May 28, 2005

And, here it is...

The price to be paid for all the good shit that's been going on.

Okay, before I say exactly what the price is, let me give ya a little background info.

See, there was this model from Bucks County, named Gia. She was beyond beautiful, inside and out.
However, she lived in constant emotional pain (which is an understatement to the nth degree) and when she acted out, her behavior, sometimes, was far from pretty, let alone as beautiful as she was.

She died of AIDS in a hospital not far from here.
Before she died, she had gotten clean and wanted, more than anything else, to try to reach young girls to tell them her story and try to help them not go down the same path, more or less.

She died before she could make the tape or do anything else like that, sooooo...

When we got our horses, then met Rob, we decided to share our horses with people, especially young girls, who are so prone to love horses anyway, and let it do whatever good it could do them.

It feels good to do, truthfully.

Now, however, I just got asked by Eric if I can take two "girls" out later today, who're friends of Liar Guy's.

I'm all, "Suuure. No problem."

Then, Eric says that Liar Guy says they work at some place called "Female name's Lounge".

S'cuse me.
That's a titty bar.

Motherfuck.

That sumbitch is bringing STRIPPERS over here?!!??

Why that sassafrassin', no account, sacarackin', dipshit son of a brickbat!!!

I will so kick his ever-lovin' ass.

AFTER I get done "escorting" (yes, fuckin' pun intended) these two "young ladies" around the trails.

Puckin' FUTZ, YOU, LIAR GUY!!!!!

Either God, or I, will get you for this.
*said thru huge, totally fake, teeth baring grin*

God, help me.
I know I just got into smaller jeans and all, but, c'MON, man... don't do this to me.... *sobs*

Uuuughhhh...
*drops head on desk with an audible thump*

Maaaan....

Shit.

Fine!
I'lldoit,I'lldoit,I'lldoit.

But, I hope I at least DO get hired at one of the two places I'm about to go to.

Ya know?

Tsk.
Strippers.

Funny.
Veeeeerrrry funny.
(Not s'much...)

Piss
oops, I mean...
Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 09:03 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

May 27, 2005

Now, this is awesome, too (just like Buford is)...

"The table is set with a white tablecloth, a black napkin and white candle, and a plate with only a slice of lemon and salt. An empty chair leans against the table..."

A lot of what those Vets say is true, about how they were treated then and since.

This way of honoring them is good.
But, not to take anything away from the people who're fighting now, buuuut....
it really oughta be just for Nam Vets, in my humble opinion.

Nam Vets are special.
They were the ones who were shit all over. They were the "lesson" for this country.
They were the ones that todays Vets need to thank for the fact that they, too, are not spit on, hurled invectives at and treated like dishonorable, immoral "things"... like Nam Vets were.

I really do appreciate all that's being done for Nam Vets now, but since they were singled out so long ago to be ridiculed and worse, they oughta be singled out today to be honored.
Forever.

Ya know?

I seriously doubt todays Vets have any idea (thank God) of what it was like back then, to be a NAM Vet.

That, too, is a good thing.

But, quit lumpin' 'em all together.

Those Nam Vets stood alone to be spit on.
They oughta be allowed to stand alone and be revered, too.

I'm just sayin'...

Posted by: Stevie at 08:18 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Dear Randyasshole,

IP Address: 216.17.18.145
Name: Randall Jones
Email Address: rjjones1999@hotmail.com
URL:

Comments:

Never in my life have I seen so much bullshit and anyone who thinks
Buford Pusser was great should read the other accounts of the crooked
Pusser.

Look...
Just because I'm having a pretty good run here, does NOT give you, you piece of maggot-shit, license to fuck with a man like Buford Hayes Pusser.

Exactly who the flying fuck are you, anyway?
A relative of one the scumbags he put out of business?
Hmmm?
Are ya related to one of the subhuman pieces of pure slime who murdered him?
Is your mom also your sister and your brothers cousin?
Are you your own uncle?
I'll bet ya are.

I'll also bet you're a pestilant, pestiforous, pusillanimous, pustilistic little PISSANT whom Buford Pusser woulda walked tall right on over top of and away from.

Like I'm going to.
But, not before I take you, your IP and your email address and post it here for all the web-crawling spammers to have, you ratshit eating pusbag.

Don't piss me off, Little Boy.
Don't MAKE me research you and blow your pathetic ass right off the web, 'cause I will, ya know.

I'll post every goddamned BIT of personal info I can find on you and I have unlimited time in which to look and post and make your life HELL.
Not that it'd take long, mind you....

I just have alllll the time in the world to ruin you, if you wanna come here and "play", Fuckface.

Buford Hayes Pusser was an awesome man and you, my little "friend", aren't even equal with a fart stain in his underwear.

So, fuck off and die.
And, should that prove to be too much for you to handle, go with "DIE".

'Kay?
Thanks.

Dick.

Posted by: Stevie at 06:44 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Yeah, I was a little keyed up back there....

Waiting for a phone call can do that to a person.

The phone call we were waiting for finally came and I'm numb, now.

Comfortably numb, with no chemical assisstance whatsoever. (Yet. *giggle*)

I don't believe this.

One thousand dollars is all it's gonna take to begin the endgame.

A thousand stupid little dollars.

Holy shit.

All they want to recall the warrant, give Eric back his license hence his very LIFE and start the process by which this nightmare is finally ended is a grand.

I'm so blown away, my brain is silent.

I don't know what to think about first.

Half of my mind is celebrating for him.
The other half is busy doing math and working up budgets and shit I didn't even know I knew how to do, actually, I don't but... and thinking of coupons and money saver cards and all that happy crappy.

My whole heart is freakin' out for him, however.
It's not concerned in the least about financial shit.
Thass cool.
*grin*

Okay.
Here's the deal.

Because of all the shit I talked about the other day, the "support issues", Eric's gotten a huge mountain of arrearages.
We were informed by one court that either he pays or goes to jail.
This promtped a flurry of activity from previously "laid back", as it were, individuals.
Including Eric and me, kinda...
*grin*

This, in turn, led us/him to the PG, the Probation Guy.
The cool guy from yesterday... and a different court.

He just called and said that if we give them the grand and somehow manage to just pay the full amount as it was ordered before, $325 a week (notice, please, that they did NOT "adjust" anything to reflect the now substantial arrearages. We did... *grin*), Eric is "free".
No warrant.
No suspended license.
No moratorium on going to Jersey.

Wow.

Well, we can do this. I've mentioned before, a long time ago, how Eric is paid, so I'm not going to go over it again. Suffice it to say, we can do this by sending every dime he makes, plus $75 a week from me, to Jersey.

Everything else, all the bills, the "staying alive" and shit... is on me now.

Whoa.

Hell, maybe I am a real bull.
*grin*
Because, I'm not even nervous.
I can soooo do this.

Minimum, with only three days a week at the restaurant, making minimum tips, I make $200 a week.
Including his support, all the bills, the car insurance and everything, we need $550/$600 a month.
I make 8.
Minimum.
In three days.

So, that leaves a minimum of $200 a month to live on.

BUT... it's just for the summer, mostly.
(Cute, eh?)

By September, at the VERY latest, his divorce should be final, thereby triggering the "good thing I ain't gunna jinx by saying right out loud" and... I get my Fridays back, the "agri-tainment" starts with all the hayrides and that money... so we'll make it.
This can be done.

And, NEXT September, soooomebody turns 18 and then... that whole shit ball dissolves, too.

Yay "time passing"!

Now, Eric just radioed me and said he talked to "Da Boss" and he's gonna lend us the grand.
However, being true to his nature, he's already worrying about how he's gonna get it back.
Bypassing my first thought, which is (God forgive me) "Wrapped around a BRICK", he'll get it back.
God.

Piss on people's parades much, dipwad?
Whattan exasperating individual this guy is.

Aw, hell wit' dat.

Back to the IMPORTANT part...

Eric is on his way to being really free!
For the first time in just about 18 years.

And, I get to be here for it and help it happen.
How FUCKIN' cool is that?

This really is something I can help fix.
I LOVE that.
I love HIM.

This is so cool....
Scary, a little, but cool, nonetheless.

I can still vividly remember his first taste of freedom, too.
Choosing salad dressing.
*tearing up*
*and grinning*

From salad dressing, to this....
wow.

Guess it's time for me to put my balls where my mouth is... and never leave the house again!!!
*lmao*
No, it's just time for me to "cowboy up" and "git'er doooone".

I am sooo suited to this.
I even have the boots, spurs, chaps and hat.
Horse, too, for that matter.

What the fuck is it I'm feeling right now?
Giddy?
Is that it?
Could be... it's something foreign, anyway.
Foreign and wonderful.

Now, I wanna say, "First things first", buuuut...

The first first thing, isn't really the FIRST thing I can do.
That's "taking the grand to Jersey".

That has to be done on Wednesday.
I'M DOING THAT PART ALONE, thanks.

Yes, every bit of this feels real and safe, but... I'm sorry. I've been lied to too many times by "authorities" to completely trust them with him, so, until I get the piece of paper saying the warrant is dead and he's safe, no.

I'm taking him with me, but he's goin' to the mall first.
If they wanna meet him, fine.
AFTER I'm assured (beyond all reason) that he is well and truly "safe".
Not a moment before.

But, that's Wednesday.

Right now, I have two other "firsts" to choose from.

Clean something or go outside, sit in the yard and watch the Airshow. (I can the Willow Grove Airshow almost completely from here and could if I climb the tall silo. It's over 100' high. Oooohhh... hmmmm....)

