Belate Myself…

Days Inn

Vampires can suck it

Well I turned 34 on the 13th, which was actually last night.  I was planning on doing this then but I managed to have a good night of hotel bandwidth so I watched as much porn as my prostate would let me.  Sadly, the dextroamphetamines I’m on don’t help much.  As a potential bonus, the blow to my ego and self-esteem prevents me calling any hookers to my hotel room so I have more money to spend on important things like gas and more edible flowers arrangements to send to Olivia Munn.  That’s right sweetheart, buy 9 and get the 10th free.

So… where the fuck have I been, why am I on WordPress’s amazing site, and why do you still care?

I’ll answer them as I feel like it.  But do me a favor and head to http://www.thelunchjournals.com and bombard those Siberian-sized assfucks for having the nerve to try and charge $500 to buy back my domain.  Who cares if it was my own fault that I was unemployed and couldn’t renew it.  I hope they’re firebombed by aborted fetuses soaked in napalm.

No offense.

So, on April 13, I felt somewhat “meh” for a few reasons.  I’ll go into them later but some of it does involve a woman, of course.  Well sorta.

I also learned that styrofoam isn’t meant to go in microwaves.  I couldn’t SWORN you could, but science proved me wrong one again.  Even putting a hat on my plate couldn’t protect it.

SPF Not Enough

So as soon as I pulled it out of the communal microwave in the hotel lobby (which, by the way, when you hear “What is that Smell?!” come from the front desk, it’s usually good to move quick otherwise you’re stuck making up answers to questions in a fake Pakistani accent) it instantly started melting through my fingers.  The odd thing was, the plate wasn’t all that hot.  It felt more like lukewarm slime.  I was tempted to try and rest it on my genitals back in the room, but it had already cooled off by then.  I mean, ya know, I’m guessing it had.  Of course.

Oh..... Mom.....

What you’re looking at is some of my mother’s finest work.  White Rice mixed with Okra and Lentils.  Since I sort of live with her now (and it’s an accurate description – more later) she will have moments where she treats me like I’m in middle school.  Laundry done, lunch for a few days when I travel for work, “Do you need anything from the grocery store?” asked a few time a week.  And ya know what… Fuck off because it isn’t that terrible.  When I feel I need a change in scenery I head over to the old man’s house a few miles away and hang out at the Taj Mahal for a while.

Fuck…  It’s not middle school.  I’m 17 with a job that pays well…. and less hair.  MUCH less hair.  (Less later)

Fuck you tap water

So I have lovely TV programming to keep me company.  But I was enthralled by this informercial.  At one point, there was a LeBron James-type dude (yes big and black – get over it) crying because he drank this miracle spring water and a month later, his mortgage was mysteriously paid off in full and his credit card debt just disappeared.  I need to have this shit fire out of a bidet or in a moist wipe.

Deliver unto me, my distractions

So after I took care of business, I got back to taking care of business before I took care of business.  I just wish the internet here wasn’t slow, and the toilet so small.

That’s it for now.  Should be another tomorrow night.  I know this is pretty weak but reading my work is like banging a porn star:  You can’t just start with…

Nevermind.  That doesn’t work.

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2 Responses to “Belate Myself…”

  1. Mark Says:

    Fuck small toilets.

  2. Cari Says:

    Need moar updates! 😉

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