It's been a while
So it's been like a day or two since I last fired off a post. I don't think it matters as in no one reads this shit anyways.
Last night was a total debacle. We played the team that has beaten us twice and we got beat a third time (imagine that) 13-7. Twin 1 was out in right and he couldn't have caught a cold. Twin 2 has to turn to learn to turn his glove over to catch. Neither one is what you could call an asset at the plate. If I would have to guess, they've got a combined average of about .150. The Mendoza line for softball is .300. These two couldn't hit .300 even if they drew it in the dirt and took turns whacking at it with a stick. I spent the first game behind the place catching Timmy. That's not that big of deal except that I can actually catch and I know how to have Tim pitch to certain hitters. Plus I'm always bullshitting with the umps which can give us the benefit of the doubt in a really close play or maybe some added leeway when it comes to some of the hotheads.
The next game Case put me at second. I felt pretty good about my performance considering it had been a year and a half since I had played second. However, we got flat drilled 20-9. Oh well, it was fun to play some fall ball. It sounds like we could get into a tourney the first week of November.
Dammit, I'm ready for this supposed cold snap. Let it get here. If the weather forecast holds up, it sounds like I'll be wearing a sweatshirt and jeans to the game tomorrow. Perhaps a jacket may be in the works as temps are supposed to be falling all day. That will be absolutely wonderful. I suppose the press box won't be too bad. I do expect to see blankets and gloves out considering that it's supposed to be a stiff, stiff north wind. Let it come I say, let it come. Without a doubt, fall is my favorite season. The colors, the weather, the sports, how can you beat it? Maybe by having someone to snuggle up with?
Nah. That won't be happening. I guess I'll just have to wait for pheasant season.
Wow. What a horrible time for a crash
So the story goes something like this. I got home from class on Monday, grabbed my red pen, turned my comp on, and headed up to the paper so I could do my normal duty of proofreading. Not a big deal, but when I got home, I decided to the the Sports Guruish thing and check the headlines on ESPN.com. Of course, I signed into MSN to see who all was online. I had only been sitting at my desk for about five minutes when my monitor just clicks off. "Um..okay." I thought. "What the hell is this all about?" It was as if it had just gone to sleep. I saw my light on my hard drive flickering at about a million clicks a second. Nothing was happening, even though I had mouse feed and keyboard lights. So I restart it and then get nothing again. No monitor, but still have keyboard. So I turn it completey off and think "This can't be good." Again, I fire it up. This time it acts as if it want to run, but decides that it no longer doesn't and promptly SHUTS ITSELF OFF. At that point, I began to believe that the problem was very serious. Immediately, I called my tech gurus. These dudes know their shit. Gsquared and I made an appointment for this afternoon and I cut class to make it. Yes, I'm a dedicated student. Gsquared had some suspiscions and fortunately for me and my meager pocketbook they were right.
My video card had committed suicide by spontaneous combustion.
Fortunatley Some Guy had one laying around and installed it for me this evening. Plus he cleaned out my machine of the viruses that were making a home here along with the spyware that had decided to freeload without paying rent. So now I have firefox and another spyware destroyer. Now that I'm finally back online, I realize I didn't miss much except that assignment that I need to write tomorrow.
As for yesterday, I joined the club. It was a prestigous club with members such as Tim and Josh. Now all three of us have matching war wounds on our legs. I had made it the entire summer without opening my leg like I always do. In fact, I was pretty proud of myself. Could I break a rustyesque tradition and not look like someone took a cheese grater to my leg? Oh hell no. And I slid headfirst but turned on an angle to avoid the tag (which I didn't avoid) and carved up my left leg again. Nice move slick.
Anyways I'm out.
The rage cometh
Motherfucker, I've had it and I can take no more. I'm thinking of going to Walmart and buying one of those million candlepower spotlights and carrying it around with me in my Exploder.
