“I couldn't live a week without a private library
- indeed, I'd part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor
before I'd let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.” ― H.P. Lovecraft

Whistling In The Graveyard: January 25, 2004

Saturday, January 31, 2004

Today's Fortune Cookie:

You have a potential urge
and the ability for accomplishment.


What the fuck is a 'potential urge'?

All you music fans need to check this out. Especially you metal fans.

Friday, January 30, 2004

Status Report:

It's 6 AM Friday morning. I'm watching "Howard Stern's Private Parts" on HBO, I'm eating peanut butter and strawberry jelly on hot dog buns (I'm out of bread) and I'm downloading an episode of Spongebob Squarepants, "Strap On Sally #6" (You know, the really good one) and the Star Wars Christmas Special all at the same time.

That's me at 6 AM.

There, I showed you mine, now you show me yours.

Wednesday, January 28, 2004

Here's the deal with the car. I called yesterday, the day it was supposed to be done, and asked them to inspect it after they put it back together because the sticker is just a little out of date. In an odd quirk of coincidence, the sticker expired in the same month as the window mechanism broke, causing the widow to get stuck four inches shy of all the way open.

The window has defied all attempts at repair as the stripped gear in the mechanism is apparently THE RAREST AUTO PART EVER MADE. None of the junkyards have it, I never see it on e-bay, and the parts catalogs don't even have a listing for it.

Anyways, the garage informs me that my car won't pass inspection because of the broken window mechanism. The idea being that, in an accident, the mechanism must work in case you have to climb out of the window.

There are three problems with this line of reasoning:

#1: In the case of an accident that buckles that door to the point where it won't open, the window will almost certainly break. Broken windows are notoriously easy to escape from. That's why they don't use them in prison construction.

#2: The goddamn window is frozen in the OPEN FUCKING POSITION! If the window does somehow survive the crash it will be less of a problem than problem #3.

#3: Those of you who know me are already laughing at the idea of me fitting through that window, functional or not. It just ain't happening. You'll shove a camel through the eye of a needle before you'll get my big fat ass through that window.

So even when I get the car back I can't get it inspected which means I can't really drive it much here in town. Granted I have been driving it since the sticker expired in June or July (I don't recall which), but now that I know about it it's the perfect thing to finish off a tri-fecta pain in the ass.

I have found that there is an international Maverick owners club, and by an odd stroke of coincidence it's located in Ripley West Virginia. They MIGHT be able to help with the window problem, but I know damn well that given the relationship I have with fate (that bitch) that I'll get pulled over within sight of the place.

This is my life. This is what I have to deal with for some reason. The big problems in my life seem sort of trivial, what few big problems I have (believe me I'm not asking for more), and the little problems team up to form massive, impossible, goat-fucking tangles.

I swear to god I'm going to get "Damned If I Do, Damned If I Don't" tattooed across my fucking forehead.

Come to think of it, I'd better go check the mirror and see if it isn't there already...

Sunday, January 25, 2004

This just in:

Angered by the popularity of Japanese words etched on the skin of white people, award-winning tattoo artist Andy Sakai took out his revenge by replacing requested symbols with ones carrying vulgar meanings. One victim, college student Brandon Smith, went to Sakai to have the symbols for "strength" and "honor" inscribed on his chest. Twenty minutes later, Smith left the tattoo studio with the symbol for "small penis" embedded in his flesh. Though he didn't realize it at first, Smith got the hint after jogging through campus and having a group of Asian students calling him "Shorty".
Several other Caucasian victims have fallen prey to Sakai's vengeful needle. Though he'll most likely lose a lot of business as a result of his actions, Sakai feels he has done a valuable public service for his fellow man "by labeling all the stupid people in the world."

I've got a question.

I noticed that Superbowl Sunday is the sunday of the week after the week that contains Martin Luther King Day, which is on a monday.

My question is why can't we arrange things so that MLK is the day after the Superbowl? We don't need to move MLK Day, just reschedule the Superbowl. That way everyone can get really trashed at a Superbowl party and have the next day to sleep it off.

And for all you people that are already starting to formulate an angry reponse to this about my wanting to 'cheapen' MLK day just ask yourself: what better way to lead into MLK Day than with the biggest event of a sport that's dominated by King's people?

Plus we can all, in unity and harmony, get really drunk and not have to work the next day.

Think about it people.

I'm gonna go collect my Nobel Peace Prize now.

In honor of the impending Superbowl here's a few great moments in sports:

Wallace Williams ran in the 1979 Pan-American Games marathon, but was so slow that by the time he reached the stadium it was locked and everyone had left.

To fight the heat in the 1950 Tour de France, Abd-El Kader Zaag drank a bottle of wine and promptly fell off his bike. After sleeping it off by the side of the road, he got back on and rode off - in the wrong direction.

Russian athlete Ivanon Vyacheslav was so excited to win a medal at the 1956 Melbourne Olympics that he threw the medal high into the air in jubilation. Unfortunately it landed in Lake Wendouree where, despite a frantic search, it remains to this day.

Preparing for a bout at the 1992 New York Golden Gloves Championships, boxer Daniel Caruso psyched himself up by pounding his gloves into his face. In doing so, he broke his nose and was declared unfit to box.

After beating 1,000 rivals in a 500-mile race, Percy the racing pigeon flopped down exhausted in his Sheffield loft and was promptly eaten by a cat.