You can't see it since I was holding the camera and no one could film it, but I hucked the whole bowl on my first try.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Friday, January 12, 2007
$20,000 Pile of Crap Lucky
K: From what it sounds like, someone jumped the gun.
Me: Who?
K: Those guys.
Me: What guys?
K: The other group.
Me: What group?
K: This other group. Some other guys.
Me: What the fuck are you talking about? I have no fucking clue who anyone is.
Gotta love it when people think you know everything that happens in this world.
Anyway... I thought I would talk about financial responsibility and Hilo. Those two topics just go hand in hand like peanut butter and jelly. Or maybe not.
I used to have a friend who often bragged about his awesome Harley. "This bike would be worth over $20,000 and I got it for like 6," he would drone. He would justify spending thousands of dollars on a bike because he was getting a great deal.
This isn't the same kind of Harley that he was talking about, but it doesn't matter. Most Harleys are crap anyway, so any picture would do.
The truth of this $20,000 Harley was that it looked like this:
Yessiree! That pile of crap parts you have laying about in the living room sure looks like twenty-grand. I think he mistook fantasy for reality. The fantasy could be a really kick ass bike. The reality was that he spent a shitload of cash on metallic crap.
It would be like me buying a bunch of art supplies:
Then trying to pass it off as a billion dollar painting.
Knowing my luck, I would probably accidentally punch a hole in it while showing it to friends.
Now this same guy wanted to buy an air compressor to use around the garage. Most normal, sane people would have bought maybe a 3-5 gallon compressor. Maybe even a 10-15 if they were going to use power tools.
Not this guy. He bought something close to 100 gallons. The thing was so big it was lucky he didn't have a laundry dryer. It took up the dryer spot in the laundry room.
His thinking was that it was too good a deal to pass up. I think he got it for about $500, which is a very, very good price. Totally unnecessary though. He could have bought a smaller one for under $200.
The grandiose size of the compressor matched his grandiose dreams. His plan was to have a full set of air tools... impact guns... spray guns... which could still work... with a smaller compressor... sigh...
Fool and his money and all that.
On the other hand, some fools live a charmed life. Another friend arrived home one day with this:
He found it in a surplus store and thought it was hilarious. So he bought it for $10. OK, so ten bucks is a cheap price to pay for some yucks, but did we really need a condom vending machine at home?
After admiring it for an hour, he set to it with some tools. He wanted to see the insides. He found a few condoms.
And about $8 in loose change. The previous owner never bothered to empty the coin receptacle before chucking the vending machine.
I guess it was all ribbed for his pleasure. Lucky fucker.
Me: Who?
K: Those guys.
Me: What guys?
K: The other group.
Me: What group?
K: This other group. Some other guys.
Me: What the fuck are you talking about? I have no fucking clue who anyone is.
Gotta love it when people think you know everything that happens in this world.
Anyway... I thought I would talk about financial responsibility and Hilo. Those two topics just go hand in hand like peanut butter and jelly. Or maybe not.
I used to have a friend who often bragged about his awesome Harley. "This bike would be worth over $20,000 and I got it for like 6," he would drone. He would justify spending thousands of dollars on a bike because he was getting a great deal.
This isn't the same kind of Harley that he was talking about, but it doesn't matter. Most Harleys are crap anyway, so any picture would do.
The truth of this $20,000 Harley was that it looked like this:
Yessiree! That pile of crap parts you have laying about in the living room sure looks like twenty-grand. I think he mistook fantasy for reality. The fantasy could be a really kick ass bike. The reality was that he spent a shitload of cash on metallic crap.
It would be like me buying a bunch of art supplies:
Then trying to pass it off as a billion dollar painting.
Knowing my luck, I would probably accidentally punch a hole in it while showing it to friends.
Now this same guy wanted to buy an air compressor to use around the garage. Most normal, sane people would have bought maybe a 3-5 gallon compressor. Maybe even a 10-15 if they were going to use power tools.
Not this guy. He bought something close to 100 gallons. The thing was so big it was lucky he didn't have a laundry dryer. It took up the dryer spot in the laundry room.
His thinking was that it was too good a deal to pass up. I think he got it for about $500, which is a very, very good price. Totally unnecessary though. He could have bought a smaller one for under $200.
The grandiose size of the compressor matched his grandiose dreams. His plan was to have a full set of air tools... impact guns... spray guns... which could still work... with a smaller compressor... sigh...
Fool and his money and all that.
On the other hand, some fools live a charmed life. Another friend arrived home one day with this:
He found it in a surplus store and thought it was hilarious. So he bought it for $10. OK, so ten bucks is a cheap price to pay for some yucks, but did we really need a condom vending machine at home?
After admiring it for an hour, he set to it with some tools. He wanted to see the insides. He found a few condoms.
And about $8 in loose change. The previous owner never bothered to empty the coin receptacle before chucking the vending machine.
I guess it was all ribbed for his pleasure. Lucky fucker.
Monday, January 8, 2007
Free Hugs
My name is Nonwheezer and I'm a YouTube addict.
*Hi Nonwheezer*
During
my Christmas vacation I must have watched several hundred videos. Most
of them have been funny and entertaining, but few had any other
redeeming qualities besides humor. For awhile I thoughtYouTube was just a spot for people to be attention whores. Much like MySpace.
Then I ran across this video. It's weird, but I actually feel better after watching this video, and I have YouTube to thank for it.
*Hi Nonwheezer*
During
my Christmas vacation I must have watched several hundred videos. Most
of them have been funny and entertaining, but few had any other
redeeming qualities besides humor. For awhile I thoughtYouTube was just a spot for people to be attention whores. Much like MySpace.
Then I ran across this video. It's weird, but I actually feel better after watching this video, and I have YouTube to thank for it.