Coming back from The Game That Wouldn't End Because Rusty Is Calling It On The Radio, I was followed for about 3 miles by some jackass that must have thought that by having his brights on WHILE following directly behind me, he could see what's actually going through my head. What was worse was the fact that I was pinned behind some woman who obviously couldn't read the posted speed limit of 65, and though that at night you were supposed to drive 13 miles an hour slower than what the posted signs say. I couldn't pass because of all the oncoming traffic. I want the spotlight so when dillweeds like this guy follow me I can show them brights. I'll blind the sumbitch. Here, this is what it feels like to have a blinding beam of light pierce your eyes, bitch!!
Of course it would also be handy to have, because of these idiots that drive around through town with their hi beams on? What? Are we all of the sudden going to be infested by urban deer that run across the street in the business district of a small town of 4000? If so, someone didn't send me the memo. I really think that it would be satisfying to see some guy in his car go careening into the ditch at a semi safe rate of speed because I nailed him with a spotlight. Justice would be served then.
I think i'm tired. I've been up since 7:30 and have actually been working quite a bit today. I still need to write a story but i've got all weekend to bang it out. I did my first football game, and I think that it went alright. I stumbled a bit with some names and it's hard to look at one program which is black type on white paper and then switch gears to a program in black type on red paper. Plus the home team, didn't fax us shit for my pregame show. Then because they were a bunch of catholics, they started the game with a prayer. I even saw the nuns in the crowd. What was supposed to be a good game turned into a blowout. Hopefully, Aaron gives me my alma matter next week on friday. that would be cool.
Okay, it's either time for some very seriously heavy drinking or my bed.
I know, pretty pathetic on a friday night at 12:30ish.
Why don't you ever hear of the guys that tie the game?
The softball whore is back.
We played a team we probably should have trounced tonight, but we decided to have our heads up our asses and give them runs. I'll take part of the blame as I biffed one out in the outfield. Oh well, I think I made up for it at the plate as I went 2-3 with a sac fly and 3 RBI.
Tim and I wondered after the game why the guys who knock in the tying runs never get any credit. We wondered this because in the bottom of the 7th, we were down 16-14. I was up with one out and we had runners that had good wheels on second and third. My thought as I got up was, "All I've got to do is rip a deep fly ball, and these rubber arms out there won't be able to gun Danny down." I blasted a shot. However, this damn Kansas wind that's been blowing for about a week held it up. The left fielder did have to move about 4 steps back to catch it. Josh and Danny scored and we were tied. As I trotted back to the dugout, Dustin told me that I would have flat burned the LF if there wouldn't have been any wind.
Even after the work I did, we didn't score any runs to win. So we head back out into the OF and promptly give up two runs to be down 18-16 in the bottom of the 8th. Our 11th batter, Tom, walks. Adam singles and Tom holds up at second. Casey steps up and rips a single tha loads the bases. Up to Tim, he rips a base knock that scores both Adam and Tom. Enter Josh, who lines a shot up the middle to win the ball game.
It was a good win. This team lacks some team chemistry but oh well.
Honestly though, we should have run ruled those guys. I know I've bitched about the field, but sweetbabyjesuswithacowlick, I think we're playing in a cow pasture. I ended up with freaking stickers. STICKERS!! Freaking sand burrs in the freaking outfield. I mean how hard is it to plant some regular grass and keep the freaking stickers out of my socks and cleets. If a ball rolls to you and you throw it back, you have to pull the stickers out of your HANDS!!! I got home and watched Smallville. While laying on my bed, I had TWO stickers fall off of my socks. DAMMIT get some RoundUp and kill that shit.
Now, for the Sid conversation of the week. For those of you who don't know, Sid is my father.
Just out of the blue, he posed this question to me.
"Would you rather touch a cadyver or grab a rattlesnake?"
"A cadyver? What the hell is a cadyver?" I asked.
"A dead body."
"You mean a cadaver."
"Yes, would you rather touch a dead body or grab a rattlesnake?"
"Um, could the rattlesnake bite me?"
"Well, they would hold it down and you would have to grab it behind the head and pick it up."
"Okay, so the rattlesnake couldn't bite me and turn me into a cadyver?( I got the finger at that one) I think I'd have to go with the rattlesnake. I don't think I'd really want to touch a cadaver."
