'd walk 1,000 miles to fall down at your door...dead, apparently". You know what? I don't care, really.

- I firmly believe that there is a direct negative correlation between a man's ability in bed and his desire for noise emitting from his vehicle.
Case in point.
Rednecks that have no mufflers on them thar pick-up trucks and Douchebags riding organ donor-cycles that wake my groggy ass up with them at 3 in the morning are five pump chumps that tell their women to lay there while they pile drive into them while dreaming of the cover model on the latest Road Head magazine.

The flip side to that is Lance Armstrong, in top physical shape, tapping hot chicks for hours...with one testicle.
Any questions?

Comments are required.

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Beer League softball with a side of hangover

For those of you too clueless to know all about me yet, I live by a pretty simple Life Mantra...

..."I don't run unless I am being chased and I don't lift weights because they are heavy."

I have gotten away with this slice of life for the better part of a decade, despite my best intentions to ruin it and perform some form of physical activity a few times over the past few years.

I don't know where I am headed with this other than to mention that last night I actually went out, ran, used some of my remaining agility and performed athletically at a pretty decent level. Yeah, no shit. The Kid has returned.

How did I do this, you ask?

I played in a beer league slow pitch softball game.

Yep. I was that guy last night. Out there with grown men in full uniforms, running after fly balls, fielding grounders, waiting on flourescent green softballs to float my way harmlessly while at the plate, heaved by some dude wearing a head band and a pink shirt, undoubtedly wondering if he could pull some (male) ass at a local watering hole called "Sneaky Pete's".

I played a flawless shortstop, went two for three at the plate, could have easily stretched a double out of each hit, but why be greedy? I stayed at first because it wasn't Game 7 of the World Series ( I was fucking winded), just a friendly game played by grown men who are desperately trying to gasp for air in between gulps of brew. Besides, we crushed the other team 12-2 in a game that took all of 45 minutes. Perfect.

Then I went out on the town and watched the Detroit Red Wings snatch defeat from the jaws of victory and come 38 seconds from winning the mother truckin' Stanley Cup, only to lose in the third overtime to those rat bastard Pittsburgh Penguins.

All of that meant that I ended up schnockered. I mean, I had to have had at least 12 Old Styles, a few Oberons and one misguided shot of Tequila over that time, which led to me making a complete ass of myself in a drunken stupor all the way around, in the company of many others that were equally douchebaggish. un perdedor.

It felt good to be like a 21 year old again...last night.

Because today I feel like I have been fucked by a train.

Stupid tequila.

Any questions? No? Good. My head hurts.