Saturday, January 6, 2007
Chicks Dig Scars... and Ball Huggers
Check out this fool.
He's got a Snell approved helmet with attention-getting ears. A leather jacket with CE approved armor in the shoulders, elbows, and back. Full leather gloves with knuckle protection. Leather sport pants with hip padding and knee armor. He even has racing style boots that has ankle support and toe, heel, and shin armor. It's like he's afraid he's going to fall off his motorcycle.
Don't he know that chicks dig scars?
Even the doofuses in professional racing don't know that. Idiots.
The easiest and quickest way to get those honey-attracting scars is to get rid of all that stupid protection. Why spend hundreds or thousands of dollars when you can get band aids and neosporin for under $10?
Take a look at this smart and attractive couple. They're famous in the sportbike world. Their pictures made the rounds of all the major bike message boards and also made it into a major monthly publication that's not porn!
Learn from them. The best way to ride is with your eye protection off. Never cover your arms. They're the first place you need to scar. The girl is obviously cooler than the guy since she forgoes the tee for a tank. They lose points for the gloves though. The guy earns sissy points for wearing jeans even though jeans shred on asphalt after about three feet of sliding. He should be a man like the girl and wear shorts. The running shoes are ok since they neither protect your feet nor do they stay on in major accidents. The girl went for the ever popular slippers/thongs/flipflops.
They're prepped and ready to go for the beauty enhancing scar tissue. And there they go.
Man, her once beautiful, smooth, nicely tanned legs are gonna look awesome with scars all over. oooooooohhhh. I'm shivering.
Check out this hottie. A wet dream come true. She took a fall at triple digit speeds wearing a sweatshirt. Boing!
**********************************
On a different note, here's a real life tip for those of you who ride.
Try compression shorts. They actually work. They provide support for your hams and glutes, helping prevent the dreaded "burning butt." You'll be able to ride longer and more comfortably wearing those compression shorts. The added bonuses are that they don't ride up and give you accidental thongs, and they keep your leathers from sticking to your sweaty body.
This applies to women too. The shorts aren't there to support a guy's nuts. Women have hams and glutes too, so they can also benefit from the shorts.
Or you could try those padded bike shorts. They do the same job.
Here's a pic of me in my compression shorts.
Just kidding. The guy is a model. I had to fire him though as his package does not do me any justice.
*The couple on the bike survived with minor injuries. The girl was going into shock when help arrived though. The road rashed girl is real. No photoshop.*
**Wear your gear**
He's got a Snell approved helmet with attention-getting ears. A leather jacket with CE approved armor in the shoulders, elbows, and back. Full leather gloves with knuckle protection. Leather sport pants with hip padding and knee armor. He even has racing style boots that has ankle support and toe, heel, and shin armor. It's like he's afraid he's going to fall off his motorcycle.
Don't he know that chicks dig scars?
Even the doofuses in professional racing don't know that. Idiots.
The easiest and quickest way to get those honey-attracting scars is to get rid of all that stupid protection. Why spend hundreds or thousands of dollars when you can get band aids and neosporin for under $10?
Take a look at this smart and attractive couple. They're famous in the sportbike world. Their pictures made the rounds of all the major bike message boards and also made it into a major monthly publication that's not porn!
Learn from them. The best way to ride is with your eye protection off. Never cover your arms. They're the first place you need to scar. The girl is obviously cooler than the guy since she forgoes the tee for a tank. They lose points for the gloves though. The guy earns sissy points for wearing jeans even though jeans shred on asphalt after about three feet of sliding. He should be a man like the girl and wear shorts. The running shoes are ok since they neither protect your feet nor do they stay on in major accidents. The girl went for the ever popular slippers/thongs/flipflops.
They're prepped and ready to go for the beauty enhancing scar tissue. And there they go.
Man, her once beautiful, smooth, nicely tanned legs are gonna look awesome with scars all over. oooooooohhhh. I'm shivering.
Check out this hottie. A wet dream come true. She took a fall at triple digit speeds wearing a sweatshirt. Boing!
**********************************
On a different note, here's a real life tip for those of you who ride.
Try compression shorts. They actually work. They provide support for your hams and glutes, helping prevent the dreaded "burning butt." You'll be able to ride longer and more comfortably wearing those compression shorts. The added bonuses are that they don't ride up and give you accidental thongs, and they keep your leathers from sticking to your sweaty body.
This applies to women too. The shorts aren't there to support a guy's nuts. Women have hams and glutes too, so they can also benefit from the shorts.
Or you could try those padded bike shorts. They do the same job.
Here's a pic of me in my compression shorts.
Just kidding. The guy is a model. I had to fire him though as his package does not do me any justice.
*The couple on the bike survived with minor injuries. The girl was going into shock when help arrived though. The road rashed girl is real. No photoshop.*
**Wear your gear**
Friday, January 5, 2007
Blonde Abbegirl of Our Dreams
A friend of mine said, "you should write a blog about why I like blondes."
Yeah. Like I'm going to write something special for him, a guy. If he was more androgynous, then maybe I would consider it. Then again, I don't think he would make a good looking girl. He would probably be worse as a transsexual.
So I was going to forget the whole idea when I realized that I did write blogs for other people before. Plus, I would get to mention Abbegirl once again.
So why do we like blondes?
I'm going to take a guess at my friend's reasoning. He signed a waiver allowing me full control over his written opinions. I've learned my lesson from a previous blog.
I'm betting that he likes blondes because the local girls around here drive him nuts. He's been teased, dicked, and played by many a local girl. He's had his heart broken and toyed with. However, he seems to look back fondly on his previous blonde girlfriends. I guess to him, previous experience shows that blonde girls treat him well.