"Oh."
"Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"Where the fuck did that come from? Cadavers and rattlesnakes? Holy shit, do you guys do drugs at work or what? If that's the case can I get some of that shit, becaust it's good shit." He laughed.
"I was thinking about the guy I worked with and how he wouldn't eat the rattlesnake because he was sure he would get posion."
I smacked my forehead and almost wanted to knock myself out because of that. Only the guy, would say something that stupid. I ended up cutting off the conversation as it could have taken an even weirder turn. Sometimes I worry about my pops.
Tests and more fun stuff like that
So, I had my first exam in Shockerland today. I studied for an hour and a half last night and some this morning. Want to know how it went? So do I. The most disturbing thing was that I spent 40 minutes on my commute there. I spent 20 minutes on the test, and that was with me taking my time and even going over it again. I looked at the clock and said "Fucking hell. That's an hour of my life that I won't get back." I couldn't call April to go eat lunch because she was still in class until 12:30. What would any normal person do in that situation? Probably get in their vehicle and go home, cursing all the way. What do I do? Call my best friend and see if he wants to go eat lunch. I buzzed over to Timmy's office and the two of us went to OC to eat lunch. Of course this was after we spent 10 minutes or so talking to Timmy's dad about football. We ended up taking I guess what you could call a "power lunch" of about an hour and a half, just bullshitting about sports and such. Plus the food was good. As soon as I got home, I logged on to MSN and promptly continued my conversation with him about sports.
Apparently, I'm playing softball again tomorrow night. I guess that I should have gone ahead and paid an entry for this league considering that I've played more than half the games. Damn, I am a softball whore.
Today was the first official day of fall. Too bad it was a blistering 87 or so. If there is a positive, you can really feel fall in the wind. I'm ready for fall. I'm ready for the color explosion, and much needed cooler temperatures, and for my freaking allergies to be done. I hate the ragweed. Loathe it with me. Kill it until it is dead. Okay. I'm out.
The weekend is almost over
Damn.
I was actually enjoying the weekend. It was a football-filled weekend, which is never a bad thing. On Friday, I was in person to see my former high school get their asses handed to them by the rich, private, preppy fuckheads 28-14. Apparently, Collegiate had more motivation than we did, and perhaps it was a payback game from last year's 41-6 beating. It could be a bit of a down year for the Swathers, but it happens when you lose your skill postitions.
Saturday rolled around and I really did have every intention of rising and going to watch my cousin play volleyball. Unfortunately, my bed was a little too comfortable and I slept until the game was slated to begin. I was put on softball watch at 11 a.m. as it seems there was a bit of dissention between Twin 1 and the rest of the team. I guess the team went 2-1 and then got trounced because they had too much down time between games and the beer flowed freely. On a positive note, it sounds like we could be playing in a November ball tourney. Yes, I know, November? It could be chilly, but hell it's softball. I'm curious as to see if the dissention will spill over into the normal league games and see if I become a regular.
The Huskers won after a great first half and a horrible second half. It looks as if the big red machine has a bit of work to do yet. By the time the game was over, I fell back asleep on the couch until Josh called for score updates. After that, I changed shirts and went to play poker. It was a productive evening mainly because I won eight bucks. My uncle was the big winner, winning $31. TR was the other winner of an incredible 60 cents. My pops, my dad's only friend and Tubby lost. I'm kind of shocked that I actually won, because i was drinking margaritas. They were a bit strong, probably because I was mixing them, and not really paying attention to the ratios of alcohol to mix. We didn't get home until 3 a.m. and I didn't get to sleep until 4.
I know I should have gotten up and gone to church, but again, bed was much too comfy for me to leave. I did get up in time to watch the FOX NFL show and then I watched the Chiefs fall apart. (Hey all you idiots out there that said Gunther was the answer, guess what? He's NOT. If you want to be a better defense, bring in the right personnel. Being that teams last year riddled the same people playing defense now, common sense says that the people on the field are the problem.) Basically it was all filler until the Cowboys played the late game. Way to go, Boys. We got a much needed win, and yes when I say we, I am part of the fan base. It shouldn't have been a nail biter, but oh well, shit happens.