What to do, what to do?

Cartwheels.
That's what to do.

I'll be back later.
I have some gymnastics to do.

HE'S GONNA BE FREE!!!!!!
IN MY LIFETIME!!!!!!!

THANK YOU GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!

Posted by: Stevie at 04:39 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Biff Rose is fuckin' fried, man, and I can take a hint...

It's true.
Biff Rose is seriously nutso.

I'm on his email forwarding list, for what reason only he and God know, but, due to this, I can say with no fear of "BULLSHIT!" being called that Biff is fucked... insane in da membrane.
That boy's brain is TOAST.

At first, I thought of his word play and "speaking in puns" as kinda cool, kinda charming and fun.

It's not.

He's freakin' serious.
AND, I get forwarded emails all the time between him and record producers and other "professional" types and I don't know how or why they even bother.

Even my Dad said he's gone, right around the fuckin' bend and GONE.

Must suck to be him.

Sucks to be on his forwarding list.

And, no, I'm not even gonna try to get off of it.
I've SEEN what happens then.
*rolls eyes*

Not worth it.

So, I guess I'll just let him ramble (and ramble and ramble) on, never making any sense, let alone proposing anything intelligent, til he dies.
It's just making me very aware of the fact that "celebrities" are just regular people.
Shure, they may be cuter and they get paid for that, but... they ain't no better than anybody else.
In fact, sometimes they're even worse.
But, what do ya expect from people whose livelihood and sense of self is so totally wrapped up in looks and such meaningless rot?
Looks fade.
Looks can be totally destroyed in one car accident or industrial incident.
Looks don't mean shit, in the real world.
Not to me, anyway...

Anyway, Biff Rose is fucked.
Sad, but true.

Now, not only can I take this "hint" about celebrities, I can also see it when God is trying to keep me from fuckin' up otherwise, like I was doin' over at Gut Rumbles....

Rob did a post that I'm not gonna link and you'll see why in a second, keep reading, about shooting a cat in the ass when it was trying to be a cat and do what cats are born to do which is eat birds.
Birds that Rob had just got done bitching about in a previous post (and I'm talking matter of HOURS here, not days) who shit all over his freshly washed car and such.

I love the incongruousness of that guy, along with about 2 bazillion other things I ain't gonna sit here and list.

"If I have to explain it, you'd never understand it, anyway..."

So, he writes, I point out his *dichotimousness and then...
Then assholes show up in his comments and I get enraged.

(*Before I go much further, let me clear up that new word I just invented, there... by quoting Private Joker from Full Metal Jacket thusly:
Private Joker: "I think I was trying to suggest something about the duality of man, sir."
So, there ya have it.
"Dichotimousness", the root of which is "dichotomy" by the way, means "duality of man", okay? Okay, then, back to the hint I can take...)

So, Rob says he stung a cats ass defending birds he earlier wanted to expunge for poopage issues and I pointed out the "duality".
Fine.

Overnight, however, the asshole fucks come out and leave their spoor all over his comments about killing cats and how wonderful that would be and somebody over there had the supreme arrogance to say something about their "private forest".

OhdearGawdkillmenow....

One cocksuckin' loser even said some puke/drivel about contributing to a "non-profit" cat killing organization, if one were to exist.

This prompted me to start to comment again.

First off, about halfway through, I realized that this wasn't a comment anymore, but a post, then, as I was trying to bring it all over here in my haven't-had-enough-coffee-for-this-shit-yet mode, I fucked it up.

Lost the more intelligent half that I was gonna leave there, to continue with the more "emotional" part over here.

I sat here, looking at two hunks of "emotional" carnage, realizing that the smart part was lost and it hit me...

Don't even bother.

The troll loser dickheads either said alla that just to inspire a heated response or else they're SUCH troll loser dickheads that trying to explain any of this would be a waste of my time and energy anyway, so I took the hint and just said fuck it.

People who think killing cats just because they exist (which again I want to make clear that ROB ISN'T ONE OF... yet) are the first ones who oughta be used for research and scientific experiments, at the very least, to see what the fuck's wrong with their brains.

They're also the ones I fervently hope become victims of exactly what they're advocating being done to cats and other animals.

They ARE the ones we could most do without.

Let them be murdered, killed, maimed and expunged off this planet.
God forgive me, but I truly hope they all suffer more than any animal they've ever fucked over.
They are why I generally despise humans.
They also give me instant PMS, whether or not I already have it, which I do, so I can basically sum up my whole diatribe/ode to these fuckin' loser asshole animal murderin' dickbags by saying:

Fuck you.
I hope your whole family dies and you're left alone for the rest of forever, sitting in your own body wastes, unable to move or escape.
It's what you deserve, you arrogant, self-absorbed, clueless LOSERS.
That is all.
Now, go somewhere, be utterly miserable and alone and never die.
Oh, one more lil thang...
if there's EVER anything I can do to help ya, PLEASE feel free to ask, so that I may have the most pleasure I've ever experienced in one wad in my whole entire life by telling you to piss the fuck off.
Please.

Other than that, I'm doing jest fine.
Well, except for this parrot, clinging to the front of my shirt, dancing to the songs on the Partridge Family DVD I'm watching and biting me ever' now and again, when he's not bustin' a screech in my earhole, making my ear go deaf.

I think this nut is actually starting to figure out that "when Mommy is typing, she's not giving me her undivided attention and therefore, if I can make her STOP TYPING, she'd be alllll mine", so NOW he keeps biting my fingers, sitting on my fingers and tryin' his feathers off to get me to stop it already.

Smart nutbird, no?

Now, that's what I need to be doing here... researching Conures so I can give this bird all that he wants, needs and just plain likes, like being petted UNDER his wings and showers and shit, not wasting myself on dickhead animals killers.

On that note, I'm gonna ask again, if anybody has any info on Conures, or ya know anybody who does, PLEASE, let me know.

I just want to know as much about them as possible.
We have only one "bad behavior" issue and even that I understand why he does it, we just need to get him over it, because dive-bomb attacking Eric and wanting to rip Eric's head off and shit in his neck, which this bird soooo wants to do, isn't... feasible.
Or fun, for Eric...

Oh my fuckin' Gawd... I just TOUCHED my Nextelcell and oh boy, did I almost lose a limb.

I forgot.
Shut UP, bird.

Jeezus.
I was just gonna radio Eric and ask him who the two OBVIOUS Down Syndrome idiots are, arguing in front of the house and grabbed the radio and then it was freak-out city on my chest.
Not good.
Coulda been worse, though.
At least he kept his beak offa my bod.

Oh, this is cute.
I've just discovered that if I make fart noises with my lips, he gets even sillier.
He seems to like the ones that emanate from the side of my mouth more than the "frontal" ones.
Whatta nut.

Okay.
New episode coming on.
Gotta go do the "dance" to the theme song, now.
*boing, boing, boing*

Back later.

Peace
(except to those who'd hurt or kill animals for fun or any other reason)

Posted by: Stevie at 01:04 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

"Hallelujah. Holy shit. Where's the Tylenol?"...

Do ya wanna ask me, Stevie, why do ya drink, why do you roll smoke?

Well, I'll tell ya.
You betcha, I sure will.

Let's even start at the beginning.

(This is your cue to go pee, grab a beer or a cuppa coffee or a coupla packs of smokes, by the way...)
(And, no... I ain't pissed off... *grin* Just wigged out.)

*deeeep breath*

Okay, nigh about 4 and 1/2 years ago, God hollered and me and Eric heard him.
Subsequently, our lives as we'd known them sorta blew up, more or less.

Why, is (kinda) beyond me (but also kinda not) but, they did. We both quit the farm we'd met and been working on and he went to work for a valve company. We moved out of our former bosses house and into an apartment.

Now, when he signed on with this valve company, he was very careful to explain to the lying sack of monkey shit who ran the shop that he did NOT want to travel much because of the seperation, his son and visitation. He was told, "No problem..."

Well, it became a problem. (I've mentioned this shit before.)

So, he quit and we came here.

The entire time we've been together has been spent in a state of constant, low terror. First because of her, and us being in NJ. Since then, knowing he's falling further and further behind in arrearages (because the amount of the support was set when he was making $18 an hour, which he doesn't make here and when he applied for a modification it was turned down...) makes it so when the dogs bark, it stops your heart, almost. Seeing a cop car anywhere makes ya feel like you've got a bale of weed in the fuckin' trunk. It's insidious... and sickening, literally and figuratively speaking.
It's a shitty way to live.
Or rather... exist.
'Cause it sure as hell ain't "living".
(I hope... *grin*)

Anyway, one of the primary reasons we decided to come here was this bosses first day talk of helping Eric with this legal shit.
No shit, no lie, the first day we ever met him, he said he'd help Eric out and we could get married in the front 40 if we want to.
We were floored, to say the least.

And, honestly, as far as being in the very hand of God, this place is IT, it seems.

Even with shit going "not like it oughta be going" (arrearages piling up), we've never had any problems here, besides daily life/work/not strangling a person-type shit.
No legal problems.
No cops.
No cuffs.
None o'that stuff, thank You, Lord.

However, just knowing that that is indeed happening makes things kinda dicey.
Makes the way ya think and react a little "different".
It fucks up how you think, frankly, and is the coup de'grace in the death of libido.
Shit'll just wear yer ass out.

So, for three years, we have this steadily building pressure with no real sign of relief. The bosses usual answer to new developments has mostly been concerned looks and grunts. Nothing... solid.

