Photography by eBill]]>
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]]>INT - GRIFFIN'S LIVING ROOM - DAYBrian Griffin (Me) is standing next to a pile of dog excrement of which he is obviously the source.
ME/BRIAN: Oh no!
Enter Peter Griffin
PETER: Hey Brian, what's that smell?
ME/BRIAN: Uh, I don't know, Peter.
PETER: That's funny, it doesn't smell like a big steaming pile of I Don't Know?
SFX: LAUGH TRACK
And that was all there was too it. Well, except for the fact that I woke up laughing my ass off in response to Peter's comment.
]]>Back in college, like fifty or eighty years ago, my neighbors invited me to a chili party. All attendees were expected to make and bring their favorite chili recipe. I don't remeber what sort of chili I made because I have no memory of this party other than the events that lead up to my horrible experience.
I was standing in the kitchen ladeling myself a bowl of chili while a friend of mine was showing me the bottle of habanero peppers he brought to the party. I love spicy food, therefore I accepted when he offered me one of his habanero peppers. "Just squeeze a little of the juice into your chili," my friend instructed, "They are way too hot to use a whole one." I cast my friend a sideways glance as if to say, "Pffft! You are obviously a fuckin' amateur." I crushed the pepper between my fingers and emptied all of the pepper juice into my bowl of chili. "Don't say I didn't warn you," my friend disclaimed.
That bowl of chili was easily the spiciest thing I had ever put in my mouth. Ever. My nose immediately began to run and I was soon sweating like I was doing jumping jacks in an attic. It was awesome! I loved it! After finishing the chili, I grabbed a beer to help cool my tongue a bit.
Beer is not well suited to counteract spice so a beer turned into a few beers. Soon enough, I cared much less about my burning tongue and more about my tightening bladder. I excused myself from the conversation I was having with my neighbor to use the bathroom.
I returned from my leak to find that my neighbor had been replaced by his wife. I didn't say much more than, "Hey," before I noticed a tingling sensation in my groinal area. At first it seemed kinda funny to me that my neighbor's wife made my penis tingle. But the tingle rapidly gave way to an alarming burning sensation as did my amusement to concern. I began to fidget in an attempt to reposition things without being completely obvious. All the while, my neighbor's wife is talking to me but I have no clue what she was saying.
The burning sensation was worsening and it spread to the ol' coin purse. I was only dimly aware that my neighbor's wife had stopped talking and was now watching me dance about in an attempt to shake off the searing pain that had quite literally seized me by the balls. Unable to bear the pain any longer, I grabbed myself, gave my neighbor's wife a horrified look, and bolted for the bathroom. The look on my neighbor's wife's face had to be priceless, I wish I could have seen it.
The next thing I remember is standing in the shower under cold water still wearing my socks. I was madly grabbing every product I get my hands on and rubbing, lathering, or squirting it on my crotch. If only they had kept the milk in the shower. It took several minutes but the pain finally began to subside to a tolerable level. I vaguely remember getting clothed again, briefly explaining what happened, and leaving with my dripping socks in hand.
]]>The last time I dealt with a broken water pipe that belonged to the city, I had to take two days off work in order to bail water out of basement. Between bailing sessions, I called 311 to plead with them to send someone to take care of the problem. On the third day someone finally came to fix the problem.
I waited for a couple hours this evening for city workers to arrive and finally decided I was probably in for an entire weekend without water. I has just settled down for a long, angry rant when out on the street there arose such a clatter. I sprang from the computer chair to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. [Blah, blah, blah] When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a Public Works sleigh, and eight men in work gear.
It was a Christmas miracle ... a few weeks late but a miracle nonetheless.
It remains to be seen if I have water in the morning though. But, hey, credit where credit is due.
]]>My Mother arrives and has invited all of her sisters to come along with her. I am furious with my Mother for inviting other people and I tell her so. I am so furious that I start working on broken electronics to the point that I am falling asleep due to exhaustion. Someone wakes me up while I am working on a television, or at least something that has a screen.
[SCENE ABRUPTLY CHANGES]
Fool and I are standing on the shoulder of a dirt (possibly gravel) road. The landscape is very flat like Illinois. It is bright outside but there is a golden sepia tone overlay on everything (In the dream I thought it looked like the cinematography of Devil’s Rejects).
A car came slowly into view from our right traveling down the country road. The car looked as if it had been through a crushing machine, making all sorts of metallic scraping noises. As the vehicle passed us, we could see that it was dragging numerous parts, pitching and rolling violently, and only two wheels were touching the ground at any given time.
The vehicle passed our field of vision to the left. The trunk of the vehicle was gaping open amid a tangled mess of metal and wires. In the trunk was a body. An arm hung out of the trunk, flopping around wildly in time with the erratic motion of the vehicle.
The car grinds to a halt just past Fool and I. The weight of the vehicle shifts to the rear causing it to sit on it's haunches of sorts. The downward angle of the trunk causes the body to flop out of the trunk onto the roadway. Time pauses as Fool and I consider the corpse.
[CAMERA ANGLE CHANGES TO WORM’S EYE VIEW]
The corpse stirs and stands up. After rotating it’s head to crack it’s neck the corpse turns toward the camera and looks down into it (which is now my own POV). Oddly, the corpse’s face is that of this drunken guy Fred who Fool and I met the night before at Growler’s but with shoulder length, thin, greasy hair. The corpse purposely advanced on the camera. “Do you know who I am,” the corpse asked pausing briefly as if waiting for my response. I do not respond. The corpse draws his fist back and yells, “I’m Elliot Gould’s teeth, Motherfucker!”
The corpse’s upper body is framed against the sky, which abruptly takes on a psychedelic quality ala Natural Born Killers. Still there is the odd orange, sepia tone overlay. The corpse swings down toward the camera with a haymaker punch. There is a flash of brilliant white light as the punch makes contact.
]]>Anyway, I do not have the point info in hand just yet so today I just ate what I thought were sensible portions. I thought I might go over a little but not by much. I mean, I never really thought that I eat like a pig, that is, until now.
I ended up using the entirety of my alloted points in a single fucking meal and exceeded my daily allotment by something like 30 points ... maybe more. So, we'll call this a false start since I fucked it up so completely. I need to get me some o' them point sheets. Sheesh!
]]>INT. USPS SATTELITE OFFICE - DAY
An older Highlandtown Hon walks up to the Postal Clerk's window which has a large sign taped to the inside stating that there no one- or two-cent stamps available.
HON: I need a book of the new stamps.
PC: That'll be $7.80.
HON: So, you don't have any two-cent stamps?
PC: No, but we have three-cent stamps.
HON: Are all of the postal offices out of two-cent stamps?
PC: I don't know but if you would like some three-cent ...
HON: I've got six thirty-seven-cent stamps in need to use up.
PC: We have three-cent stamps.
HON: That doesn't do me any good.
]]>The repulsive woman (Old Lusty) that has/had a crush on me at work has finally been let go and I couldn't be happier.
I am considering throwing my can of Oust into the trash in a celebratory manner. But what if she comes back to visit? What do I do then? The mere thought of the remote possibility of being caught in Old Lusty's presence without my precious Oust will very likely keep that can safe from the trash for years to come.
]]>
I was still scanning the front page when my order arrived and I paused to take a big bite of my tasty tuna melt. Mmmm, it was good! Continuing to chew, I turned to page two. Suddenly my tuna melt sandwich was leaving my mouth at around mach 3, splattering all over the headline I had just read:
What the fuck is wrong with Maryland mechanics?!?! How the fuck do Marylanders get their goddamned cars fixed? Am I just expecting too much?
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