I forgot that some of you reading this may actually be haole. The original meaning of haole was foreigner. Over the years it has changed and it now refers to Caucasians. (how-lay)
The local girls would be your non-haole. Japanese, Chinese, Korean, Filipino, Portuguese, Hawaiian, Polynesian would be races considered local.
After listening to my friend, and mentally going over what I know, I think he has a point about liking blondes. What I see at work, with my friends, and in the community are the low standards of the local girls. All they want is a nice piece of man-ass. Doesn't matter if the guy is as dumb as a pile of rocks. If he got a bod, they want him.
Right now the two or three local girls who read this gibberish will start to feel indignant. Doesn't matter though. I meet about a hundred new girls each year. The vast majority follow the same pattern. They all want the hot guy even if he couldn't reason his way out of a paper bag. It doesn't change. Argue all you want. The facts remain the same.
So I think my friend might actually be smart for once. Instead of going for the girls who will just toy with us and dick us over, perhaps we should be looking for someone outside of this established norm. We should be looking at the haole girls. Hey, maybe one of those pretty blonde girls would actually give a troll like me a chance.
I'm sure one of them would. When I'm taking a rest break on my motorcycle, I watch the tourist. I see fat guys, ugly guys, guys with no character, guys who dress like corpses, guys who smell bad, guys with no tact, stupid guys, all with beautiful blonde girls. WTF? You know those girls are actually looking at the soul of the man when they pick their mates, unlike the local girls who look at the schlong.
In comes Abbegirl. Abbegirl is a very popular contributor to YouTube. I saw her in one of Minouye's videos and I told my friend about her. Since then she has become our new "pinup girl." She's pretty, bright, talented, humorous, and a major firecracker. Of course it could be just her onscreen persona, but we'll take it.
Awesome, eh?
I was kind of hoping to make funny videos like that, but my attempt went over like a lead balloon. Let's just say that from now on, certain things will be off limits on my blog.
So yeah. I guess we like blondes because they simply KICK ASS!
Yeah. Like I'm going to write something special for him, a guy. If he was more androgynous, then maybe I would consider it. Then again, I don't think he would make a good looking girl. He would probably be worse as a transsexual.
So I was going to forget the whole idea when I realized that I did write blogs for other people before. Plus, I would get to mention Abbegirl once again.
So why do we like blondes?
I'm going to take a guess at my friend's reasoning. He signed a waiver allowing me full control over his written opinions. I've learned my lesson from a previous blog.
I'm betting that he likes blondes because the local girls around here drive him nuts. He's been teased, dicked, and played by many a local girl. He's had his heart broken and toyed with. However, he seems to look back fondly on his previous blonde girlfriends. I guess to him, previous experience shows that blonde girls treat him well.
I forgot that some of you reading this may actually be haole. The original meaning of haole was foreigner. Over the years it has changed and it now refers to Caucasians. (how-lay)
The local girls would be your non-haole. Japanese, Chinese, Korean, Filipino, Portuguese, Hawaiian, Polynesian would be races considered local.
After listening to my friend, and mentally going over what I know, I think he has a point about liking blondes. What I see at work, with my friends, and in the community are the low standards of the local girls. All they want is a nice piece of man-ass. Doesn't matter if the guy is as dumb as a pile of rocks. If he got a bod, they want him.
Right now the two or three local girls who read this gibberish will start to feel indignant. Doesn't matter though. I meet about a hundred new girls each year. The vast majority follow the same pattern. They all want the hot guy even if he couldn't reason his way out of a paper bag. It doesn't change. Argue all you want. The facts remain the same.
So I think my friend might actually be smart for once. Instead of going for the girls who will just toy with us and dick us over, perhaps we should be looking for someone outside of this established norm. We should be looking at the haole girls. Hey, maybe one of those pretty blonde girls would actually give a troll like me a chance.
I'm sure one of them would. When I'm taking a rest break on my motorcycle, I watch the tourist. I see fat guys, ugly guys, guys with no character, guys who dress like corpses, guys who smell bad, guys with no tact, stupid guys, all with beautiful blonde girls. WTF? You know those girls are actually looking at the soul of the man when they pick their mates, unlike the local girls who look at the schlong.
In comes Abbegirl. Abbegirl is a very popular contributor to YouTube. I saw her in one of Minouye's videos and I told my friend about her. Since then she has become our new "pinup girl." She's pretty, bright, talented, humorous, and a major firecracker. Of course it could be just her onscreen persona, but we'll take it.
Awesome, eh?
I was kind of hoping to make funny videos like that, but my attempt went over like a lead balloon. Let's just say that from now on, certain things will be off limits on my blog.
So yeah. I guess we like blondes because they simply KICK ASS!
Thursday, January 4, 2007
Youth in Asia: Socks and Thongs
The Band Teacher came over for a final visit. She's heading back to Arizona for the next semester of college. She stopped by to chat for a bit and to say goodbye.
In case you forgot, this is the Band Teacher's very fit and very firm body:
When she got here, we started chatting outside. I usually don't feel comfortable with people in my room. I have sweaty mountain bike and motorcycle gear in my closet. If the trade winds blow just right, my room smells like a gym.
I showed her the brand new tires on my bike. She came with me when I ordered them, so I figured I may as well point them out. I also explained that I had a bit more scrubbing of the tires to do to kill off the chicken strips.
"I don't know. I would feel more comfortable being enclosed," she said. "I'm not sure what the thrill is about."
"You never straddled a throbbing V-Twin before?"
"I've never owned one before."
That's when I started staring at her inseam. Of course it was to check her leg length. No, really. I wasn't ogling... much.