During these three years, I lose my license simply because I am an airhead.
I forgot to pay a ticket for not having changed my license to Pa. and then didn't know I'd been suspended til I got stopped one winters day because my stupid hood didn't latch correctly anymore since the haywagon mashed it and hell, I'd only asked the guys* about thirty-five got-damned times to fix it, but noooo, we never did do that, did we?
Nope.
So, I got to meet Officer B.
Nice fella.
Hope he didn't suffer a handcramp writing those tickets that day.
(Turd.)
(Oh, and I fixed the stupid hood latch myself with a ROCK. And a hammer.)

So, not only was I suspended, I was suspended suspended.
For a freeking year and a half.
*major sigh at just the remembrance*

Jeezus, what a fustercluck.

That's when and why George, the not-yet-ex-husband "officially" moved in. He lived here for about 2, 2 and 1/2 years, I guess. (*He and Eric comprise "the guys" mentioned a little bit ago.) (And, George had been staying here on weekends for a while before alla this.)

Just last fall, when I finally got my dat-gummed license back, he kindasorta moved back to Jersey to work for his bil.

Anyway, still during those same three years, we've got the legal pressure building, me no license hence no job hence no will to live, and George here along with his dog.

Two, two and a half years.

Then, Sept. 04, I get my license/life back, George moves and I get a job.

Cool.

Eric and I are managing nicely. Everything is fine, except for the legal pressure cooker.

Then, boom, the BC wants a divorce.

Well, here ya go.
Have a divorce.

We're currently waiting for her to get the paperwork, sign it and send it back to the lawyer. Then, it gets filed and then... something really cool happens that I don't want to be specific about, yet, just in case I get "found" somehow...
*knocks on skull in lieu of wood*
So, he's free, he's "free" again and then George and I are gonna split the cost and get "unmarried" too and then...

But, in the meantime...
Back in April there was a request made for an appearance in a certain court by a certain guy who, not having a lawyer, license or $25,000, declined, so to speak.

This in turn caused said court to get completely hysterical, I'm assuming, and, with a docket number for the neighboring county across the order (not the "right" county) they sent us a notice that, since he declined the previous invitation, the matter was being turned over to Pa. "for enforcement" and if that didn't work, it was to go to the "Feds" for "extradition and incarceration".

Now, isn't that the kinda "person" you'd wanna appear in front of without a lawyer?
Sh'ye-ah.

So, we get the notice, we read it about 3700 times and try to figure out wtf it's saying.
We involve the boss and Eric makes numerous phone calls, one of which was to a lawyer who stroooongly suggested he call said court posthaste and offer to pay a semi-large chunk o'change and beg mercy.

That's what led to the numerous phone calls, trying to track down who the HELL was in charge of his case.

Turns out it's a very nice man who is willing to work with him, thank Jesus Christ Almighty, God and every single one of you who've asked God to help him out.

Now, we got his court notice on Friday or Saturday.

Adding to the "Oh, Gawd, what are we gonna do NOW?" factor was the fact that I've lost Fridays at work, which I went over in some detail not long ago.
In less than two weeks, I've gone from wanting to hug my boss when he told me about it to having a mini-NBD tonight because of Monday, now.

(Lost yet? Pfft. Try LIVING this shit.)

Okay, to explain... it was gonna be tight enough as it was, before we got this legal/court shit in the mail, with me being off Fridays.
The more I thought about it, the less I liked it, but the more I thought about it, the better able I was to see it could be okay, too, if I was just careful.

So... today at work, I had the knowledge that Eric was going to be talking to the Probation guy and I called him a coupla times to see if he'd done it yet and it was also kinda busy in there.

End of the day, one of my boss guys, the new "hostess", in fact, mentioned that he was gonna call me this weekend about Monday.
What about Monday?
Well, he wants me to hostess...
Oh.
Okay.
I guess.

I leave work, find out how Eric did, which was "wonderful" with that guy and then proceed to tie myself in knots over this "Monday" deal.

I can't afford to lose any more time/cash. True, hostessing pays more per hour than waitressing, but the tips, man... shit.

Why?

Fuckfuckfuck...

So, 9:30, I go back to work and talked to the "hostess" guy and another owner and the... (I can't keep calling him the "hostess guy". Henceforth, his name is... John. Yeah, John, because he kinda reminds me of "The Critic", that cartoon Jon Lovitz character. And, yeah, I know I'm spelling it "wrong", but the Lair Guy from my real life spells his name that way, so bear with me...)

Anyway, I go to talk to John and he finally clues me that it's just for this Monday, because of the holiday.
This, of course, is after I nearly cry, telling him how much I like working there, how badly I now NEED to work there and why for a good fifteen minutes.

Then, the other owner guy (who, since he reminds me of Dad is gonna be DB, for Dad/Boss) said to me, when I told him why I was there, "Well, I coulda told ya that, ya Goofball..."

(Now, hang on a second. I've gotta go "preview" this...)

Whew.

So.
To recap.
Things are miraculous, because Eric and I get together.
Things slowly become terrifying because of "support" issues.
My mind goes to hell in a handbasket, which, incidentally, is when I found Acidman and then Paul and then alla ya'll... but anyway...
I lose my license.
I spend a year and a half at ground zero of Hell itself.
I find Rob.
I begin blogging.
I'm "found" by Paul, moved to MT by Ted and Pixy.
I start to recover what brain I've got left.
I finally get my license back.
I get a job.
Things improve.
Then, he's offered his freedom from the BC, BY the BC.
Then, the "support issues" come to head, which seems like it's gonna end with a "whimper, not a bang", to quote Stephen King in "The Stand", while he's quoting somebody else.
Meanwhile, I'm losing time at work, think I'm losing more, then find out I'm not, really and....

my head hurts.
so do my ovaries.

Oh hell yeah.
That's another thing...
In addition to all this other shit since the mail Friday, I've also been dealing with PMS. Actually, that's been going on for a few days. I seem to remember wanting to kill some-damned-body not long ago, then being in tears the next day, or some shit.

Oh and yeah... I've also given away, like, seven kittens.

And, through alla this...
I haven't been freaking out too overly much, ain't kilt nobody, ain't gotten all depressed, like I was when Paul found me, ain't developed any new vices, nor dropped any old ones... I've been maintaining kinda well, actually.

But, I'm tellin' ya...
I've about had enough of the roller coaster crap.
Up and down, being whipsawed back and forth, it's this way, no, now it's that way, it's gonna kill us all, it's nothing...
it's making me a little bit gonzo now.

I honestly understand the saying "Stop my life (not the whole world), I wanna get off..."

I'd just like to be able to step off and get re-oriented, undizzy and have my landlegs back, if I may, please...

Just.
Slow.
Down.
Dammit.

*giggle*

Overall, though, we are being blessed left and right and I know it.
It's a hell of ride so far and it ain't even really started yet.
But, I can't let myself think on that too much.
It makes me tired.

One day at a time.
If it can't be one issue at a time, please, Lord, let it be one day at a time, at least.

Now, I'm gonna go clean.
Oh
gawd
yeah...

That's another thaaang.

Rod's coming.

So's my period.

So the men in the pretty white jackets can't be far behind.

Thank God I'm laughing as I type this.
'Course, it is kinda... "shrill", endless giggling.
Not quite at the "Nicholson" level yet, but it could go there.
I can see how that could happen.

Y'all see any posts titled "Heeeeere's STEVIE!!!", you'll know, won'tcha's?

Yep.
She's done lost it now, Paw.

Hide the fuckin' AXE!!!
(And that Pusser Club, if ya know what's good fer ya!)

BUT...
we're not there.
Not now.
Not yet.

So far, so good, for which I am profoundly grateful.

Thank You, God.
Thank you Terry, and the rest of you guys for the prayers.
Keep 'em coming for just a little longer.
It's almost over, I think.

We're gonna make it.

With a little help from our friends.
Good thing God's one of 'em.

Peace and out.

Posted by: Stevie at 12:01 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

May 25, 2005

Cat, you are absolutely right...

Thank you for this one, Hon.

Posted by: Stevie at 05:10 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Alright, stop it, now...

In the space of less than an hour this morning, before I was fully locked and loaded, thus ready for it, I was given two pieces of information to deal with.
And, one bit of really good news.

Let's go from bad to good with this, okay?
I like seeing things in that order.

Not so hot news... We don't have a lawyer again.
Seems the guy we were hooked up with isn't licensed to practice in both states. However, if the other deal goes through, we can do what we have to do from here with this guy. So, we'll see what happens there.

Meantime, I need to make a call or two and see what, exactly, it is we're being scared to death of.
If it's what I think it is, we don't hafta be scared to death.
If not, we just hafta expedite finding a lawyer.
With help, that is.
(On that note... if yer of a mind, could ya send up a little prayer for Eric? He's a really good man and needs all the help he can get. Bless y'all...)

Next, the weekend of the third, we'll be having house guests.
This, of course, constitutes an emergency in the "housecleaning department", but you can compound that halfway to hell and back because of whom the house guests are gonna be.

Eric's brother and his partner. They live in a gorgeous, cat-pee-free, house in Florida and they're coming to stay for a few days soon.

I've never met Rod. (To be "heard" said in much the same voice as John Lennon intoned, "I buried Paaaauuul." at the end of "Strawberry Field"...)
I've talked to him on the phone and I've seen pictures and I'm skeert.