I need to do laundry, so I guess I had better get it started. And I'm spent.
The honest to God truth
So, after watching the Fish play vball, we went out to eat Mexican food at a favorite restaurant. There were four guys at the table across the way and I believe that the beer at their table was talking for them. One of the guys, apparently not overly bright but very much a tough talker was telling his story about his fight he was in. I only caught bits and pieces of the conversation but it went something like this:
"So the one guy had me by the hair and he was beating on my head and I thought that he was gonna knock me out. So the next time when he dun had me by the hair i twisted away and I hit the one guy that Corey had been fighting with , and this is the honest to God truth, I hit him right below the rib cage and he just went 'Whooooooosh' and folded over. Then I turned and hit the one guy and turned back and hit the other guy BAM and I was doin that back an forth for a little. Then they both fell over and I ran off. So the one guy is still holding himself up in the concession stan an the first guy that had started it all came over and was helpin his two buddies. I started at them and then the first guy yelled 'what do you want?' and I said ' i want my damn hat' and he said 'I get it for you'. Then the guy that had me by the hair yelled ' I'm gonna kill you' and his buddy held him and said 'No. We don't want anymore of him'. And the honest to God truth, it was because i thought i was gonna get knocked out."
At this point I was riveted to this conversation. The guy continued " It makes a difference if you're fighting a tough guy or a bunch of weak guys. Fighting one tough guy can be tough though."
Okay genius. That was some serious logic. It took a lot of self control to not say "That was a hell of a story. I can't believe that you were able to handle these four guys who were taking turns attacking you. I mean, you should really think about becoming some kind of self defense teacher. Four guys? That's utterly amazing. And the one guy even went WHOOOSH too! Can I get your autograph?"
So dad and I are walking out chuckling about the story and I said to dad "Let's stand out here and when he comes out, just deck his ass. Afterwards we'll say something like 'I guess we're just tough guys.' " Dad started laughing and even agreed with me. Mom just laughed about our idea.
And that's the honest to God truth.
Waking up is hard to do
What a debacle last night was. Our softball team lost again. This time it was a 16-6 run rule after five innings. We had all of our heads up our collective asses. It sucked, but what was worse was the twins' bitching. All right fellas, until you two hold up your end of the deal consistently, don't whine about one game. So far, their combination of pitcher/catcher is not faring overly well. Twin 1, the pitcher, has a propensity to walk people once he gets frustrated. Twin 2, the catcher, can not catch a throw at home. Don't even get me started about their lack of sticks in the line up. I've learned that you just hope that one of the two of them gets lucky and loops in a dying quail for a single when you're in the middle of your rally. Anyways, it wasn't good last night. That happens, but when you don't get your bats up, then you're going to lose anyways. Oh yeah, we lost to a team with only NINE guys. Ninnne guys. How pathetic is that? Granted this team won only ONE game last year, so Tim, Josh and I thought that we were kind of living in a tree with our 3-2 record so to speak. One letdown is not the end of the world. Hopefully, they end up short somehow this weekend and give me a shout to go play in this tourney. (on a side note, i'm hitting an astronomical .667. Where the fuck was this during my normal season? dammit, i am a softball whore)
I woke up at 4:30 a.m. this morning with a thirst of a man crossing a thousand deserts. I guess 44 oz. of Gatorade after the game just didn't get it done When you're dreaming of drinking a large glass of ice water, I think there could be a problem or two. I woke up and stumbled to get a drink. I think I drank 5 glasses of water. Finally feeling hydrated again, I went back to bed just to collapse and sleep, this time only dreaming of a thunderstorm and someone shouting at me.
Aight, this kid is off to watch the Fish play volleyball.
Want to know what a bad day is?