Her crotch came up about the height of my crotch, so I told her she should try sitting on my bike. She did so cautiously since she hadn't sat on a motorcycle before. I ran back and forth to both sides of the bike to get her into the proper position and to make sure she didn't scratch herself on my new rearsets. Those things have sharp edges meant to dig into boots.
While behind her, I noticed the top part of her jeans was a bit open. I couldn't resist a peek.
"Hey, I can see inside your pants."
"HEY! I'm wearing a thong you know."
"Really?" And I peeked again. I was playing around though. I didn't really try to look at her thong. I told her that too since I didn't want to be TOO crass.
The Band Teacher hopped off the bike. I hopped on right after her. Although our genitalia are located around the same altitude, it was easier for me to get my feet on the ground. Part of the reason could be her weight. She's only 113 pounds compared to my 200. Troll flesh is made of depleted uranium. Her body could only compress the suspension and seat cushion half as much as the orc.
Another reason was her position on the seat. She sat toward the back of the seat. I sat balls on tank, and I pointed it out to her. Not so much my balls, but the fact that the seat is lower nearer to the tank lets me get my feet down. I told her that her brass balls probably got in the way and she agreed and said she would shift them to the left next time.
Next we played with my dog. The Band Teacher first met my dog when he was about 8 weeks old. He's about 10 months old now and about 50 pounds big.
"He seems happy to see me."
"How do you know?"
"Because... he... is."
"He has a boner?"
"Yeah."
I can't blame the dog. If young women gave me that much attention, I would be sporting wood 24/7.
I played with the dog a bit and he slobbered all over my hands. He has this weird thing where he needs to lick things or put things in his mouth. He doesn't bite my hands. He just coats them with saliva.
"Smell my finger," as I stuck my hand under the Band Teacher's nose. "BTW, you always wear thongs?" I know for a fact I have never seen panty lines on the Band Teacher before.
"Almost always. When it's that time, I don't."
"That time? Oh! That's right, you use pads." I once had to help her shop for pads and depilatory creams. I still don't know why these feminine hygiene products come in strawberry and cream scents. Do women expect someone to eat... oh. Never mind.
"Yeah. I can't use tampons. My vaginal muscles are so well trained that I can tie the string into a bow and eject the tampon 20 feet all while I sleep." (She didn't say this. This is what my male brain heard.)
"I don't believe you without video. Did you try ping pong balls yet?"
Then I took her for a ride in the Yaris.
This car is a total chick magnet. They can't get enough of the spacious interior. The well thought out ergonomics. The energy conserving 1.5 liter four banger. The sensible styling. Bland, yet tasteful.
While in the car, I bemoaned the fact that I lack actors to help me make YouTube videos. I'm as ugly as dog poop, so if I am ever going to make videos, I need human-looking people. Unfortunately, I don't know anyone who both looks good and is willing to help. The Band Teacher said that Hawaii people aren't great actors. She does have a point. Everyone I know either sucks on screen or is too embarrassed to be of use. But then I remembered Mikey Inouye.
Mike Inouye has a very popular video blog on YouTube. I've watched several of his videos and he cracks me up. What makes it even better is that he collaborated with Abbegirl to make a few. Abbe is a pretty blonde.
"There you go with the blondes again. Are you into blondes?"
"I don't think I have a preference. The other day when I was passing the Shrimp Station," I point over my shoulder even though the Shrimp Station is seven miles away, "I saw a pretty black girl. I swear I couldn't stop looking. She was hot."
"Hey, that's cool that you don't care about race."
"Yeah. I think my only real criteria is that the girl has a vagina."
When we got back to my house it was time for the Band Teacher to leave. She wasn't sure if she would be able to return during the summer or if she would have to wait until next winter to come visit.
"The next time I come back, I'll show you another thong."
Me:
*********************
On December 29, I had to say goodbye to a dear companion. We had first met nearly 14 years ago. Back then I was really into rollerblading. It was through rollerblading that we met. Even after I stopped skating and moved on to other activities like diving and drag racing, my companion remained close by. Then when I started riding my motorcycle, my companion came with me on most of my rides.
However, because of age and a hard life, my companion no longer had any strength left. He couldn't stay up and he couldn't support me. I had no choice but to give my companion a dignified end.
Goodbye, socks. I will miss you.
In case you forgot, this is the Band Teacher's very fit and very firm body:
When she got here, we started chatting outside. I usually don't feel comfortable with people in my room. I have sweaty mountain bike and motorcycle gear in my closet. If the trade winds blow just right, my room smells like a gym.
I showed her the brand new tires on my bike. She came with me when I ordered them, so I figured I may as well point them out. I also explained that I had a bit more scrubbing of the tires to do to kill off the chicken strips.
"I don't know. I would feel more comfortable being enclosed," she said. "I'm not sure what the thrill is about."
"You never straddled a throbbing V-Twin before?"
"I've never owned one before."
That's when I started staring at her inseam. Of course it was to check her leg length. No, really. I wasn't ogling... much.
Her crotch came up about the height of my crotch, so I told her she should try sitting on my bike. She did so cautiously since she hadn't sat on a motorcycle before. I ran back and forth to both sides of the bike to get her into the proper position and to make sure she didn't scratch herself on my new rearsets. Those things have sharp edges meant to dig into boots.
While behind her, I noticed the top part of her jeans was a bit open. I couldn't resist a peek.
"Hey, I can see inside your pants."
"HEY! I'm wearing a thong you know."
"Really?" And I peeked again. I was playing around though. I didn't really try to look at her thong. I told her that too since I didn't want to be TOO crass.
The Band Teacher hopped off the bike. I hopped on right after her. Although our genitalia are located around the same altitude, it was easier for me to get my feet on the ground. Part of the reason could be her weight. She's only 113 pounds compared to my 200. Troll flesh is made of depleted uranium. Her body could only compress the suspension and seat cushion half as much as the orc.