The guy was a chef and I hafta cook for him?
They have no cats, let alone 349 cats, and this house'll EVER be clean enough?
Fuck me runnin'.
I nearly had stroke baking cookies for my boss at the restaurant. How the hell am I gonna impress a chef for a week?
Maybe with my amazing cat pee-hole plugging up abilities? By maybe burning this place down and totally rebuilding in less than two weeks?

Man.
There is sooooooooooo much needs to be done.
Cobwebs must go.
Carpets must be shampooed.
(X 40. Fuckin' cats...)

Not to eeeeven mention that one thing they wanna do is go to Atlantic City.

Um, yeah.

That's a gooood idea.
For y'all.

With arrears nearing 25 grand and knowing there's a warrant out and that the "bail" is full purge, no t'ank ya ver'much, we won't be going to Jersey just yet.

Meantime... ROD'S COMING!!!!! OH GAWD, HE'P ME NOW!!!!

Then, while all this was swirling around in my head, making my hands shake, my knees weak and leaving me kinda dizzy and a tad nauseaous, I was trying to get ready to go back to that potentially brain-melting Post Office for the next installment of "Paying the Insurance Bill at the Last Possible Second", brought to you by yours truly.
*kicks self in ass, nearly dislocating knee*
That not-able-to-count-worth-a-good-godamn chick was there, too.
BUT, by the grace of God, I got the guy.
Even he got fubared by the fifty dollar bill and hadda resort to the calculator, but he was immeasurably better than that stupid woman was last time.

Anyway, getting ready to go there, with my head fulla that other stuff, I see that my usual black jeans are fulla cat hair and shit. (Not literal "shit", just mud, horse hair and other assorted muck.)
So, I go to my closet on autopilot to get sweats, but instead grab a pair of smaller jeans. I muttered, "I know, God, I'm pushin' it, but..." and pulled 'em up, buttoned and zipped 'em and didn't pass out.
Not only didn't I pass out, I can walk, bend, sit, tie my boots... everything, in these smaller jeans and... just wow.
Cool.

Now.

That'll be enough for the day, okay? Please?
I really don't think I can handle any more "news".
Unless it's that I can get into my 29"'s or something... maybe.

Or that the BC has dropped dead or been abducted by aliens.

Something along those lines, maybe I could also handle.
Just, whatever it is, break it to me gently, okay?
God?
Please?

Thanks, Your Dude-ness.
Shure will appreciate it.

Now, where's that ACME parasol Wyle E. Coyote sent me?
I need to go cower under it.
Whilst listening to the sound of incoming whistling.
Hoping it's good news scribbled on the boulder.

Help.
*sad little (slightly desperate) giggle*

Peace, ya'll...

Posted by: Stevie at 12:11 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

May 23, 2005

My parrot is fuckin' nuts!

Jeezus, this bird....

Whatta lunatic.
Right now, he's on top of his cage, buried to the end of his tail feathers in a bag of "Old Fashioned Natural" popcorn, kicking it outta the bag, all over the floor, the inside of his cage and everywhere else it can land.
Nutbag.

Fucker bit the shit outta me a few minutes ago, too.
Because of my Nextel cell.
Idiot thinks Eric's in it.

He goes after Eric if he's out of his cage when Eric comes in. Either goes after him or bites me, because I'm closer, I guess.
But, that's not enough, noooo.

He heard Eric's voice comin' outta the phone (on DirectConnect) the other day and LOST IT.

Now, even if I'm on the "phone" part, he freaks.

I left a message for my insurance agent and when she called back, Murph was on my shoulder.
I answer the phone and Nitwit crosses my chest, gets within chomping distance of my right hand (and the phone) and CHOMP.

I felt like a retard tellin' her to ohhh! hang on a second, my parrot is bitin' the shit outta me because of this phone.
She was still laughing after I managed to get him back in his cage and get back to the phone.

Turd. (Both of 'em...)

Besides that, this has been an "interesting" weekend.
*rolls eyes*

Suffice it to say we have a lawyer now and the "shit" Eric's in is gonna be resolved.
This is a good thing, even if it gets waaaay worse before it gets better.

And, after my first Friday off, I can say... it kinda sucks.
I felt a fuckin' orphan after the second day off. Not to mention, all this "court" shit and "bills" shit was just a-hangin' over my head, trying to make me lose it, but... it didn't work.
I remained calm, trusted God and I was right.

I do, however, think I may look into a second part-time job. Nothing that'll interfere with where I work now, just something to give me back that lil bit of money I'm losing til September.
I even asked the "big" owner if it was okay with him, which, of course, it is, and (of course) he appreciated me asking, even if it wasn't required.

Mostly, I didn't wanna go start working for any "rivals". Didn't know if we have any.
We don't.
Okay, Boss... anybody around here you'd recommend? Like, friends of yours, then?
Not around here, which I take to mean he does "in the city", which is a "nah" for me, because I don't want to wind up as "film at 11" on the news, which I would if I hadda go to Philly alone. Or, at all.

Now, what I'm really hoping is that he and the new "hostess" (another of the owners) put their heads together and spare me the "having to go look" and just gimme back my Fridays, or some other day, maybe, now.

But, apparently, losing days to college kids is "normal" there. That's cool, too.
It's not an emergency, just something I'm thinking about.

Oh and check out this assininity....
I rode the horse for, like, three days in a row, right?
So, I decide yesterday, pretty late, that I wanted to just go for a walk for a while. (This court/bills crap was kinda buggin' me...)

So, I get dressed, put on the barn boots and off I go. Across the field, around the pond and away from the dolts on the three wheelers and their damned dust storms.

I get about a 1/4 of a mile away and what do I find?
Of course.
A ten foot (at least), 40-50 pound tow chain, just laying there, in the dirt.
Now, it's patently obvious that the numbfucks on the three wheelers saw it, and even ran it over, because it's partly wet from their tires after they cross the stream and buzz over it.
D'ya THINK one of those ijits could stop, bend down, grab said chain and bring it the fuck back that way?

Gawd, I hope not, 'cause if ya did think that, yer brain has OBVIOUSLY rotted or fallen out or something.

HELL NO, they can't do that.
Of course not.

So, I stand there, looking at it, talking to myself.

"Self", I says, "you know damned well that the ONLY way this thing is gettin' home is if you take it back. These idiots ain't gunna do it. Telling Eric it's here... pfft. Ya took him right to that chisel-plow part ya found, next to the tape measure ya also found and they're still laying where ya found 'em. What d'ya think'll happen here, if ya do that again? Same thing. Yeah, so do I. (What? I agreed with me. So what?) You KNOW yer gonna do it. Might just as well just go on and decide the route...."

My choices, from where I stood, were a long assed, nearly knee-deep "mud puddle" or halfway to hell and gone around it.

I went through the water, carryin' that chain like a tray. Hoisted up onto one hand, then the other, all the way back.
Shoulder-level, too.
(That's how I carry trays...)

I wasn't even breathing hard when I got home.
Hardly even broke a sweat AND I smoked a cigarette while heftin' that thing home, too.
I came straight into the house with it, walked up to Eric's chair, said, "Ya'll lose this?" and dropped it on the carpet.
And... guess what?
It's STILL THERE!!!!!

*lmao*

Frickin' men, I swear....
Shoulda just threw it in the shop when I trudged past.

But, I like makin' points, even if I'm the only one who "gets" 'em.

(My "point" being, especially after he said, "Sweetie... why din't ya just tell me it was there and leave it?", that that woulda been dumb, because, even with it in the LIVINGROOM- much closer to the shop than where I found it, by the way- he ain't gonna "go get it", let alone when it's halfway to the turnpike, out in a field path, ya know?
Yeah.
So did I.)

But, anyway....

I think I need a cuppa coffee.
I just yawned.

Got too much to do yet for that shit already.

Me and "da bird" (Murph, not the car) are gonna go get some coffee and have a little talk about beaks, and phones, and my hand/body/skin and how just becausea one, the other two don't necessarily HAFTA meet.
Or bleed.
(Gawd, this bird is GORGEOUS. Psychotic, but gorgeous.)
(Hmmm... come to think of it, that could also be said of MANY of the "men" I've gone out with...)
(Which reminds me... thank You again, God, for Eric...)

Back later.
Peace, ya'll...

Posted by: Stevie at 06:11 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

May 21, 2005

Well, damn....

Pegged my ass to a "T", din't they?

What Is Your Animal Personality?
brought to you by Quizilla

Found this over here, where I haven't been for a day or so, thanks to this silly shit.

I feel much better, now.

Posted by: Stevie at 11:57 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Dear "FGN" editors of MAD magazine,

I know y'all could give two shits, but don't, about what I think, but, ya know what?
I'm gonna tell ya, anyway.

I've been reading MAD my whole life. Forty-two years.
Well, okay, maybe only 39 or so. I do have an infinity for reading but it did take me a coupla years to learn how to do it, still...

I can remember being small enough to fit into the closet where Dad kept all his back issues of MAD and Playboy. (Yes, I've read that forever too and it IS for the articles, in my particular case, thankyouevers'much.)

I'm talking 4,5 and 6 years old, here. Forever, to me.

Somewhere along the line, MAD has gone to hell in a tattered handbasket. I don't really know when this abomination started, you having ADS in there, because I tried so hard to overlook it, like you'd maybe had a case of brainfarts and would stop it soon.
Nope.

You're killing me, Dudes.

