Archive for June, 2008


Posted: June 30, 2008 in Uncategorized

Some folks have made mention to me that my dislike of Cajuns could be perceived as insensitive, perhaps even racially insensitive. Many people may feel that perception is reality, so let me clear the air of this perception, or perhaps even better, muddy the waters even further.

First, my dislike of Cajuns has nothing to do with race. In fact, I don’t even think Cajun is considered a race. For example, if I were to dislike the French, one would not call that racial insensitivity either. If you were to come up to me and tell me that my dislike of Cajuns is racially insensitive, I would tell you to look up the word “racial” in the dictionary, give you 35 cents, and then tell you to call me when you are ready to tell me you mispoke (and I would probably give you the finger).

As for the dislike in general, I guess I shouldn’t generalize my dislike for Cajuns, or say that I hate Cajuns as a people per se. Mind you, I have never met one that hasn’t gotten under my skin like a tick on steroids, but I am sure there are some Cajuns out there that are quite nice, if you can get past the accent and/or language. And therein, my friends, lies the problem. It’s not so much the person as it is the jibberish that is spoken and passed off as a language. Couple that with the accent that sounds like a thousand cats being run over by a bulldozer, and you have my receipe for annoyance. The language and accent are so over the top that you might as well be speaking Pig Latin with Tourette’s and a lisp, that’s how made up it sounds. Even with that in mind, I am sure you will all agree, I think it is easier to just say that I hate Cajuns and not explain why (even though I know what I mean by it). Call me lazy I guess.

I wonder if Canadians feel the same way about French Canadians.

So shines a good deed in a weary world.
–Willy Wonka



The Sequel

Posted: June 30, 2008 in Uncategorized

My trip to the Northeast was well documented over the weekend, and in an effort to tie up all loose ends, the following the last part of my adventure…

I, like some of you, have flown quite a bit over my years. For the most part I have been lucky, save for the occasional irritation of the giant, fat, sweaty guy that smells like onions and Vick’s Vapor Rub sitting next to you on a cross country trip from Los Angeles. Friday evening, however, as I returned home from Boston, I encountered just about every…single…fucking…problem you can think of. Let us count the ways, shall we? Oh, and as a side note, I’m writing this on the plane in the middle of one the issues I am about to describe to you.

  • The ubiquitous delay—about 1.5 hours to be exact (which, in turn, lead to my five pints of Bass Ale/Sam Adams, as previously mentioned)
  • My bag was searched
  • I lost my matches
  • I packed my trusty iPod in my suitcase for some inexplicable reason, which meant I had no access to it during the three hour flight home.
  • I forgot a book
  • The old people in front of me brought something to eat that sounds like they are constantly popping bubble wrap
  • The person next to me obviously has cheap headphones because I can hear her music loud and clear (but she seems nice so it would be bad Karma to slam her much more).
  • I have an aisle seat instead of a window seat
  • When the pilot comes over the intercom he sounds like he just had a seizure and…talks…really…um…slow…and…um…I…um…think…maybe…um…he…might…um…have…been…um…getting…um…a…blow…job….(and of course he feels the need to narrate a night flight while some of his passengers are trying to sleep through this crappy experience).
  • And of course, to top it all off, we are in the middle of thunderstorms, which is causing us to be routed around the city and thus delaying our landing even further not to mention adding a whole “Magic Mountain” effect to the flight. I should’ve worn a diaper.
  • I will mention though that the aforementioned thunderstorms look absolutely spectacular from whatever altitude we are at and seeing them from this angle is a first for me (but I wish I had a window seat, note to travel agent next time).

Next time, I’m taking the train.

The plane! The plane!


In Real Time…

Posted: June 27, 2008 in Uncategorized

….maybe…kinda…sorta. I think this may be laden with flashbacks, so the whole real-time feel may be diluted just a bit. But in the spirit of a diary…(oh, and as it turns out, this gotten eaten up somehow so while it was written in real time, I didn’t get posted until I finally returned home)

Dear Diary,

I am now five pints of Bass Ale in (well, four pints of Bass and one pint of Samuel Adams because my Pat Benatar look-alike waitress might be high on paint fumes right now). Currently, I am sitting in an airport in Boston waiting for my already delayed plane to arrive to take me back to my tremendously missed home. This has been, quite possibly, the longest three days of my life…let me reacap

Midwest Airlines still sucks (see my post about a trip to NYC). The stewardesses (flight attendant is too kind) suck. They are rude and slow and who the fuck thinks a shot of Pepsi is going to quench my thirst..

