Guy in a Bear Suit

one pet peeve (of maaaaaaany)

i've mentioned plenty of times that shit bugs me.  lots and lots of shit bugs me.  shit that shouldn't bug me.  i probably have more pet peeves than anyone around.  i know this. 

i also know it's not healthy to have so many little things in life that set you off, but i'm helpless against it.  in addition i have a laundry list of words that i don't like to hear.  i'm not going to mention them because it would no doubt start a fucking avalanche of those words being said around me by my friends.

but one little harmless one that i deal with every single day at work is people leaving time on the microwave.  shouldn't be a big deal, right?  but it fucking is.  so when i see time left, if no one else is in the break room, i clear it off.  (as i'm typing this i'm reminded of another one; how annoyed i am when people write "noone" instead of "no one".  "noone" is like some retarded fancy way of saying "noon".  sorta like shop vs. shoppe.  anyway).

regardless of my annoyance, i understand why someone might leave 5 or 10 seconds on the clock.  maybe you're heating up a plate of pizza rolls and the fuckers start to break open or blow up outright, so you pull the door open to stop it.  i get that. 

what i don't get, and what i see at least once a day at work, is someone leaving 5+ minutes on the timer.  really?  you thought your chunky soup was going to take 6 fucking minutes to warm up, but realized you overshot the mark around minute 1?  what kind of horrible estimators are these people?  how do you miss by that far?

what are these people like in other facets of their lives?  "hey yeah, i'm driving to your house now.  i'll be there some time in between 5 minutes or 6 weeks from now, i'm not sure.  yeah, it's really plus or minus a month and a half". 

maybe i should take a few deep breaths and sit out the next couple of plays.

public bathroom giggle

i had to go to lowe's (a home improvement store, in case your part of the world doesn't have them) on saturday for a few things when i felt a brewing deuce begin to make its final descent to its destination. no big deal, we'll just pop into the loo, release the hounds as it were, and be on our way.

i had been incubating this particular one for some time, but had thus far ignored its desires to be set loose, which apparently made it angry and urgent.

but no, this story is not going down that path.

i did have to make my way to the restroom on the quickstep, but once there it was easy peasy.

it was at that time that i began to read the ever-present graffiti on the stall walls. i don't know from first hand experience, but i've been told that women's restrooms don't have this. well, i'll just say you don't know what you're missing.

the artwork, if you want to call it that, is always penis-centric. typically it's just gay stuff; "i'll suck your cock on (date/time)", or "call (phone number) for head, ask for (male name)", which i assume is a joke some dude is playing on his buddy. oftentimes, it is just pictures of cocks. big cocks, small cocks, cocks that skip and hop. every once in a while the author will mix it up and opine about shit. literally. the shit he just took, the shit he's trying to take, a shit he once took somewhere else. every once in a while, there is a phrase or picture that makes me smirk, but that's about it.

however on this particular day, after browsing through someone's statement about how he "tongue punched your mom's fartbox", and all of the debate that followed, i came across this gem:

"i fingered my butthole in here".

hmm. instantly the wheels started turning. with all of these things, it usually occurs to me that i never have a pen or marker on me in the shitter. i wonder why so many people seem to. but in this case, i went a step further, envisioning possible scenarios.

one, he did indeed finger his butthole in this very bathroom, and once finished he took his shitty fingers, removed the sharpie from wherever he had it, and scrawled his admission of filth.

two, he was sitting here same as i, when he looked around and realized, hey, this is the exact same stall whereupon i once digitally penetrated my anus. such pleasant memories need to be written on this wall now that my fingers are clean and i have a pen on me.

or three, his claim was false, but the idea of writing it down tickled him. this is probably the most likely.

having settled on theory #3, i pondered for a bit about his choice of the word "butthole". such a watered down and harmless word to be used with such a vile act. he either had thoughts of or actually did jam his filthy lumber carrying fingers up his own arse and just had to share it with us, but still felt the need to use "butthole" instead of "asshole", "poop shoot", "brown eye", "dumper", or any of the like. just felt incongruous to me.

but anyway, tip of the cap to you, bathroom stall author. you gave me a nice little chuckle on an otherwise boring saturday trip.

bouquet of roses

back when i fancied myself a budding screenwriter, i once wrote about half a screenplay that spawned from a scene i wrote around this song. 

it was the opening scene and showed a guy doing some late night grocery shopping.  a lot of it was from his POV as he walked through the mostly empty store.  he ended up seeing a display of roses near the register and bought a dozen on impulse.  once he gets out to the parking lot, he ends up getting car jacked and shot on accident.  the camera falls and goes on its side, showing his hand with the roses as the criminals peel away in his car.  just as his blood starts to creep into the picture, this song plays over the opening credits. 

i think i might have considered having a muzak version of it playing in the store as well.

this is not it, but i always liked the marty robbins version. 

 

 

captain fucking planet

i love don cheadle.

 

Don Cheadle is Captain Planet from Don Cheadle