I look at even just the covers these days and I immediately hear John Lennon's soulful voice in my head, crooning this hit:

Now, ultimately, this is fine, because this song says a LOT about how I feel about Eric and I love that, but... those first three lines, the ones I've made stand out "boldly"... those are the ones that pertain to you and what you've done to me with this shit.

As I mournfully turn the new, slick pages, past the ads for corn chips (only to stumble onto a friggin' CAR AD, fer Chris'sake), gone are the very things that made MAD what it used to be... which was damned near to perfect.

"The Lighter Side Of..." gone. Sergio's "marginals"... repeats at best, or more likely replaced by inane horsepucky sayings. "Snappy Answers to Stupid Questions.." no more.

What DO we have?
Monroe.
WTF is "Monroe"? He's the dude who lived "upstairs" on "Too Close for Comfort", dickweeds.
I don't know, get, understand or even like "Monroe", so of course, he takes up a third of the stupid magazine.
We have more ads.
Lovely.

Where are the song parodies?
Where the HELL'S the humor?
Where, on which page, is the "worth" of the cover price?

Back when the magazine had heart and, just by the way... NO FRIGGIN' ADS, it cost less than it does now, when it sucks and does, indeed, contain ads, which has probably got the Godfather of MAD spinning like an oversized lathe in his grave.
Explain that, please.

While you're at it, tell me what, if anything, any of these names mean to you, because I can already guarantee you they mean more to me than they do you twits:

Bill Berg
Mort Drucker
Sergio Argones
WILLIAM GAINES

Any of those ring a bell?
And, shit guys, they were right off the top of my head.
I'm not even peeking in an old MAD, which, thank Jesus Himself, I have a ton of.

I can't read them very often though, because as soft as tears are, which I shed by the gallon when I realize just how "to shit" MAD is these days while I peruse them, they do damage them with repeat wettings.

You should be ashamed of yourselves.
I am.
Ashamed of you, I mean.

Of all the things lost to me forever from my childhood, this is nearly the worst, because it doesn't have to be like this.
You could cut the shit and get back to what Bill intended, you materialistic turdburglars.

But, yer not gunna, any more than I'm gonna keep buying that rag you excrete.

I guess it wasn't enough for you bastards that NatLamp quit being published, much like GAMES seems to have been again.
Noooo.

You hadda go and ruin MAD, too.

Nice going.

May the fleas of a thousand camels infest each and every one of you dipshit's shorts forever.

I hate you all.

Sincerely,
me

Posted by: Stevie at 11:14 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

May 18, 2005

Okay... guess I oughta explain fuller, huh?

This is good.
I'm already laughing my butt off.

I really didn't mean to leave the impression that some dickbag stealing $7 from me made me want morphine.
It wasn't just that.... *giggling at the idea* (No wonder people think I'm nuts... *lmao*)

No no.
That was just another brick in the wall.

The wall that I want(ed) to beat somebody's head against.

There've been some things going on at work (besides theft), things happenin' here and to top it off... PMS now.
Oh goody.
*rolls eyes*

Why yes, GOD, bring it on. I AM a real bull, after all... NOT.

Let's get work outta the way first. It's probably the longest of the stories, anyway.

The Boss Lady is gone, another (mostly useless) waitress is quitting in two weeks and Leo was starting to be a prick again, til yesterday and even after that, he may still be.
Whatever.

Now, as for the Boss Lady...
Had no idea, but her last day was last Sunday. What the real story is behind her leaving is not known to me, but I'm not buying that "after 5 years, it's time to do something else" shit.
Bullshit.
Whatever.
I really don't care, because she was starting to get on my nerves, but, still... wow.
Okaaay.
I did maintain the prescence of mind to thank her for hiring me and not shove her out the door after saying that... *grin*

Then, yesterday, as I was totalling a few checks, this other chick (and I use that word loosely. Only word I could use more loosely would be to call her a "waitress"... *gooberface*) comes up and is mutterin' her ass off about "fuck them they ain't gonna have me to abuse anymore in two weeks, hate this place, hate their shit, yadda, yadda, yadda..."

To which I replied, "Hmmm, what?"

Then she said not to say anything (who? me?) but she's leaving in two weeks.
Well good.
She's the reason I was hatin' on Fridays anyway and now, AFTER I ALREADY HAD FIXED THAT MESS, she's leaving.

Jeezus. Thanks, God. You sooooo funny.

Now, my biggest problem with the (ex)Boss Lady and Fridays was my station on Fridays.
Every other freakin' day I work, I'm on three. That's in smoking, which everybody else hates, because of all the (fuckin' dopey) health nuts around these days...
"Non-smoking, please... Non-smoking... As far from smoking as possible (to which, just once, I'd like to yell, "That'd be your HOUSE, asswipe!!!!"). Eeeverybody wants to be in non-smoking.
The wusses.

But, that's fine with me. I'd rather not give my services to anal-retentive dickweeds, anyway. I LIKE waiting on the cool people who don't feel a need to subjugate everybody to their non-smoking, non-having any fun whatsoever way of being.
Fuck them.

Gimme my hacking cool people every time.

However, on Fridays, for reasons not known to me, except in the barest of sketchiness, we have extra servers and buspeople on and ya know what?
We just don't need 'em.
Hell, I even asked one of my "Aunts" (a waitress I'd kill for) last Friday if it was just me, or did Fridays not warrant all the extra help.
They don't.
It's like this because someone sometime, lost in the sands of time, musta bitched because they got slammed a few times.
SO, the owners being men and all and wanting to shut the bitches up for GOOD put all the extra help on, so now nobody gets swamped, nobody has to put forth any effort whatsoever and, consequently, nobody makes any money, either.

But, not even that is why I hated Fridays so much. See, on Fridays, with all that extra "help", I get bumped outta three into two. Station two with less than too fuckin' many people on is okay, I guess. At least ya get a coupla tables out in the non-smoking area. But, on Fridays, no. I wind up with a station that consists of three measly booths and four tables.
The bitch on three (who is the one quitting now) gets six booths and two tables.

Now, not only do people not wanna be in smoking, the ones who do wanna be, want booths.

I don't got booths. Not as many as I SHOULD HAVE, anyway.

What I do have is the first hour, hour and a half to myself, to be aware of every second of every minute I'm there, doing NOTHING, except thinking about all the shit I could be gettin' done if I weren't there.

I fuckin' HATE having nothing to do.

One of two things, both of which I resent, usually happen. Boss Lady gives Quittin' Chick MY STATION, which she cannot handle, then has the balls to keep asking me to take up her slack, which I do NOT need anyone to do when I'm on three, like it oughta be.
So... no.

Or, Boss Lady then tries to run my ass off at the end of the shift so I will have made some money, but fuck that, too. I've already been there all damned day, bored outta my tits and all I want is to GO.
I do NOT feel like having a table here, a table way the fuck over there and then be seated in my own stupid station.

Fuck you, fuck your stupid manipulations, machinations and again YOU, Boss Lady.

And, no I did not cop this attitude from the getgo.

I tried. I asked her to switch us back and forth, one week I get three, the next week she gets it and so forth, but nooooo. We can't DO that. Wanna know why? Because "Miss Can't Handle Three" has "seniority".

Jesus wept.
And, I gave up.
Kinda.

Now, normally, if ya get a shit answer to a problem like that from your totally ineffective, young man lovin' Supervisor ("young man lovin'"= if yer a guy, ya get whatever ya want, if yer a chick, you get "tolerated" and blown off, basically), you'd go to the next guy up the ladder and try again.
Well.
Not here, ya don't.
Or, they don't.
I do, though.... heh.

That's all because of cucumbers.

Yes, cucumbers.

See, the totally ineffective Boss Lady (has earned that title, as you are about to see) is supposed to be the "liason" between us and management.
We are to go to her for everything (which she then does dick about).
Not "supposed to" speak directly to the owners, I guess.
WhatEVER.

The two days a week Boss Lady had off were two of the days I worked. So, I truly only saw her half the time I was there. What in Christ's name was I supposed to do the two days I was there and she wasn't? Let things go, like disgusting cucumbers? I don't think so.

One day, I was setting up the salad station and the cucumbers were gross. Slimy, almost clear, little disks of disgustingness.
So, I asked another waitress about chucking them and getting fresh ones.
Well, fer fucks sake. Ya mighta thought I asked about waitressing nekkid, for the response I got.

It seems that we were supposed to just "make do" with the shittty cukes and not even ASK anybody about new ones.
Well, that's just fuckin' STUPID, so I did what the fuck needed to be done and showed them to alllll the cooks, owners and anybody else who was interested and ya know what?
I was allowed to change 'em.
AND, not one of those "unspeakable to" people got pissed because I did, either.

I mean, Jesus, ya know?
It's food we're serving. Ya wanna be a pussy and serve rotted produce?
I don't.
Thanks.

Since then, if I had a question or whatever, I'd ask a waitress first, of course, but I did not just automatically discount asking an owner, either. Consequently, I get along famously with all the guys who run the place, even Leo, usually.

Guess Boss Lady didn't like that too overly much.
Tough shit, Chicky.
Try being there every second I am, if ya wanna be the Queen of The Place, okay?
Otherwise, get outta my face with your high school horseshit and GIMME BACK MY STATION, TOO, YA BEE-YOTCH!!!!!

Now, I kept most of this under wraps, but apparently, some of my dislike of Fridays seeped out.
Who'da thunk?

Anyway, after Boss Lady was outta my way, I decided to ask an owner, let's call him Sweetie, since that's what he calls me, what we could do, if anything, about Fridays. What I wanted was to either be in three or be home.