Another reason was her position on the seat. She sat toward the back of the seat. I sat balls on tank, and I pointed it out to her. Not so much my balls, but the fact that the seat is lower nearer to the tank lets me get my feet down. I told her that her brass balls probably got in the way and she agreed and said she would shift them to the left next time.
Next we played with my dog. The Band Teacher first met my dog when he was about 8 weeks old. He's about 10 months old now and about 50 pounds big.
"He seems happy to see me."
"How do you know?"
"Because... he... is."
"He has a boner?"
"Yeah."
I can't blame the dog. If young women gave me that much attention, I would be sporting wood 24/7.
I played with the dog a bit and he slobbered all over my hands. He has this weird thing where he needs to lick things or put things in his mouth. He doesn't bite my hands. He just coats them with saliva.
"Smell my finger," as I stuck my hand under the Band Teacher's nose. "BTW, you always wear thongs?" I know for a fact I have never seen panty lines on the Band Teacher before.
"Almost always. When it's that time, I don't."
"That time? Oh! That's right, you use pads." I once had to help her shop for pads and depilatory creams. I still don't know why these feminine hygiene products come in strawberry and cream scents. Do women expect someone to eat... oh. Never mind.
"Yeah. I can't use tampons. My vaginal muscles are so well trained that I can tie the string into a bow and eject the tampon 20 feet all while I sleep." (She didn't say this. This is what my male brain heard.)
"I don't believe you without video. Did you try ping pong balls yet?"
Then I took her for a ride in the Yaris.
This car is a total chick magnet. They can't get enough of the spacious interior. The well thought out ergonomics. The energy conserving 1.5 liter four banger. The sensible styling. Bland, yet tasteful.
While in the car, I bemoaned the fact that I lack actors to help me make YouTube videos. I'm as ugly as dog poop, so if I am ever going to make videos, I need human-looking people. Unfortunately, I don't know anyone who both looks good and is willing to help. The Band Teacher said that Hawaii people aren't great actors. She does have a point. Everyone I know either sucks on screen or is too embarrassed to be of use. But then I remembered Mikey Inouye.
Mike Inouye has a very popular video blog on YouTube. I've watched several of his videos and he cracks me up. What makes it even better is that he collaborated with Abbegirl to make a few. Abbe is a pretty blonde.
"There you go with the blondes again. Are you into blondes?"
"I don't think I have a preference. The other day when I was passing the Shrimp Station," I point over my shoulder even though the Shrimp Station is seven miles away, "I saw a pretty black girl. I swear I couldn't stop looking. She was hot."
"Hey, that's cool that you don't care about race."
"Yeah. I think my only real criteria is that the girl has a vagina."
When we got back to my house it was time for the Band Teacher to leave. She wasn't sure if she would be able to return during the summer or if she would have to wait until next winter to come visit.
"The next time I come back, I'll show you another thong."
Me:
*********************
On December 29, I had to say goodbye to a dear companion. We had first met nearly 14 years ago. Back then I was really into rollerblading. It was through rollerblading that we met. Even after I stopped skating and moved on to other activities like diving and drag racing, my companion remained close by. Then when I started riding my motorcycle, my companion came with me on most of my rides.
However, because of age and a hard life, my companion no longer had any strength left. He couldn't stay up and he couldn't support me. I had no choice but to give my companion a dignified end.
Goodbye, socks. I will miss you.
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
Stupid is as stupid does
I'm stupid and everyone knows it.
Maybe it's my face or my posture or simply the look in my eye, but I swear everyone I meet thinks I'm stupid. Now it's not malicious. People don't point at me and say, "look at stupid here." Instead it's more benign. It's a kind of pity almost as if they're whispering to their friends, "oh the poor thing is stupid."
In my younger days this hurt my ego quite a bit. Everyone, including me, likes to think they're smart. However as I got older I discovered it was for the better. Since everyone I meet thinks I'm stupid it keeps the expectations low and the praise for getting things right high. I get props for filling the dishwasher properly and putting the mustard back in the refridgerator when I'm done with it.
I do have some talents. I can string words together in pretty sentences and I can make conversation. I can keep time with the music and I can wink with both eyes. Once I walked and chewed gum at the same time. Each time I do these things I get polite and amused applause from the assembled masses who crowd around to watch me perform my little stupid guy tricks.
Oddly I work a job where you wouldn't expect to find a stupid guy. I'm an attorney and all day long people call my office and ask for my advice and counsel. Despite my stupidity I'm actually pretty good at my job. I think it's because of my one talent that I keep well hidden from the rest of the world. I can see patterns where others see chaos.
People who have gotten themselves in immense trouble come to me and ask for advice and counsel. I give good advice and counsel because I always keep it simple. I do that because I'm stupid. It wouldn't make sense if a stupid guy gave complex advice. I just use my hidden talent and I look for the pattern. When I see the pattern I say, "there is your problem. Don't do that. Do this."
At this point people generally nod and say "thank you." Then they go out and ignore my advice and make the same mistakes again. After that they usually come back to me and are either mad at me because I was right or mad at me because they think I'm wrong.
This used to bother me a lot. I never professed to be smart. If you ask me I'll tell you point blank I'm stupid. Everyone sees it when they look at me anyway, so why deny the truth? All I did was give them the solution to the problem and if they'd follow my simple advice they wouldn't be in the same mess again. I used to tell people that and all it did was make them mad.
So I finally applied my hidden talent to the situation and I think I understand why I was the object of people's ire at their own repeated mistakes. I came up with a two part answer.
