Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Ich Bin Kein Nazi!!

Jesus H Christ on a popsicle stick you crazy fucks were in a writing mood yesterday and today. I come home from missing a computer day to find enough blogs written to occupy a small slice of my life. Which was nice, it gave me something to do rather than jerk off. Keep Writing ya fucks.

Where to begin…where to begin.

I guess I can start with Sunday. The only thing you know so far about Sunday is that I, once again, couldn’t get up the nerve to go talk to a girl at the bar/couldn’t get the Jibette out of my fucking head. Well if you saw this status update: conversations at a bar: A guy on a date, girl says ''I'll pay, I make more money.'' A guy who trying to sell OC's that looks like a trucker from hell. A ''skinhead'' girl talking about traveling through the South. Allow me to elaborate.

Money Girl: I’m watching this rather scrimpy guy talking to a rather attractive woman. She was a bit older (which doesn’t bother me…I was 21 and messed around with a 52 year old), blonde (which kind of irks me…not really into blondes…well, platinum blondes), and had a decent rack. Naturally I was confused as to why this fine example of femdom would be with that guy. I quickly ascertained that they were on a date (due to the fact that they were doing the “so what do you like to do?” questions…bar fuck…you don’t really ask those questions) and that she has some kind of office job and he has some kind of job that’s not really a job. Yeah. So he runs out of money and assumes the “bar” aspect of the date is over. She politely tells him she wants another drink.
“I don’t really have the money.”
“I didn’t say you had to pay.”
“Yeah but…”
“Don’t worry, our tabs on me, I make more money then you anyway.”
Ouch…now you know why I’m really not that interested in dating. I can barely support myself as I’ve mentioned, especially with my vices, let alone take a girl out. However I would be goddamned if I took a date out and she paid. Fuck that. Old Fashioned…right here. Now if you’re in a relationship? No problem. In fact I kind of prefer it if you’ve been in a relationship for awhile that they pay for their own things…like a bar tab…because if we were to break up the only thing that does for me is leave me broke and you have all that money left over that you haven’t been spending. So yeah…fuck that…and fuck you x girlfriends that know they did that. RANT: Yeah, there I am spending all of my fucking money on you and after almost a year of it you decide to break up with me. Where does that leave me? Broke, scratching my ass. Where does that leave you? You go on a fucking vacation. You stupid little piece of shit. I should have…sorry. END RANT.

Trucker With The Drugs: Not really much to say here. Dude was around my height, outweighed me by about forty pounds, looked like he hadn’t showered, and was hitting on all the young chicks and proceeded to then try and sell them drugs. All while drinking Corona Light. Weird.

White Power Chick: So to my right I had money bags, to my left I had trucker guy, to his left we had…White Power Chick. I don’t really notice anything wrong with the girl (once again blonde, around 25 years old, decent tits, little bit of a stomach, bad outfit) except for the fact that the guy hitting on her is, like, old enough to be her dad. Look at me, being all weird about that when I almost slept with a woman my moms age. Well she’s drunk (later I found out also on X due to the “how big are my pupils?” question, followed by “I‘m on X…I love being able to drink all this alcohol when you‘re rolling.” That was to Trucker Guy) and just appears to be having a good time. Point to trucker guy who then starts to try and sell her drugs, while leaning over the guy she is there with. Now rather than get offended what does Dad do? He pulls up a chair so Trucker Guy can join them. My brain did a hiccup but ok. So later on I go to the bathroom and when I come back she is sitting there alone (they appear to have gone off to talk) and as I round the bar she looks up at me and smiles. *Shit. Don’t talk to me. Don’t talk to me. Don’t talk to me.*
“Hey.” cue flirt smile
“*fuck* Hi.” cue uncomfortable smile.
“Are you from around here?”
“*sigh* Yeah, I’m originally from Texas though.”
“Oh really?”
“*point to my Texas A&M shirt* Yep, my hometown.”
*she slowly reads the shirt*
“Where’s that?”
“College Station, Texas.”
“I didn’t like Texas.”
“That right? Where did you go?”
“Dallas.”
“Most people don’t like Dallas…Houston is worse though. Pray your car never breaks down on the highway.”

“Yeah well, I got mugged and robbed in Dallas no less than ten minutes after I got off the plane. Black eye too. Five nigg…*looks around* black guys.”
“That sucks.”
“I’m originally from Orlando.”
“Orlando huh? I have a friend *think of Trouble and her delicious rack* that lives in Orlando.”
“No Miami.”
“*ummm ok* Miami huh? I have a friend *think of Rusty who always argues with me* who lives in Miami.”
“So then I get off the Greyhound here and get surrounded by like thirty fucking nigg…*looks around* black guys. Fucking cops were standing right there, never even did anything.”
“Well technically they weren’t doing anything for the cops to get…”
“I fucking hate niggers, them and Mexicans, go back to your own fucking country. I’m a white supremacist.”
“Lovely.”
“I think that’s why they harassed me. I have some white supremacist (yes, she managed to actually spit that word out) tattoos. I think they were showing.”
“That would be my guess why.”
“Yeah.”
*cue guys coming back*
“Well you have a good night.”
*What the fuck?*
She left with both of them. Yeah I don’t know why that kind of shit happens to me. I was at a bar one night and this dude came in with a group of friends wearing a “My Boss is an Austrian Painter” t-shirt with a swastika necklace. Cue the huge motherfucker with him that looked like he could have beaten Arnold arm wrestling covered in tattoos that are all symbols of Nazi Germany and the other guys sporting similar tats. It wasn’t that hard to figure out. Well I’m taking a piss in the bathroom. T-Shirt Boy comes in and starts pissing. I casually say “Guten tag. Wie geht es dir.”
“The fuck did you say to me? What language was that faggot?”
“That would be German…I saw your shirt…”
*looks down*
“Oh right sorry bout that man. Hey dude, we’re having this huge rally out at [insert location here]. There’s going to be a bunch of white power bands and shit.
*walking out the door*
“Tut mir leid. Ich bin kein Nazi.”
“Alright man, I’ll see ya there!”
The highlight of that night was watching that group get in a fight with a group of black guys. A wee little lad that looked about the size of Prince beat the shit out of that fucking huge guy…priceless.

I know I had more to talk about. Oh right! Last night.

I got off work and started drinking. By drinking I don’t mean my typical casual drinking. I mean boss isn’t there (he probably left to go hang with the girlfriend) so I’m
drinking for free drinking. If you understand the language I’m speaking. Anyway. The buddy that is getting married comes up to hang with me with guess who? Yeah…the one I can’t stand. I’m actually drunk enough to be pleasant with him. It also helped that he’s a fat ass who admitted
that all he does is collect his unemployment checks and sit at home and play video games. Enough so that apparently he is one of the top players on Call Of Duty…*cough*….LOSER. Oh and that his wife divorced him after eight months. After cheating on him…*cough*…four times. Yeah, all kinds of make me feel happy right there. Like happy, happy. Like I could have danced with glee, happy. Leave the bar…Waffle House (FINALLY!!)…while at the Waffle House I see a girl that I once got in a threesome with (we exchange phone numbers)…get back to my car and drive home…pull out cell phone and dick roll said threesome girl…pass out, in the car…wake up at 7am and go inside and pass out again. That, my friends, was a good night!

2 comments:

  1. dumbass tee-shirt boy.

    also, the BEST things happen to me at waffle house.
    we ate at one that had the cure on the jukebox.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Holy fucking shit, we have to collaborate on a screenplay. No. Shit. Really.

    ReplyDelete