Before I could even ask him, he came to me and asked me if I'd mind dropping Fridays for the summer as he has a college kid home who is interested in them. I was wide-eyed at that. "Are you psychic?", I asked him. "How'd you KNOW I was gonna come to you about this?" "Boss Lady mentioned it..."

Ahhhh. Well, whatever her intent was, however she put it to him (which I'm sure the absolute truth was NOT a part of), it worked itself out well. I'm off Fridays now, til the middle of August, when I get 'em back again. (I'll work on the "better be in three" part then. I'm just glad to be rid of them for now...)

Now, the way I got stuck with Fridays in the first place was Boss Lady begging, nagging and acting wounded til I agreed to work 'em. Then, the punkass sloughes me off into two, fucking me outta my station and making any decent money.
I do her a favor and get fucked for it.
Nice.

Then, before she leaves, I'm sure she "ratted" to Sweetie that I was an ungrateful bitch or something who did nothing but complain about shit. I think Sweetie was expecting me to react badly to his request, but when I said I was gonna hug him for it... well, he started to get the idea that Boss Lady is fulla shit. I could see that on his face.

Then, I asked him if he thought the new "Boss Lady", whomever she may be, would be screwing with the schedule or anything.
Nope.
He said, "Wanna know who you're getting?"
"Yeah..."
"ME!"

"Alriiiight. Hot damn, thank you Lord. Really? Oh, that's such a relief, so cool... oh good..." etc.
I told him I was skeert we were gonna end up with a Joan Crawford or something equally as heinous.

Thank God he busted up laughing.

So, no more horseshit of that flavor at work. Good.

Now, briefly (shaddap) about Leo... He was seeming to start to be going back into his "dick" mode a little with me. However, these days, I know to listen to the quality of his complaints and not just his tone of voice, which for every infraction sounds like ya just killed his dog, or something. The man gives ya full force over every little thing. It's stupid, mostly. And, it also teaches people (me, anyway) that yer fulla shit and nothing you say really means anything, since there is no differential between "minor shit" and "major shit".

For instance, he was getting on me a bit last week. Yelled at me two days in a row.
Wanna know what for?
Because he couldn't hear me (speaking too softly) and sliding the wrong sandwich to a waitress I thought was picking it up.

Well, shoot me in the face, right?
I'm not a screeching bitch and I was trying to help.

Puh-leeze, Leo.
Just shut up.
Okay, dillhole?

Anyway, I freaked him right outta his tighty-whities yesterday. He comes in on his day off for breakfast. When he showed up yesterday, I asked him if he'd had a chance to listen to the SRV CD I gave him about two weeks ago for not killing me over an omlette and he said, "Not yet, but I've gotta drive a ways today, so I'm taking it with me..."
"Okay. I'm really interested in whatcha think of "Riviera Paradise". That song will getcha. You'll love it..."

Then, while my balls were all big and right there for me, I jumped on into my next project with this guy, which is to get him on a horse.
If ever anybody on this planet needed the gift a horse gives you, it's this guy.
He's so tightly wound, I fully expect the top of his head to fly off someday and zip around the restaurant like a deadly boomerang, cutting off all of our heads, or something.

I asked him if he's ever been on a horse to which he replied "Noooo..." and then I hurriedly explained why I think he oughta and that there are no strings attached, if I get fired or quit, the offer will not be withdrawn and that he can either ride with Eric or I'd walk with him so he'd feel safe. He'd be on Storm, and I don't like hackamores, so I'd be on foot, not on Action, and that this isn't a bid from me to try to get special treatment, it's just that my horses were free, a gift if you will, and I feel compelled to pass that gift on to certain people sometimes and he's one of them.

He was floored.
His face and eyes changed right in front of me.
He was touched, I could see that.

He also said that his house is currently gutted and any spare time he has is spent doing that job.
To which I replied, "All the more reason you oughta get out on a horse... really."

Whether or not he does this, the offer was made and will stand, no matter how awful he behaves. In fact, the worse he behaves, the more convinced I am that he needs this.
We'll see.

I'm not done with his ass, yet.

Now, about here...

Another cat had kittens a coupla weeks ago. Had them hidden in here somewhere and I wasn't exactly looking for them, if ya know what I mean. My days of getting all excited over new cats are outta my reach right now, as is pretty much everything else, due to having 6,492 cats in my life.
So, I was a bit blase about the kittens.

Well, she finally showed 'em to me and now she has her clothesbasket and her kids out and all is well.
Except for one little thaaaang...

I saw where she was bringing them out from and decided to make sure she'd brought all of them with her and she did.
Sorta.

I could see, under the cabinet, this furry thing that wasn't moving. I could see it had fur, but what the fuck is it?

So, I excavate under there, retrieving in the process a coupla VHS tapes and about $3000 worth of cat toys and then, I finally extracted the furry thing.

It was a kitten head.

Just a head.

I'm all grossed out, hollering, "What the FUCK is this? The CATfather??? EWWWW!!!!!"

Not to even mention the half a mouse last week and the dead baby bird this morning.
Oh, and the dead mole Chyna brought to me in the bathroom yesterday as I was getting ready for work.

This is gettin' outta hand, here, Kids.
Wanna cut it out before ya's GROSS me out?

Jeezus, man.

A kitten head.
I don't think I even wanna know, ya know?

There are some sick fucks living in my house.

And, not just me, either....

In fact, they make me look positively SANE by comparison.
Hell, all's I'd want is to find a human head or twelve.
But, kitten?
Noooooo.

Stooo-ooop it.

Well, now that I've re-awakened my gag reflex, I think I oughta go smoke something.
Before I barf.

Fuckin' cats, man...
Sick bastards.

Besides, a pot-dispensing chick I work with wants to come by and check out the kittens and maybe take a few, so I need to go straighten up this house real quick. No sense letting her see how bad a few kitties can fuck up a place, right?

That's just not good subliminal advertising.

I think I've gotten alla the "gunk" outta my head anyhow.
If I remember more later, I'll be sure to letcha's know.
You know that...
*giggle*

Anyway... off to straighten up.
Back later.
Every one of you, have a great day, okay?
Please?

Thanks, man...
*big toothy grin*

Peace, y'all....

Posted by: Stevie at 01:56 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

May 17, 2005

*disgusted siiiiigh*

Honestly.

I am sooooo fuckin' annoyed right now.

And, it's stupid, too.
I know that.
BUT, thanks to the fact that my little terrorist asshole-buddy is enroute, it's enough to make me wanna do someone a serious injury.

Somebody stole a $7 tip from me.

AFTER I HUNG AROUND FOR A HOUR AND A FUCKIN' HALF WAITIN' FOR THE FUCKIN' THING!!!!!!

Yesterday, I had these two old ladies. Came in about 20 minutes before the end of my shift. I hate that. This is why.

I took care of 'em anyway, didn't slough 'em off on anybody else. Maybe I should have.

Anyway, they sat and sat and sat and friggin' SAT after they were done, for God only knows how long, because after an hour and a friggin' half, I'd had enough. The hostess chick offered to get the tip for me, which she did, wrap it up, which she did, and give it to a guy who was supposed to be working today, so he could give it to me, so that I didn't hafta sit there half the night.

All of them did all of that. There are witnesses and everything....
Got the tip, wrapped it up and put it where they put tips they hold for you.
Except, somebody else took it.

I hope they die.
They are a shitty excuse for a human in the first place and if their life sucks so damned bad they need to steal like that, they need to just go somewhere and die.

And, the thing is... I don't give a fuck about money.
I don't have any, I'm never gonna have any and I've seen what people turn into who live for the almighty dollar and I REFUSE to be of them.

If it weren't for my little terrorist fuckhead buddy coming, I'd be able to just forget this and stick with "Ain't gunna do THAT again. Next time, I wait for it.", which is all quite true, HOWEVER... I, thanks to PMS, wanna beat the shit outta whatever lowlife, scum-sucking piece of shit took it.

I hate this shit.

Do you have ANY idea how frustrating it is to be under the influence of PMS? Jesus Baldheaded CHRIST, I hate it.

Yesterday at work, prior to being ROBBED, I had a hunka time when I got slammed and one old lady decided to get shitty about her less-than-stellar service.
Between her shit and the fact that I hate being "in the weeds" because it's so hard to recover from sometimes, I wound up in tears. On the floor, delivering food with tears streaming down my face.
I was PISSED.

Shut her ass up, though, didn't it?
Yes, it did.

But, my point is... crying one day, wanting to commit murder the next.

Either it's PMS, or I've finally snapped.
And, I don't see any dudes in white jackets with nets or anything, sooo I'mina hafta go with PMS for a thousand, Alex.

A thousand joints, a thousand Xanax, or better still a thousand morphine pills.

Yeeeeah man.
That'd work.

So would beating the snot outta some loser asshole, though.
What to do, what to do?

Hmmm.
Don't got no morphine.
Do, however, still "got" my steeltoed boots on.

Wanna lay a bet as to which direction I'm leaning?

Where's one a AcidGod's trolls when ya need one?
Stupid fucks.
One of the few times ever they'd be useful for something and OF COURSE, they ain't around.
Dipshit losers.

Anybody need anybody severely beaten?

I'm willing to drive a ways to do it, too.
Don't hafta be local to me.
Just an asshole.

Seven bucks would cover it, too.
Or those thousand morphine pills...
(Ah, finally. A giggle outta me. Took long enough, damn.)