A bad day is when you live in New Orleans and there is a hurricane approaching. First of all, I want to know who the drunk Cajuns were that decided to dig a big hole and then build a city in the hole. I mean what was Beaudrueax thinking? The city is up to 8 feet BELOW sea level. It sinks up to an inch a year. Yet people live there. Granted an inch isn't much (and some guys would kill for an extra inch or two) but when you're SINKING, it's a big deal. This hurricane is going to turn New Orleans into the world's biggest aquarium. There's pretty much only one thing that people in New Orleans can do, and that is to bend over, put their heads between their legs and kiss their ass goodbye.
On to my next subject. Out here in the plains/Midwest, we have to deal with tornadoes. Yeah, they can be scary and kill people, but they aren't gigantic, slow-moving storms like hurricanes. Modern science has also helped in the warnings of potential tornadoes. Yes you only have a few minutes sometimes, but then usually it's over in minutes, occasionally even hours. You don't see it coming for days like you do for a hurricane. For crying out loud, hurricanes get their own name.
That's the other problem. Anytime you name a hurricane after a Russian butcher, you know you're in trouble. Some genius at the weather bureau decided to see just how many people he could make homeless by listing the name Ivan on the storm names. What's next? Hurricane Jim Jones? Tropical Storm David Koresh? When some brainiac names a hurricane Pol-Pot or Son of Sam, it's as good as over.
Now as today, let me tell you how much I enjoy college volleyball. Oh yes. Such nice shorts. On a good note, I got to see my cousin's team whip ass tonight. Go Stiff Go. Why couldn't they turn on some AC in that damn gym though? I should have held a pan of muffins so I could have had a snack in about the third game. I sat up top with my fam for the first game, then moved down to the front row with my pops. There was only about 10 degrees difference.
I have to go play softball tomorrow night. This will be my fourth game. Not that i'm complaining. It's actually fun to win for a change. If our pitcher walks a bunch like he can, i'm going in to pitch. Apparently that cost us a game the other night. Do I have the right to say we as a team even though I'm only a sub? Yeah, i think i do, since i've filled in 4 times.
Anyways, I've rambled enough. I'm out.
A haircut and fucked up dreams
I finally got in touch with Lori and got a much needed haircut. This time the tempation to let it grow was a bit stronger, but I just loathe the sides of my head and how bad hair looks when it's under a hat sprouting out looking like I've got wings. I didn't see any gray, although i'm sure there was some there. Damn this getting old shit. It felt like she took off a ton of hair. The one thing I forgot was how much sweat my hair can absorb. After my run, I felt like I had been dunked in a bucket of warm water. But on the good note, I can see again.
My fucked up dream was how a bunch of idiots wouldn't listen to me about how there was a lion on the prowl. However, they were a bunch of really rich people and very inclined not to listen to me. I watched the lion kill someone and I could see it hiding in a cornfield. Two old guys had some plan with this lion because I overheard them talking about it as I was hiding in a parking lot. Next thing I know, I've got a gun and I'm chasing this lion through all these rich folk and their pool party. It was bizarre, so much so, I woke up and said "What the fuck was that?" Any answers?
I don't know, but maybe I should start drinking heavily before bed.
Go Fish Go!!!
So the Fish had her first volleyball tournament today. The coaches had told the parents that they were there to win so some of the girls might not play. I'm not sure if that's the right thing to do in the first tournament of their young careers, but then again i'm on the sidelines. The first game was against McPherson, a much larger school. The Hobble and I were sitting by each other and we were figuring that we would get waxed. As for the format, in the pool play it was one game to 30, must win by two. We were down 22-13 and came back to upset Mac 36-34. The Fish didn't get to play.
In the second match, we played Newton (again a much bigger school) and we got beat 30-21. Fish did come into the game after Cara made about five mistakes in a row. Fish came in and promptly played GREAT!! She even had a spike, and was a passing fool. I was cheering so loud and just about bursting with brotherly pride. I wanted to yell "THAT'S MY SISTA!!!" ( I think the ghettoing of sister would have emphasized the point coming from my cracker ass) Damn I was proud of her, because she came into the game and promptly executed everything she did well. The Hobble (wow, all my cousins have nicknames) and I were talking about it after the game, and we both decided that if she keeps that up she'll have a starting spot by the end of the season, because the girl without a neck (think ET when his neck was short) has her head up her ass constantly.