Hold one, let me break in here. The poor girl sitting next to us ordered a Caesar salad. She tells Pat Benatar, “my plane is boarding, I need to go.” So apparently Pat has never missed a flight in her life. She proceeds to chat with this poor girl and tells her she is going to get her a box. The girl relents and allows Pat to bring her a box. A box is brought, and Pat continues to chit chat as if she is trying to keep my poor table neighbor from making her flight. Maybe she gets off on it…and if she does, maybe she should get a vibrator instead.

Back on point. Yes, yes, Midwest, they suck. On the flight here I was in the very back row, and of course, the leg room shrinks the further you get back in the plane. Couple this with the fact that I always get stuck next to the dude that has 10 mile legs and feels compelled to stretch out like a cat afflicted with rigor and my experience was less than pleasant.

The rest of the week has been okay. Oddly enough, the hotels in Arkansas are nicer than the Marriott I am staying at here, and having a room next to the pool is not very appealing. Chlorine permeated the room, which really bothered me at first, but then I thought “I’ll just smoke in my room to get rid of the smell.” No harm no foul I suppose. The Bostonian accent was mildly endearing at first, but has really become like nails on the chalkboard in the last six hours. Do these people realize how fucking retarded they sound? Important note: there are consonants at the end of works such as bar and car and retard. Just so you know.

Our driver to the airport was straight out of the book of stereotypes. Greek. Long hair in a ponytail. Thick accent. Talked more than teenager on a bag of pop rocks and crack. It was lovely. He told us all about his cycling days. Got to hear about steroids and the effect on his now sterile genitalia. Also got to hear about MDMA in the 80’s and how “no girl could say no when you got them high on Ecstasy.” My poor co-worker, I pretended like I was asleep.

I met Mitt Romney in the security line. I thought about asking him about what it’s like to be Mormon, or what it was like to get the shit kicked out of him in the primaries, but he seemed like a nice enough fellow so I refrained.

My flight continues to be delayed. It took Johnny Rockets 40 minutes to get me a fucking burger. Somehow my ticket ended up on the floor. I am now actively wondering if my plane is going to crash. If it does, and someone reads this, please give all of my Star Wars toys to…well, nobody. I want to be buried with them. Please and thank you.

I think at this point I could probably go on a cussing spree. The word “fuck” is on the tip of my lips and therefore on the tip of my fingers and fighting the urge to repeatedly scream fuck is worse than fighting the urge to stick my penis in an electric pencil sharpener. Where’s the lube?

On a quick side note, why can’t people fucking understand that I don’t like seafood? When you tell someone you don’t like meat that has been soaking in human polluted water, they look at you like you just raped a cat. Fuck off people. Fish tastes like fish and fish tastes gross and if you want to suck on some water-borne creature and call it food, by all means, but don’t make me feel like a feline rapist because I don’t.

Diary, I think it’s time for one more smoke. I have plenty more to say about this little jaunt to Boston, but I think I’ll save it for more sober times, and for a time when I don’t feel like jamming a pen in my eye. Peace out Diary and we’ll see you back home.

There are only two reasons to sit in the back row of an airplane: either you have diarrhea or you’re anxious to meet people who do.
–Henry Kissinger


Slow News Day

Posted: June 25, 2008 in Uncategorized

You know it must be a slow news day when the following story is featured on Read the story first then come back.

Hi. Welcome back. Is it just me or do you really not give a shit how many texts this girl sends out each month?Is this really newsworthy? I mean, I send about 6,000 a month and you don’t see me bragging about it. Now that I’ve read this story, maybe I should. Maybe my local news network would feature me, which in turn would cause CNN to feature me, and then I can challenge this girl to a duel; a text-off if you will. The winner gets bragging rights and the loser gets her fingers amputated (yeah, I’ll win). I need an agent to arrange this. We could meet in the desert and give it an Old West theme. I think I just peed myself from the awesomeness of that idea.