Motherfuckers, man.
Why do people hafta do this shit or why ain't I one of them?
Either people need to cut the shit, or show me how to DO the shit, 'cause this, the way it is now, sucks sweaty donkey balls.

Actually, it always has sucked, being one of those people who don't lie, cheat and steal as a matter of course when you're in a world of people who do.

And, they always profit from it AND get away with it.

I, on the otherhand, always get fucked over, hurt, ROBBED, and for YEARS, wanted to just die.
Even tried to "facilitate" that option a coupla times.
Bastards.

But, don't worry. I'm not considering that an option NOW. I'm just disgusted.
Pissed.
Sick of it.
And, again stating that in my next life, I'd better goddamned well be a GUY!!!!
Fuck this PMS shit.
I'm even more sick of THAT than I am people and we allll know how I feel about them.
The "for shit" ones, I mean.
Not every single swingin' dick on the planet, just the ones that get shoved up my ass.

There is a semi-sane part of me that hopes I never do find out who did this.
Because, if I do... God won't be ABLE to help them.
(I wanna say "Ya know?" right now, but after Rob's post about that, I think I'll skip it....)
(Ya know?)
(lmao)

Guess I'll go bite a tree or something.

I'll be back.
stupidfuckin'tipstealin'scuzzbucketdickheadwhoeveryaareIhateyou..... ohyeahanddon'tforgettoDIE!!!!!

Posted by: Stevie at 06:25 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

May 16, 2005

Good God, that felt great!

This shit just made me laugh til I literally cried.

There were a coupla others in this list that got me to giggling and shit, but this one nearly killed me.

I can just see it...
*slithers bonelessly outta chair, laughing again*

Posted by: Stevie at 09:51 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

May 15, 2005

And... I'm back.

I'm here.
I made it.

Filled the waterbed.
Hose leaked.
Badly.

Coulda been worse.
Coulda been the bed.

Filled it up, mopped up and made it up.

Then, I fed the dogs.

Then, since there was still light in the sky and I was already wet from the stupid hose, I decided "screw it" and washed the car.

I also dried it and did the interior and glass, but stopped short of vacuuming it, altho I did shake the floor mats off.

And, I did remember to put the rabbit and rooster in for the night.

I did not forget the dry cat food thingys.
They're not totally empty yet.

I'm now doing what turened out to be the REAL last load of clothes, which were 47 wet towels from the stupid hose.

I also got nekkid and threw my clothes in and got Eric to do the same.

So, I guess that means that ALL the laundry is truly done.

Oh, and speaking of cat food, I do have one lil thaaaang left to do.

Feed what looks like a SEA of cats about 6 or 7 cans of cat food in varying locations.

Kittens in a room by themselves, and all, too.

Lord, this ought be fun at this point.
How many hours is it now?

35?

Daaaamn.

No wonder my eyes feel like they've got sand in 'em.
Might also have somethin' to do with the way my neck and shoulders feel, huh?

*grin*

Yeah.
I know.
I'm going... soon.

Talk atcha's later...

Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 09:17 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Man, have I gotten a lot done...

'Course, I've been awake for about 33 or so hours.
*shrugs*

Let's see.
What have I been doing?

Well, I cleaned the house. Including vacuuming, dishes, laundry, cat boxes, critter cages and all.

In addition, I not only washed my hair, but finally trimmed it, too.
"Did" my nails, which means took off a set of tips and put on a new one.
Took the trash all the way out, as in: to the dumpster, not just to our cans.

What else?
Running errands, cooking, breathing... shit like that.

I'm about to go "do" the waterbed.
This includes, but is not limited to; getting rid of the stupid air bubble, topping off the bladder with more water and making up the damned thing from the bladder to the pillow cases.
And, since there's clean clothes sitting on the bed, it also involves fartin' around with "laundry" again.

I also need to remember to put the rooster and the rabbit back in before I pass out.

And, feed the dogs and refill the dry cat food thingys.

Anything the fuck else here?

Hmmmm...

*snzzzz.... snzzzz... snort*

Oops.
Dozed off there a sec.

Lord, I hope there's not too much more after alla that and what I do have left that I can actually think of.

All I know is that I want the last thing I do before I go to bed is to be sitting here, watching "All in the Family" or a Monkees tape or something, with the whole place clean and homeostasis being at 100% for however long it really lasts.

I wanna be here for it this time, not passed out asleep or at work.

'Cause, I promise y'all... by the time I get home from work tomorrow, it will not be in the same shape, this house won't.
The cats are already tryin' to get on my last nerve. I swear, they are CONVINCED that the sole reason I remove cat shit from this house is for them to immediately replace it. And then some.
Furry little Poop-Doh Fun Factories....

And, Peckerface (Murphy, the parrot) keeps throwing popcorn all over the floor.

Oh well.
That's why God invented vacuums, right?

And hey... that reminds me.
Anybody here have any experience with Conure parrots? I was recently given one, cage included, and I love him... her... whichever, to death and it's beyond obvious that I'm the bird's person, too. In fact, we are having a behavior issue around that.
This bird goes after just about anybody who gets near me, but... especially Eric.

Murphy turns into an extra from Hitchcock's "The Birds", if he's out of his cage and Eric walks in. Flys at him, even bit his ear once and not like a guy likes to have his ear chewed, either, mind you.

He flies at other people, too, but hasn't bitten anybody but Eric.
Except me, once.
He got a "time out" in his cage for that one.

Anyway, it'd be cool to learn how to get Murph past this and I also wanna know the esoteric little details and cool shit to know, like not burning a teflon pan near a parrot, because the fumes can kill 'em and that they can't have iceberg lettuce or avocados... shit like that.

Anything anybody can tell me, really.

In the meantime, I need to get this shit done, so...
I'm outta here.

Hope everybody has had at least a good day, if not a great one.

Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 07:25 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

May 14, 2005

Guess I'm a masochist, too, then, ya fuckin' putz....

Okay, here we go.
The mouth that roared has followed me home.
That's fine.
In fact, it's great, if it's got him the hell outta Rob's face and comments and LIFE.

Lord, whatta dingbat this one is.

Well, there's only one way to rip someone a new asshole and that's asshole-pucker-wrinkle by asshole-pucker-wrinkle, so here goes....

Seriously

Really? Finally?
Thank God.
I knew you HAD to be kidding over at Gut Rumbles.
Nobody would intentionally make themselves out to be such a jerkoff otherwise, would they?

Do you think your groupies will find themselves any more enlightened than you are?

Oh, so now y'all are "groupies".
Ain't that nice?
And, yes, I do think the people who read me are more enlightened than me. That's why, ya numbnuts, I started this blog. To get "enlightened" insights and perspectives other than my own. To bounce ideas offa people to see if it's me who's fucked up or the rest of the world. (Still "the rest of the world" so far, by the way...)

You read what you want. That is your call, and your call alone.
Ignorance of words and the meaning thereof, is neither my concern nor my
charge.

Yeah, I do. I read what I want. Mostly Stephen King, biographies of rock stars and Gut Rumbles. My call and my call alone, huh? Well, gee... thank you. So nice to know I don't hafta ask your permission as to what to read.

The sad part here is the next thing you say. "Ignorance of words and the meaning thereof, is neither my concern nor my charge..."
It damned well oughta be your concern, because your decided lack of understanding of the meaning of words is what started alla this, Dipshit. If you had understood the meaning of Rob's words- the REAL meaning- you'd have kept your fat mouth shut.
AND, you wouldn't have to resort to calling me "ignorant" every six seconds. See, if you knew the meaning of more words, you could maybe think of something new and different to call me. Right before ya start pulling my hair or throwing those spitballs. Weenie.

Truth, is. Ad hominem (such as yours) slams are what they have always been--ad hominem. Either have a real argument--which I will happily
debate to the nth degree (why do you think Rob does not argue with me?),
or STFU. You are a proving yourself to be a living example of the
proverbial saying:

If you have nothing to say, you have nothing to say.

Gawd. I barely know where to begin with this mess of a paragraph.
First off, your punctuation sucks rocks.

Second... what? Somebody give you a "word-of-the-day" roll of toilet paper, or something? Could you use "ad hominem" any more times in the space of twenty words?

And, maybe people wouldn't be so "ad hominem" with you if ya didn't make it so easy.

Besides, I didn't start out slamming you, even though you were begging for it from the get-go. From your very first sentence, you were throwing around the word "fuck".
Wanna see my first comment?

Rob's current and more than likely TEMPORARY attitude and this resultant fit of pique are both entirely understandable and, if you've ever been in his position, even defensible.
Posted by Stevie at May 13, 2005 10:08 PM

Your response to me?

Stevie
Your ignorance is radically apparent, and in your own words. too. Nothing to add. Posted by jb at May 13, 2005 10:27 PM

Soooo.
Who is slamming who?
And, I won't even go into the whole "groupie" thing you started in the your second comment. I really don't consider being thought of as Rob's groupie a slam. I do, however, think you're jealous of his.

My "real argument" all along has been: Leave it (and him) alone. Just stop it. There's nothing to debate in that, is there? Guess that's why you had to resort to using "ignorant" on me again.
*yawn*

And, for the record, I think Rob doesn't argue with you for several reasons, not the least of which is that it has proved to be a treMENdous waste of time. Plus, I doubt he gives a rat's pointy poopage what you think or say or do. And, him telling you to blow it outcher ass doesn't mean you "hit a nerve". It means you annoyed him further than he already was.
Don't pat yourself on the back for that, though. The mood he was in, the friggin' wind coulda pissed him off. But, it didn't. YOU did. And, I can't say I blame him, either, coming on like you did.
Whom exactly is it that you think you are, anyway? Telling Rob what to do... shyeah...