First everyone believes they are terribly complex and smart. They simply can't believe that they would be stupid enough to make the same mistakes over and over again. After all, only us stupid people repeatedly make the same mistakes. After all a trained rat can memorize a pattern. If there was a pattern in their lives, they would be smart enough to see it. They don't need a stupid guy like me telling them what is what.
Second the human mind is a dangerous thing. A person can use their mind to cook up an immense crock of shit to excuse any behavoir, talk itself into believing the crock of shit and then conveniently forget that it was all a crock of shit in the first place. Thus a person can have the nerve to get mad at anyone who doesn't believe their crock of shit as readily as the first person believes their own crock of shit.
I stopped being angry with people for these things because I can see the same pattern in myself. I think it's natural. I think it's part of the self-preservation instinct. It allows us, as humans, to keep living with ourselves despite the fact we've fallen into a pattern otherwise we'd go crazy with the realization that we've been through all of this before. It's not a good or bad thing. It just is like the trees and the liver.
But still people keep asking for my advice and counsel despite the fact they rarely take it and then they get pissed at me. So I developed a simple little mechanism to try and deliver my advice and counsel in a more effective way. I use examples. I tell people about their pattern and then I give them a situation where they will react according to their pattern. Most of the time I even tell them, "watch this. I'm going to say/do/be this and you'll say/do/be that." Every single time they behave exactly as they have in the past in accordance with the pattern, yet something strange happens. They still can't see the pattern despite the fact that they know what to look for and that the pattern is now right there in front of their eyes. In fact their usual reaction is to get blazingly furious with me despite the fact that they asked for my advice and counsel. Fortunately for my stupid brain I understand why they get angry, so I'm not offended by it. Maybe I'm slightly confused, but I'm not offended.
I guess it's like the comedian says. "You can lead a horse to water but before you push him in just think about how bad a wet horse smells."
Or something.
Maybe it's my face or my posture or simply the look in my eye, but I swear everyone I meet thinks I'm stupid. Now it's not malicious. People don't point at me and say, "look at stupid here." Instead it's more benign. It's a kind of pity almost as if they're whispering to their friends, "oh the poor thing is stupid."
In my younger days this hurt my ego quite a bit. Everyone, including me, likes to think they're smart. However as I got older I discovered it was for the better. Since everyone I meet thinks I'm stupid it keeps the expectations low and the praise for getting things right high. I get props for filling the dishwasher properly and putting the mustard back in the refridgerator when I'm done with it.
I do have some talents. I can string words together in pretty sentences and I can make conversation. I can keep time with the music and I can wink with both eyes. Once I walked and chewed gum at the same time. Each time I do these things I get polite and amused applause from the assembled masses who crowd around to watch me perform my little stupid guy tricks.
Oddly I work a job where you wouldn't expect to find a stupid guy. I'm an attorney and all day long people call my office and ask for my advice and counsel. Despite my stupidity I'm actually pretty good at my job. I think it's because of my one talent that I keep well hidden from the rest of the world. I can see patterns where others see chaos.
People who have gotten themselves in immense trouble come to me and ask for advice and counsel. I give good advice and counsel because I always keep it simple. I do that because I'm stupid. It wouldn't make sense if a stupid guy gave complex advice. I just use my hidden talent and I look for the pattern. When I see the pattern I say, "there is your problem. Don't do that. Do this."
At this point people generally nod and say "thank you." Then they go out and ignore my advice and make the same mistakes again. After that they usually come back to me and are either mad at me because I was right or mad at me because they think I'm wrong.
This used to bother me a lot. I never professed to be smart. If you ask me I'll tell you point blank I'm stupid. Everyone sees it when they look at me anyway, so why deny the truth? All I did was give them the solution to the problem and if they'd follow my simple advice they wouldn't be in the same mess again. I used to tell people that and all it did was make them mad.
So I finally applied my hidden talent to the situation and I think I understand why I was the object of people's ire at their own repeated mistakes. I came up with a two part answer.
First everyone believes they are terribly complex and smart. They simply can't believe that they would be stupid enough to make the same mistakes over and over again. After all, only us stupid people repeatedly make the same mistakes. After all a trained rat can memorize a pattern. If there was a pattern in their lives, they would be smart enough to see it. They don't need a stupid guy like me telling them what is what.
Second the human mind is a dangerous thing. A person can use their mind to cook up an immense crock of shit to excuse any behavoir, talk itself into believing the crock of shit and then conveniently forget that it was all a crock of shit in the first place. Thus a person can have the nerve to get mad at anyone who doesn't believe their crock of shit as readily as the first person believes their own crock of shit.
I stopped being angry with people for these things because I can see the same pattern in myself. I think it's natural. I think it's part of the self-preservation instinct. It allows us, as humans, to keep living with ourselves despite the fact we've fallen into a pattern otherwise we'd go crazy with the realization that we've been through all of this before. It's not a good or bad thing. It just is like the trees and the liver.
But still people keep asking for my advice and counsel despite the fact they rarely take it and then they get pissed at me. So I developed a simple little mechanism to try and deliver my advice and counsel in a more effective way. I use examples. I tell people about their pattern and then I give them a situation where they will react according to their pattern. Most of the time I even tell them, "watch this. I'm going to say/do/be this and you'll say/do/be that." Every single time they behave exactly as they have in the past in accordance with the pattern, yet something strange happens. They still can't see the pattern despite the fact that they know what to look for and that the pattern is now right there in front of their eyes. In fact their usual reaction is to get blazingly furious with me despite the fact that they asked for my advice and counsel. Fortunately for my stupid brain I understand why they get angry, so I'm not offended by it. Maybe I'm slightly confused, but I'm not offended.
I guess it's like the comedian says. "You can lead a horse to water but before you push him in just think about how bad a wet horse smells."