Perhaps CNN can feature a story about the secretary that types 150 wpm and sends out, get this, 127 memos a day. That seems like it could be a record. If you know of someone that has accomplished that amazing feat, let me know.

Nothing is more discouraging than unappreciated sarcasm.


Monkey Butt, Part II

Posted: June 25, 2008 in Uncategorized

Now, if anyone is suffering from Monkey Butt (or Slut Butt if you prefer), it appears to be this man. This gentleman (James Dobson, founder of Focus on the Family, by the way) has accussed Barack Obama of “distoring the Bible,” because he has quoted archaic teachings from the Old Testament during a speech two years ago. He does not dispute the fact that his quotes are accurate, but just says he is distoring the Bible for quoting the Old Testament.
Okay, hold on just one second. I will be the first to admit that I’m not very religious, but if I’m not mistaken, the Old Testament is part of the Bible. I mean, really, I could be wrong, but something tells me I am spot on with that assessment. And if Obama is quoting passages from that portion of the Bible (assuming I am right of course) as examples of mild religious fantaticism, my guess would be that he is not distoring the Bible at all, but merely quoting the Bible. If you think about it, why would anyone try to distort something that everyone in the country has read and has ready access to? I was confused for a second, but after a bit of pondering, I came up with something…
My theory is that this dude has Monkey Butt so bad that it causes him to speak out of his ass, and because his ass is so chapped and swollen from riding on that high horse, his words get distorted and his judgment is clouded. And the slightly wry smile on his face here says, “yeah, I’ve got Monkey Butt, and I kinda like it.”
Before he goes and loses all credibility by continually talking out of his swollen and chapped ass, I suggest he go to the store and pick up some Anti-Monkey Butt Powder to sooth the swelling and uncloud his thinking. After all, it seems as though his brain resides near his asshole as well, not just his mouth.
You sir, are an asshole.
–Cameron Frye


Posted: June 25, 2008 in Uncategorized

Thirty-something years into the mystery of life, some things don’t change. I’m not getting any taller. I still have dimples. My eyes are still brown. And, apparently, I am still a sore loser. No need to coat it with a layer of delicious brown sugar, I just hate losing. I HATE IT!!! I especially abhor being on the short end of the stick when it comes to sporting events, in this case, softball.

Yes, yes, I know the cliches around it…trying to relive my youth, blah, blah, and blah. While I do not dispute the fact that all of us that engage in some sort of organize sporting activity are attempting to hang on to some glorious days of yesteryear, the competition of it should not be minimized because of this. Regardless of a person’s age, competition is competition, and even if it is coed softball on a Tuesday night, it is not to be taken lightly.

Before I run the risk of rambling, let me just summarize why my face is wrought with irritation: I sucked like a cheap Vietnamese hooker this evening. I sucked so bad I should have been charging five dollar for each love-you-long-time move. I looked like a retarded monkey with epilepsy that was also afflicted with two left hands and had patches over its eyes. Nevermind that my teammates faired equally as well because, quite frankly, I don’t care how bad they sucked it up. The bar for competitive performance is set high for me and me alone, and when I miss said bar (or rather, smack it with my forehead resulting in a concussion), I find that I want to lie in bathtub listening to Johnny Cash while twiddling with a razor blade.

So, um, not really. That was a bit melodramatic. I did suck it up and I am pissed at myself for letting my teammates down. The beauty about writing, however, is that it can allow you to get something off your chest and pack for your trip to Boston.

On a quick sidenote, I hate MASH and I do not understand why it is still in syndication. The phrase “fucking die already” has never been more applicable. Maybe they are waiting for Alan Alda to die, and if that’s the case, where’s my gun?

Lodi dodi, we likes to party…we don’t cause trouble, we don’t bother nobody.
–Slick Rick



Posted: June 24, 2008 in Uncategorized

People were looking at me funny this morning. It was the darndest thing. For the life of me I could not figure out why everyone has been looking at me as though I am jaundiced. Then I realized I am wearing cammo shorts and it probably just looks like a floating torso with shins attached.

I’m not here, this isn’t happening.