So we went to the Mountaineer tonight.
We tried to go on New Years eve, but the place was packed. Every parking space full. Shit, there was a limo in the front and a tour bus out back.
I mean, we like the ‘Eer and all that, but it’s not the sort of place where you wait on a table to open up, and it damn sure isn’t the sort of place you take a limo to at 2 AM on New Years day.
The waitress we had tonight said it was nobody important.
Jeremy seems to think it might have been country singer Toby Keith.
Six of one, half a dozen of the other if you ask me.
Anyways, the place was nice and deserted tonight. Just like we like it.
Over dinner Nate regaled us with his latest tale from the land of Crapoli’s. Seems he took a transfer call. That’s one where someone that can’t place a regular phone order; I-E can’t speak or can’t hear, types the message and some guy at the transfer service relays it to the restaurant.
It went something like this:
Transfer guy: I have a transfer call for you. Have you done one of those before?
Nate: Yes, many times.
Transfer guy: The order is as follows: I would like one large pizza with extra cum. Will you please suck my cock?
Now, using an inhuman control of oneself that only Nate can muster, he transferred the call to his supervisor and then, I’m sure, laughed his balls off.
Crapoli’s was prank called by a proxy service.
If I could make shit like that up I’d be a fucking millionaire.
New Years went OK. It was certainly far from being the worst one I ever had, but then any holiday where I don’t flatline is better than the 2001/2002 changeover.
Wasn’t the wildest one either.
No, there were no hookers or firetrucks or flaming toilets hurled from the tops of apartment buildings (at least, not by me). Just a few of us playing HALO 2. We took a break long enough to watch the ball drop and for me to ask where the hell Dick Clark was, then right back to HALO 2.
Does it mean I’m getting old? Maybe even, maturing?
Perish the thought.
It just means I had a lack of resources.
Next year will be different.
Oh, I made it to the DHHR today. Sat there for two hours and they paid off the overdue portion of my gas bill, which was substantial. They couldn’t help me with the ones that I had partially paid and gotten out of shut-off status on my own.
See where maturity will get you?
I also made it to my brother’s place to tend to the dogs. Looks like I’ll be staying there the next two nights as my brother is going out of town.
Granted, it would be a lot easier if I just brought the dogs back here, but that would make too much sense.
But it’s not like I have anything better to do.
Didn’t make it to the bank or the cable company though, but those can just as easily be done tomorrow.
Looks like another month with full utilities.
I hope to have a job before the next wave.
I know, hope in one hand…
God you people are fucking cynical.
We tried to go on New Years eve, but the place was packed. Every parking space full. Shit, there was a limo in the front and a tour bus out back.
I mean, we like the ‘Eer and all that, but it’s not the sort of place where you wait on a table to open up, and it damn sure isn’t the sort of place you take a limo to at 2 AM on New Years day.
The waitress we had tonight said it was nobody important.
Jeremy seems to think it might have been country singer Toby Keith.
Six of one, half a dozen of the other if you ask me.
Anyways, the place was nice and deserted tonight. Just like we like it.
Over dinner Nate regaled us with his latest tale from the land of Crapoli’s. Seems he took a transfer call. That’s one where someone that can’t place a regular phone order; I-E can’t speak or can’t hear, types the message and some guy at the transfer service relays it to the restaurant.
It went something like this:
Transfer guy: I have a transfer call for you. Have you done one of those before?
Nate: Yes, many times.
Transfer guy: The order is as follows: I would like one large pizza with extra cum. Will you please suck my cock?
Now, using an inhuman control of oneself that only Nate can muster, he transferred the call to his supervisor and then, I’m sure, laughed his balls off.
Crapoli’s was prank called by a proxy service.
If I could make shit like that up I’d be a fucking millionaire.
New Years went OK. It was certainly far from being the worst one I ever had, but then any holiday where I don’t flatline is better than the 2001/2002 changeover.
Wasn’t the wildest one either.
No, there were no hookers or firetrucks or flaming toilets hurled from the tops of apartment buildings (at least, not by me). Just a few of us playing HALO 2. We took a break long enough to watch the ball drop and for me to ask where the hell Dick Clark was, then right back to HALO 2.
Does it mean I’m getting old? Maybe even, maturing?
Perish the thought.
It just means I had a lack of resources.
Next year will be different.
Oh, I made it to the DHHR today. Sat there for two hours and they paid off the overdue portion of my gas bill, which was substantial. They couldn’t help me with the ones that I had partially paid and gotten out of shut-off status on my own.
See where maturity will get you?
I also made it to my brother’s place to tend to the dogs. Looks like I’ll be staying there the next two nights as my brother is going out of town.
Granted, it would be a lot easier if I just brought the dogs back here, but that would make too much sense.
But it’s not like I have anything better to do.
Didn’t make it to the bank or the cable company though, but those can just as easily be done tomorrow.
Looks like another month with full utilities.
I hope to have a job before the next wave.
I know, hope in one hand…
God you people are fucking cynical.
posted by Ford at
6:52 AM
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