Or something.
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
They're Not All Bad
This short little blog is in response to Melanie's comment.
Yeah, I'm full of anger in 2007 already. I hate women.
I only have about 30 minutes before I need to head out, so I'll try and convince her that not all women suck.
Meet the most perfect woman in the world: Kari Byron.
At first I was going to write everything myself, but when I did a little search on the internet doohickey, I realized I'm not the only one smitten with her. There are a lot of fan sites, so I may as well do what good authors do. I will steal.
Here is a short bio from the Discovery Channel website:
Without forethought, Kari Byron has trained to be a MythBuster since she was a kid. By the age of 5 she was setting up experiments to test on her sister and using dolls as crash test dummies. Luckily for her parents, they always caught her right before little sister took a ride down a laundry chute or was the subject of an "around-the-world" attempt on the playground swings.
After graduating from San Francisco State and traveling the world, Kari began her career as an artist, working in sculpture and painting and holding successful exhibitions at some of San Francisco's leading galleries. "Artist" was only one of many hats she wore while searching for her place in the world. Her sculpting skills and love for odd jobs soon led her into the field of model-making and toy-prototyping, which led to a job with Jamie Hyneman at M5 Industries. It was at M5 that Kari got her first big break with the MythBusters team.
During the "vacuum toilet" segment of one of the first episodes (which examined whether a person could get sucked into an airplane toilet), Jamie needed a 3-D scan of a person's backside, and Kari had the right ... well, you know. Basically, she was in the right place at the right time. The rest is history, although we'd be remiss if we overlooked Kari's former job experience as a secret martini shopper, rose delivery driver and store mannequin to foil shoplifters — just to name a few. Who knew that a degree in film and sculpture would actually be applicable to a real-life career one day?
Now Kari works with the MythBusters team, using science and Yankee ingenuity to solve the mysteries of today's most compelling urban legends.
And to prove that I'm not the only one who lusts after her, here's her FHM article. If you've been living under a rock for the last few years, FHM is the new Playboy. Men jerk off to it for the articles.
Just what is her appeal? I don't have too much time, so I'll just try and hit a few.
She's smart. She likes science and thinks things through logically.
She can be ladylike.
Yet still be handy when you need to fix or build things.
She's sexy. The fact that the brains match the bod has an exponential effect on her sexiness. Or whatever mathematical term is supposed to be used.
She's not afraid to be the butt of a joke. She had her ass digitized. She counted farts on tv. She even participated in an experiment to see if she farts.
She's adventurous. She volunteers to test many of the experiments on the show.
She can also be a tomboy. Nothing is hotter than a pretty girl who can really work a tool.
In all, Kari Byron is the perfect woman. At least the version we see on tv. She blends femininity and ass kicking so well it's hard not to like/love her.
So Mel, not all women suck. Which can be a good thing or bad, depending on how you read that. But if we look hard enough (ouch, more puns) we can find beautiful people around us. If you keep looking, I will too.
*many of these images can be found here: Nuclear Beef*
**ok, my mind went weird halfway through. I hope this all made sense.**
Yeah, I'm full of anger in 2007 already. I hate women.
I only have about 30 minutes before I need to head out, so I'll try and convince her that not all women suck.
Meet the most perfect woman in the world: Kari Byron.
At first I was going to write everything myself, but when I did a little search on the internet doohickey, I realized I'm not the only one smitten with her. There are a lot of fan sites, so I may as well do what good authors do. I will steal.
Here is a short bio from the Discovery Channel website:
Without forethought, Kari Byron has trained to be a MythBuster since she was a kid. By the age of 5 she was setting up experiments to test on her sister and using dolls as crash test dummies. Luckily for her parents, they always caught her right before little sister took a ride down a laundry chute or was the subject of an "around-the-world" attempt on the playground swings.
After graduating from San Francisco State and traveling the world, Kari began her career as an artist, working in sculpture and painting and holding successful exhibitions at some of San Francisco's leading galleries. "Artist" was only one of many hats she wore while searching for her place in the world. Her sculpting skills and love for odd jobs soon led her into the field of model-making and toy-prototyping, which led to a job with Jamie Hyneman at M5 Industries. It was at M5 that Kari got her first big break with the MythBusters team.
During the "vacuum toilet" segment of one of the first episodes (which examined whether a person could get sucked into an airplane toilet), Jamie needed a 3-D scan of a person's backside, and Kari had the right ... well, you know. Basically, she was in the right place at the right time. The rest is history, although we'd be remiss if we overlooked Kari's former job experience as a secret martini shopper, rose delivery driver and store mannequin to foil shoplifters — just to name a few. Who knew that a degree in film and sculpture would actually be applicable to a real-life career one day?
Now Kari works with the MythBusters team, using science and Yankee ingenuity to solve the mysteries of today's most compelling urban legends.
And to prove that I'm not the only one who lusts after her, here's her FHM article. If you've been living under a rock for the last few years, FHM is the new Playboy. Men jerk off to it for the articles.
Just what is her appeal? I don't have too much time, so I'll just try and hit a few.
She's smart. She likes science and thinks things through logically.
She can be ladylike.
Yet still be handy when you need to fix or build things.
She's sexy. The fact that the brains match the bod has an exponential effect on her sexiness. Or whatever mathematical term is supposed to be used.
She's not afraid to be the butt of a joke. She had her ass digitized. She counted farts on tv. She even participated in an experiment to see if she farts.
She's adventurous. She volunteers to test many of the experiments on the show.
She can also be a tomboy. Nothing is hotter than a pretty girl who can really work a tool.
In all, Kari Byron is the perfect woman. At least the version we see on tv. She blends femininity and ass kicking so well it's hard not to like/love her.