Now, all we need to do is work on her serves so she gets consistant with that. Maybe we'll go work on that tomorrow.
My Brain is leaking out of my ears
I made a major mistake this evening. Although it wasn't totally my fault, I was the driver. Perhaps you're thinking wreck or ticket. No it was nothing that simple. I would have taken a ticket or an accident over the mistake tonight. I'd take severe wounding, staples without a local, or even a red hot needle in the eye socket over what I went through tonight. I guess it's time to enlighten you to the mistake I made.
I took two 12-year old girls to a high school football about an hour away.
Oops. Fish and Becka accompanied my father and I to the game. Now the Fish is okay by herself. But you mix in Miss Attitude Becka and there were about three times I wanted to beat Becka with a rolled up newspaper. Just the fact that she contradicted herself and even tried to argue with me twice over shit she was wrong on. I can understand why she rubs Fish the wrong way sometimes. It wouldn't be so bad if Becka wasn't so damn boy crazy. She tried to take my hat off of my head to wear during the game because "I looooooooooooooooooove those hats. CanIwearit?" "No." Then it was "Letmesseeyourhair.Isithighlighted?" I just looked at her with disbelief. We got to Lyons with enough time to go grab a quick burger from Dairy Queen. No big deal there, but at one point Becka begged Fish into giving her a bite of her burger. So Fish tore one off and Becka whined that it didn't have cheese on it. It took a lot of self control for me not to stuff her in a trash can. Dad piped up with a "Mark it down, but Becka's mouth will get her in a lot of trouble. In fact, her mouth is writing checks that her body can't cash." I agreed and Fish just laughed. I actually did threaten to stuff her in the trash can, and she thought that because she can handle her 15 year old sister she could handle me. Fish looked at me with a "What the hell is she thinking look?" and I decided against making a scene in the DQ.
We also made a game plan for when the game was almost over. We told the two girls to meet us with exactly ONE minute left in the game. At 1:04 the clock was stopped and no girls in sight. The clock stopped twice more and Dad shook his head in utter disbelief. They were standing around talking to two of their comrades. I literally screamed at Becka to get her attention , because we were leaving. The worst part? There were no boys in sight. ( I will say this much. If a boy even looks at my lil sister wrong, I'll take him out in the country and cut his little pecker off.) Finally we started walking hoping they would get the hint. We both agreed that, this trip was the last time we take Fish and Becka to any game.
On a positive note, I talked to the program director for the radio station (he was covering the game) and he said he'd call me to do some PBP in late Sept. and October. Can I get a hell yeah?
The agony of defeat or the agony of victory
So I attended my 7th grade sister's volleyball game. I was kind of looking forward to seeing the Fish play since she was so determined to make B team. Traditionally, there are three levels to the middle school volleyball, A team comprised of 8th graders, B team comprised of 7th graders, and C team, comprised of the children who don't even get picked for kickball, let alone shouldn't even be near a field of competition for fear of injuring themselves or others. (And trust me, I've had to coach some of these daisy pickers over the years. I know what the coaching staff is dealing with. Dad looked at one of the names, a former ballplayer of ours, and asked if there was an E team.)Thankfully Fish, did make B team. She is the first one to come off the bench for the first 6 girl rotation. There are only 190479287923 girls on B team. Unfortunately, there is quite a talent dropoff from the first 8 girls to the next however many are left. Fish has a cousin Bike Wrecka Becka, who is 18 days younger than her, in the same grade. So Becka's older brother Perm came to watch. Perm and I just happen to be the only male grandchildren on that side of the family. Perm and I cheered like only older brother's can. So we may have looked slightly retarded stomping our feet when our team made an ace. That's what older brother's are for, to look like idiots at sporting events. (I've got to state that whoever decided to make middle school volleyball rally scoring should indeed receive sainthood. I'm pretty sure that if it was still traditionally service point scoring, the C game would still be going on.) Volleyball in 7th grade consists of just trying to get the ball back over the net. Dad and I noted that the team that gets their serves over the net will most likely win.
