It's been a busy few days, both in my world, and in the realm of stupidity. So, tonight, I thought we would try something a bit different and just settle back and discuss a little bit of this and a little bit of that, and not get too heavily tied up in one particular subject. (Fingers crossed, anyway)
So, two nights back I was standing on my front porch, minding my own business, smoking and talking to my girlfriend on the phone. Two guys are walking across the street passing a forty back and forth. It's Ambridge, so nothing out of the ordinary.
Until one of them gives me a "Whats up?"
I nod in return, not really paying attention. I may have mentioned that I was clearly on the phone. I may have blogged once or twice about the fact that I can't seem to step outside and enjoy a coffin nail without being accosted by every drain on society looking for a handout. It was late, I was tired (and heading towards drunk) and I just wanted to be left alone.
Unfortunately for me, Joe Dirt had a stick lodged up his ass.
"I said: 'Whats up?,' mother fucker."
I lower the phone. "Yeah...whats up," I reply, trying to hold my cool. I'm annoyed, but I'm more interested in talking to my girlfriend that I haven't seen all day than getting into it with some drunken piece of white piece trash.
He stops and postures, oblivious to the fact that his friend (who now has the forty) hasn't bothered to stop and back his play. "What the fuck, man? I'm tryin' to say 'whats up'. Is this going to be a problem?"
Now...I'm not a big guy. Never have been. But, first of all, I'm not a pussy. If you walk it to me, I'm not going to run. Little guys get used to fighting real quick.
Secondly, while I may not be a big guy, I pretty much towered over this little four and half foot, drowned rat looking pukebag.
"Yeah, well, I said: 'whats up'," I reply. I'm beyond annoyed now. I'm pissed.
He steps into the street like he's going to come across.
"Honey, I gotta go. Call you right back."
I'm done. You can be an asshole from the otherside of the street all night long. It's no skin off my back. My plan was to finish my cigarette and go back into my apartment and have another beer. Looking at the source, your shit talk isn't worth my time. But... if you think I'm going to go back inside and give you the satisfaction of going home thinking you chased me back inside? Oh, heeeell no.
I start across the street with a serious purpose.
"What, mother fucker?"
"Nothing. You asked what was up. I'm coming to show you."
I wish this story had a better ending. It doesn't. It ends with Homer J. Wannabe suddenly realizing that he stands to my chest and that his friend is already in the car. It ends with him driving away, issuing hollow threats.
Moral of this story: if you're 4 foot 5, and a whopping 110 lbs, in your Lugz, the only place you should be picking a fight is in the arcade at the mall among the rest of the Jr High crowd. Probably not in the street with guys that you don't know. Hell, they might just be a drunken former Marine with a bad temper and a need to misplace from some aggression...
But, maybe my ego was just pumped from my kill just hours before.
If the scientific community has not done a study that encompasses the ratio of naked spider encounters to fully clothed ones, then shame on them. What the fuck is it with spiders and showers? Let me rephrase that: what the fuck is it with gigantic, hairy spiders and showers? Why is it that all of God's creepiest, nastiest crawly critters want to rear their heads and impose upon my naked time?
Just one man's opinion, but anything with less than two legs and more than four deserves to die on sight. And trust me, at this stage in my life, I'm a shampoo bottle wielding warrior that would put Conan the barbarian to shame. (Although I tend to issue girly squeals as I slaughter, rather than shouting 'Crom!' at the top of my lungs)
Sorry, I get easily sidetracked... Back to Idiotville, population: all of us.
I awoke this morning, refreshed from a day of spider killing and douchebag chasing, ready to give the world a fresh start. But, society never lets me down.
As I'm driving home from running my errands before work, I take a street that I only ever drive on when I need beer. Now, this is one of two main roads in our town, so it does get a bit of traffic. As I'm driving, I start to notice yellow ribbons strung on the light poles. I'm guessing this is in support of the war. And, I was right, just about which war.
Strung across the street is a gigantic banner reading: Welcome Home Vietnam Veterans.
Hello Hot Tub Time Machine. Did I hit some kind of space/time vortex and enter into 1974? If so, I'm heading to the nearest gas station to fuel up on those prices. (Seriously folks, the situation has become so dire that you just can't pass up a chance to acknowledge the ridiculous cost of gas if the topic you're discussing is even remotely on topic) Or, is Ambridge about 47 years behind on current events? Or, did I maybe miss something?
I mean, it did take the government about about 20 years to stop referring to Vietnam as a Police Action and acknowledge it as a War. For all I know, maybe we did just finally pull our troops out.
Turns out. after some gentle probing on my part, that this was a tribute by the local High School for Vietnam Vets. Now, I support our soldiers, 100%. However...
In a time where this country is refusing to call anything a War, and only a Military Action, so that the President can circumvent needing Congressional approval to keep troops in a location for any extended period of time... I found that banner to be a touch insensitive.
Am I reading too much into an innocent gesture? Perhaps. But, we have had troops in the Middle East fighting a non-war since before my oldest child was born. We're enchroaching on a body count of dead American soldiers that can only be equalled by WWII. America hasn't called any military involvement, anywhere, a War since Korea because we can't tarnish our record...
We have Veterans Day for a reason, thats all I'm saying. There really isn't a need to dedicate a day to Veterans of a specific war, while American blood is being shed over the price of oil. Especially, and this is a true story, when the ceremony consists of different age groups reciting the 'Pledge of Allegiance' (you know, the biggest nose-in-the-air to the whole separation of Church and State that our country was founded upon?)
Wanna peak my interest? How about a banner that reads: Welcome Home Troops That Almost Died Verifying That Obama's Change Was Pocket Change?
So, finally...I get to work.
Don't ask me how, but at some point, the conversation turned to mermaids. Mermaids. This is my life, for those of you wondering.
"Mermaids are fucking hot!"
What? Did you just... You did, didn't you?
Maybe its just me, but as an American male that was brought up through the public education system, I was learned that a female that smells like fish from the waist down is a bad thing.
Not to mention... I'm looking at pictures to add to this post and, I can't seem to find one of a half-woman, half-fish that seems to include a vagina. Fish mate by spraying their semen on their partner. There is no penetration involved. So, sex for fish, is pretty much what I do when I don't have a girlfriend? Oh yeah. Thats so hot.
So, let's end this truthfully. I have no doubts that a good deal of you are only tuning in to see how I bounce back from my public apology. Honestly? I'm over it. I said something stupid, was called on it, and did my best to make ammends. My friend thanked me for me effort. Whether or not she will someday forgive me is between us. It isn't a public spectacle.
I'm not a sensitive guy. I say whats on my mind and don't look back. Unfortunately, I also tend to blog when I'm drunk and tend to rush through my thoughts in an effort to get things off my chest. Such is life.
For those of you only tuning in for further apologies, I offer my middle finger.
Here, its back to business as usual. Between my friend and I... well, thats just it. Its between us.
Good night, America.