So Mel, not all women suck. Which can be a good thing or bad, depending on how you read that. But if we look hard enough (ouch, more puns) we can find beautiful people around us. If you keep looking, I will too.
*many of these images can be found here: Nuclear Beef*
**ok, my mind went weird halfway through. I hope this all made sense.**
Monday, January 1, 2007
Three Wishes in the Saddle
For the last few days I had no inclination to write. It's not that I didn't have ideas. I had a few nice topics come to mind. I just didn't feel like sharing. A friend said that I put a lot of myself into my writing. That is true. And that is the reason why I didn't want to write. I didn't want anyone knowing what I was thinking.
During this brief hiatus, I ran into an old, or perhaps former, friend. He's a faster sportbike rider than I am, but I haven't seen him much since he found a new girlfriend. He tends to ctrl-alt-del his whole relationship-tree whenever he changes women. I ended up spending the whole afternoon riding with him. It wasn't too bad since we stuck to neutral topics like cars and motorcycles. It did remind me of a great lesson in history.
Allies can be your future enemies and enemies your future allies.
Perhaps it's time for me to end my inner tantrum and start expressing myself how I enjoy. Oh, and to my future enemies: Fuck off! hahahaha!
I'm sure you've been asked many times what you would do with three wishes. I always ponder about three wishes. Basically, those of us who harbor envy and greed will always hope for those wishes. Oh boy do I envy.
Let's see if I can guess the usual holier-than-thou type answer most people would give. I bet they would wish for world peace.
To end hunger.
And to cure some horrible plague.
Holy shit! If I used my wishes like that, I better be crowned Miss USA and get lesbian smooches from Miss Teen USA. Talk about altruistic. Noah would have to move to the couch away from Johnny for my interview.
Back to the real world. Remembering that only those who envy actually wish for wishes, my real choices would be slightly less noble.
First off, I would wish for a superhero-like physique. I would want the agility and dexterity of Spider-man with the health and durability of Superman.
Why? So I can actually do the things that I want without hurting this trollish body. I would love to be able to control motor vehicles with the skill and accuracy of top racers.
Also, I would love to be able to ride my stupid mountain bike without crashing 50% of the time. Strawberries hurt.
My second wish would be to have good looks. Good looking people don't know how lucky they are. They're at the top of the pyramid. Trolls are at the bottom, slightly higher than kobolds and teletubbies. I would just love to be at the top of the pile when I want to shit on someone.
My final wish would be for a freakishly large penis.
Size doesn't matter? The only women who tell you that are the ones who won't have sex with you. Doesn't matter to them since they're not the ones who will have to fake it.
Truth though, if you thought the amount of breast implants being done annually was high, wait until someone develops penis enlargement. It's not about being able to perform. It's about confidence. If you walked around with a 12 inch johnson, you would be beaming with confidence. No matter what happens or what anyone says to you, you wouldn't be phased a bit. That's because deep down you would be thinking, "screw you little man. I'm hung like a walrus."
So I may not be noble. I may not be unselfish. I am definitely not altruistic. But I am honest and bold. How's that for a rebound back into writing? Eat me!
*done before 2007 yes!*
**Hawaii Standard Time, mind**
During this brief hiatus, I ran into an old, or perhaps former, friend. He's a faster sportbike rider than I am, but I haven't seen him much since he found a new girlfriend. He tends to ctrl-alt-del his whole relationship-tree whenever he changes women. I ended up spending the whole afternoon riding with him. It wasn't too bad since we stuck to neutral topics like cars and motorcycles. It did remind me of a great lesson in history.
Allies can be your future enemies and enemies your future allies.
Perhaps it's time for me to end my inner tantrum and start expressing myself how I enjoy. Oh, and to my future enemies: Fuck off! hahahaha!
I'm sure you've been asked many times what you would do with three wishes. I always ponder about three wishes. Basically, those of us who harbor envy and greed will always hope for those wishes. Oh boy do I envy.
Let's see if I can guess the usual holier-than-thou type answer most people would give. I bet they would wish for world peace.
To end hunger.
And to cure some horrible plague.
Holy shit! If I used my wishes like that, I better be crowned Miss USA and get lesbian smooches from Miss Teen USA. Talk about altruistic. Noah would have to move to the couch away from Johnny for my interview.
Back to the real world. Remembering that only those who envy actually wish for wishes, my real choices would be slightly less noble.
First off, I would wish for a superhero-like physique. I would want the agility and dexterity of Spider-man with the health and durability of Superman.
Why? So I can actually do the things that I want without hurting this trollish body. I would love to be able to control motor vehicles with the skill and accuracy of top racers.
Also, I would love to be able to ride my stupid mountain bike without crashing 50% of the time. Strawberries hurt.
My second wish would be to have good looks. Good looking people don't know how lucky they are. They're at the top of the pyramid. Trolls are at the bottom, slightly higher than kobolds and teletubbies. I would just love to be at the top of the pile when I want to shit on someone.
My final wish would be for a freakishly large penis.
Size doesn't matter? The only women who tell you that are the ones who won't have sex with you. Doesn't matter to them since they're not the ones who will have to fake it.
Truth though, if you thought the amount of breast implants being done annually was high, wait until someone develops penis enlargement. It's not about being able to perform. It's about confidence. If you walked around with a 12 inch johnson, you would be beaming with confidence. No matter what happens or what anyone says to you, you wouldn't be phased a bit. That's because deep down you would be thinking, "screw you little man. I'm hung like a walrus."
So I may not be noble. I may not be unselfish. I am definitely not altruistic. But I am honest and bold. How's that for a rebound back into writing? Eat me!
*done before 2007 yes!*
**Hawaii Standard Time, mind**
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