On a different note, I had forgotten or had blocked out exactly how much noise 12-14 year old girls can make, especially while doing the decades-old, grate-on-your-ears cheers that middle school volleyball teams do while in matches. Too bad the team we played was full of idiots because normal girls can memorize their cheers. These fools had their cheers written down on pieces of paper because they weren't smart enough to memorize them. There were a couple of times when Perm and I exchanged the "If I only had a handgun" look. Mass casualities would have ensued, if only Kansas had a carry concealed law.
Twice Perm and I caught our sisters looking semi-embarassed with our antics. I explained to Fish that we were only doing our older brother duties by trying to get into the match. Perm and I made a pact to get thrown out of one of Becka's basketball games in high school.
I'm really sick of how tall Fish and Beck are getting. Beck is 5-7 and Fish is a healthy 5-5 and strong as an ox. Both are still about two months away from their 13th birthdays. I think my uncle had it right and Beck will be as tall if not taller than I at my respectable 6-0 when it's all said and done. Who knows where the Fish will end up?
Now on to my moral dilemma for the day. Fish has a tourney this weekend. It starts at 9 a.m. I'm thinking that I can swing the first couple of matches and then slip away to Doug's for the kickoff of the Huskers at 11 a.m. Yes, I'm preempting my sister's volleyball for a football game. So I'm a shitty brother. But I did find a replacement for myself, that being my other sister Mindy. If Mindy can make the matches I miss, then it's all gravy and Fish is never the wiser. (Did I mention Doug's got a 51 or 52 inch television?) She's got another tourney coming up anyways. It's all justified, I think.
Damn I'm glad she's on B team.
WARNING: Parental Advisory
The conversation went like this:
Dad: "I can't hit these little cocksuckers. These fucking bastards dodge my bullets. I can draw up on them and they move and dodge. That's it. I'm shooting whatever the fuck flies near me tonight. I don't care if it's a fucking eagle. Fuck them. I want those fucking decoys that have the fucking wings. I hope they bring me in an eagle and I'm going to fucking blast away. I don't give a shit anymore. Why the hell do you bring me? So you can laugh at me? Fuck you. I'll shoot you if you fucking laugh again. Yeah, I'll show you some shooting."
At this point I almost wrecked because I was laughing so hard. Sometimes my father is a funny funny man. The worst part about this, is that it's pretty much true. I watched him obliterated a meadowlark last year and I asked him what the hell he was doing. His response was that he was tired of missing the doves so he was going to shoot at whatever flew near him. When he shot the dragonfly, I thought he had cracked. Of course, I shot a couple of dragonflies when I got frustrated too. I guess the old adage is true, like father, like son.
And just for you becka, I will use a normal color.
Why the title?
One of my friends asked my why I titled this with such a name. The answer is rather simple actually. It's because I have a self-proclaimed existence, DUH. That basically means that no one can confirm or deny my actual existence. Is it me, or is it MemoRusty? Could I be a tangible figure in everyday life, with the normal desires and faults, or am I just an empty soulless shell wading through that which we call life, looking for existence on many different dimensional planes? No one exactly knows for sure and no one can confirm it.
Wow. That shit is really really deep. I need to either drink more or less depending on the situation. I really feel as if I used all of my allowed intelligence for the week on that previous blurp. Dammit, oh the waste! I had probably ought to counteract that with somekind of activity which involves, violence and very little thinking. Yes, it's time to go hunt.
Why can't anyone drive?
First of all, I'm rather disappointed that no one can answer my soy questions. I guess they were taken as semi-rhetorical. I really really really would like answers to those "issues" I posted about last time.
Now, on to more important things. Why the hell can't anyone drive? I mean really. I commute 33 miles to school and back. It's supposed to be a pleasant little drive down the interstate highway. Key words=supposed to be. Lately it's been a case of no one else can fucking drive. I think it has something to do with the color of my Explorer. I guess people just can't see the color purple or eggplant or whatever the hell it is. I didn't get the memo that it was "Pull Out In Front of Rusty Month." That information would have been incredibley useful to have at my disposal. For example the other day, I was almost killed. I use the phrase almost killed because when you wreck at 75 m.p.h. the only identifying means of your body are your dental records. A Student Driver from an area Technical College tried to cause a major pile up because they decided that they don't exactly know how to use a merge lane. This driver waited until the last possible moment to merge. Now, I had properly executed a maneuver to get over to make room for the on ramp traffic. However, the bitch driving the passenger van decided that she could go ahead and make a double lane merge and fly around the truck. Oops. Little did she know that there was a car going considerabley slower than the flow of traffic except for the merging truck, on the blind side of the truck. Her move and sudden braking almost caused my untimely demise as I would have destroyed them if I had not been paying attention. (It almost ruined my shorts as well but I won't go into detail about that.)
Thankfully, nothing happened and I was unscathed. Upon arriving home to my hometown of 4000 people, I was almost T-Boned by an idiot high schooler who apparently had never taken Driver's Education or missed the part about how you DON'T PULL OUT FROM A STOP SIGN ACROSS TWO LANES OF TRAFFIC. I extended my middle finger in a gesture of disgust at his poor driving, hoping he got the message.
Today it was a woman driving a U-Haul truck who A) couldn't use her turn signals, and B) when she did she didn't know how to shut the fuckers off. We passed each other a couple of times because she had no idea on how to exactly keep the same speed. I'm thinking that I should go ahead and paint my Explorer lime green or flourescent pink so people can see me coming. And don't even get me started on the butt munches that can't use a turn signal. It's there for a reason people.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not in a bad mood. I just had to sound off about that. Remember, I'm still waiting on answers about soy sauce and soy stuff. It's relaxing weekend when your cell phone doesn't ring once. I suppose I had better go get school type stuff accomplished.
I have arrived!!!
I have arrived. As a Self-Proclaimed Sports Guru, I decided I needed a sounding base just to bounce totally meaningless shit off of. Yes, I know I ended a sentence with a preposition but fuck it!!! The reality of this blog is that I'm going to try to post something funny or relevant daily or thereabouts. Like Becka said, it's a place to sharpen my pen skillz. Not that I have some skillz but hey, you never know.
Anyways, there needs to be some kind of law about being that damn good in the kitchen. I'm not one to toot my own horn but I think once in a while everyone should let their ego run free for a second or two. I grilled up steak and potatoes, and whipped to together a caesar's salad. The salad was somewhat of a bitch because there were WAY too many wrappers on all the packaged stuff. So I took the easy route and got the packaged stuff. Sue me! As I was making the marinade, I had to use soy sauce. I got to thinking about Lewis Black's dissertation about Soy Milk. I think Black had a point when he said "there is no such thing as soy milk. It's soy juice. There is no soy milk coming from a soy titty." Absolutely brilliant. However, does that mean that soy juice would be soy sauce? Or do you combine soy juice with water and get soy sauce? I noticed on the label that it was "naturally brewed" too. Hmmm....does that mean one takes soybeans and boils them to get soy juice or soy sauce? Do you carry around a packet or a pouch of soy and you add it to boiling water to get soy sauce kind of like coffee? Someone answer me these questions.
While I'm at it, why at our local groccery store do they only have ONE kind of Caesar's salad dressing? Is it really that tough to only have Crushed Garlic Caesar's Dressing but nothing else? I mean there's only 91734987501298 kind of ranch dressing, not to mention both styles of Italian. Add the oodles and oodles of brands and I'm still stuck with fucking crushed garlic in my caesar's salad dressing. This wouldn't be such an issue but when you make one of these packaged deals, there's only 4 dribbles of dressing for the salad. Granted one doesn't have to have their salad swimming in dressing because that would be foolish. But if I just wanted lettuce and croutons, dude, I would have just bought both seperately. I'm not a freaking rabbit.
Dammit, I was going to go shoot at those little gray bullets known as doves, but A) this took too long, and B) the rain probably made the fields a sloppy, slimy mess. Maybe I'll go study. Fuck that. Okay, I'm out like a blind kid in laser tag.