Next we come to your "proverbial" drivel....
First off, Poindexter, "proverbial" means either "of or like a proverb, mentioned in a proverb" or "notorious, well known", which that shit you ended that paragraph with was neither. It's not in Proverbs, I know that, and it's not well known or notorious, either. In fact, it sounds totally made up and rather redundant and kinda stupid.

"If you have nothing to say, you have nothing to say."

That's just dumb.
Well, okay. It's dumb and it's totally you.
Any of you "groupies" ever heard that one before?

Clarity for clarity's sake, and all.

Nnnnooo.... how about "clarity for CHRIST'S SAKE"? Woulda been nice if you'd have used any in Rob's comments.

hehe

Thought you were gonna be "serious".

For the record, it is your panties that exist in the particular
formation you describe . . . Mine fit fine. Do better than a cliche,
Dude.

Wrong again, Merlin.
Two times at once, even.

First off, I AIN'T WEARIN' ANY!!!!! Bwahahahahaha!!!!!

Yours fit fine... hmmm. Must be granny-panties to be able to fit your ass with your head stuck so firmly in it.

Lastly, Nimrod, I'm not a "Dude". I'm a "Dudette". Jesus. I know you can't read the meaning between the lines and certain (most) words elude you, but am I also to understand you can't even see what you're looking at in a photo, fer fuck's sake?
If ya can't see the truth of what you're looking in a photo, I'm not gonna make any bets on your ability to ferret out the real meaning of Rob's words.

I am singularly unimpressed by your very serious attempts at logic 101.

That's fine.
I am singularly unimpressed by YOU.

'Nuff said . . . unless you are a masochist.

'Nuff said, unless you are as complete an idiotic buffoon as I think.

To reiterate:
Quinton is NOT your son.
YOUR own son needs all the help you can give him.
Attacking Rob is always gonna get you strictly NOWHERE.
What Rob posts and how he conducts his relationship with his son is none of your business. Telling him to delete posts and how to be a father to his son is insulting at the very least and an outrage at this juncture, considering how many times you were told to STFU yourself by everybody over there.

Including Rob himself.

And, since you recommended a job to me, let me return the favor.
After having spent the better part of this evening engaged in this "debate" with you (note to self: Stop having battles of wits with witless wonders), my considered opinion is that you either are or should be a professional armchair quarterback.
You know.
One of those fat schlubs, in his nasty tighty-whities, with his big ol' beer gut hanging down (Do I sense a "dickie-doo" here?) who thinks he knows ever s'much more than the real quarterback who is actually playing the game. The fat mouth who keeps screaming at the TV, who'd get killed if he was actually on that field.
Those guys, like you, think they know everything about everything and they get very pouty and pissed off and resort to name-calling when nobody cares or listens to 'em.
Like you.

You'd be perfect for that job. You're a natural.

Any questions?

Sincerely,
the masochistic, sexist, radically ignorant groupie

Posted by: Stevie at 03:40 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

May 13, 2005

I said I would and I am....

I know he can take care of himself.
I'm not pissed.
In fact, I'm having a ball, making a person named "JB" get his panties in a wad and show off his incredible assininity.

And, actually... he started it.
Twice.
His first two comments were so over the top and outta line...
Christ, it was killin' me not to take him apart, point-by-point all the way down the line.

I tried.
I reeeeally tried to just make a point and let it go, but noooooo. We can't DO that, can we?

All I said was "Back off", basically, and now I'm a, what again?... a "radically ignorant groupie".
On top of being a sexist.

Ooookay.
*lmbo*

Cheese and Rice freakin' Krispies.

Would it surprise any of you if I said that the way to get a point across to Rob is NOT by attacking him repeatedly?

I didn't think so.

Some people (JB!!!) are fuckin' stupid. As in: capital "STU" and capital "PID".

Anyway...
if ya wanna know what I'm going on about now, it's ovah heah.

Update @12:47am...
Can some of you guys please read Rob's post and tell me if you see him blaming his son for anything?
JB is certifiable.

Posted by: Stevie at 11:38 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

May 12, 2005

Question...

What's it called and/or what's it mean that nearly every single day I'm at work, but hardly ever when I'm home, I happen to look at the clock when it's exactly 9:11am?

One day, I happened to look at my cell phone insteada out the window at the big bank clock and still... it was 9:11am.

Maaaaybe once every week or two, I miss a day, but, other than that, every day that I'm at work, one way or another, it seems I simply MUST see 911.

Anybody got any idea why?

Just wondering....

Posted by: Stevie at 10:58 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Oh, good God....

I guess I shoulda just answered the comments to the last post in the comments as they came.
Maybe then, people woulda "got it" about a coupla things.

First off, I wasn't pissed.
I truly was NOT typing in a fit of rage. Nor am I now.
I've done that before and I remember how it feels and that wasn't one of the times.
Jeez, I only used "fuck" a coupla times.
When I'm in a state of high piss off, that word spontaneously appears at least once every sentence.

Second, I'm perfectly aware that Rob can take care of himself.
All I said was that a post of his brought the whole subject matter to mind.
Besides which, I kinda ENJOY being a FEMALE who not only agrees with 90% of what he says, but taking it about 25 steps further and saying what he'd get castigated for saying. "Howard Stern with big ol' boobs"... remember that.

Plus, as a female especially, I kinda enjoy cuttin' the horseshit and getting straight to the point, which is, was and always will be that high maintenence cunts suck and make the rest of us look bad by association.

My blood pressure is fine, thank you for being concerned and just know I'm smiling as I type that.
(Really. I'm fine and was when I did that post, too...)

I just got called a sexist in the last comment.
Am I?
*snort*
Oh fuckin' well, if I am.
I'm probably a chauvinist, too, if that word really does mean that men are better'n women.
'Caaaause I believe they are.

Wanna know what else?
I also believe that about 90% of what is wrong with men was done to 'em by... say it with me, now... WOMEN.

Just like humans came along and fucked up a nice thing when God invented 'em and put 'em on this planet, women did the same thing to men.

This planet was fine, filled with just animals, and I firmly believe it'd be in lots better shape NOW, if God had stopped a day sooner with his inventing than he did. Say, BEFORE he did people...
Men were just fine, too, til fuckin' stupid women starting messing with their heads, hearts and every little move they make and word they say.

A lot of things in this world were just fine, til women started yapping and gettin' stupid.

Prepare to getcher panties in a bunch...
The "women's movement" was a buncha shit.
So was/is the whole "ERA" thing.
Wanna know what "ERA" stands for to me? Primarily, it's "earned run average". Second definition is "laundry detergent".

Women don't want "equal rights". They want all the rights, with men having NONE.
They don't want to be treated as "equals". They want to be seen as men's "owners" or something that a man can't or shouldn't be allowed to even function without.
Bullshit.
And, if ya don't believe me, spend a day sitting in a family courtroom, or even just in the hallway outside a family courtroom and see who it is that comes out looking "vindicated" and who it is that comes out looking dazed, confused and thoroughly fucked over.
And, keep in mind... the truth about who the villain really is matters not.
In fact, even when it's proven beyond a doubt who the evil bastard is in any given situation, it STILL doesn't matter as long as said evil bastard has a pussy.

And that, friends and neighbors, is bullshit in the purest ray serene.

I'm just hoping that karma catches up with these lying bitches in my lifetime. I'm simply all a-quiver, waiting to see women get what they truly deserve.
Hell, I wanna help dispense that karma, if I can. I want to run at that pendulum, hit that sucker at full speed, and help swing it back toward the men's side of life, actually. As many times as it takes, too.
After what women have done to me, my mind and a large part of my life, I think I oughta be "utilized" in a revenge capacity.
It'd be FUN.

Not to even mention...
Men usta be men, ya know?
John Wayne, for instance.
How the FUCK did we get from men like the Duke to pussies like Phil Donahue?
Who's fault is that whole phenomenon?
Guys do that crap to themselves, did they?
I don't think so (Tim).

And, can anyone tell me just WHERE it is that some "women" get the idea that they're so special or so wonderful that a man, or anybody ELSE on the planet, needs to jump through hoops, kiss ass and follow a bunch of senseless, arbitrary "rules" to be around them while they sit back and act any goddamned way they please?
Who fed them this shit?
That's who it is that really needs a jawjacking.
Seriously.
(Still not pissed, by the way...)

(And, by the way, "Briar"-person... what in the HELL were you googling that you found that post? "Women are cunts"?... *lmao*)

Is it my fault that nine and a half outta every ten worthless pieces of shit I've known in my life were women?
I didn't seek them out.
I didn't ask them to fuck me over like they all did.
THEY chose to do that.

And, yeah, I've been hurt by men, too, BUT... it was because of what some other female had put 'em through.
I can excuse men's "bad behavior" because I understand it.
Can't and won't do that for women, because there IS no understanding them, now is there?

Sam Kinison... genius.
Robert M. Smith... victim/survivor.
Eric... victim/survivor.

These guys are my "holy trinity".
When I hear shit about shit that shitty women have done, these three flash through my mind in a nano-second and therein lies my responses to fuckin' women.
Like Sam said... I don't advocate beating the shit outta women, but I UNDERSTAND IT!!!!!!

(And, for the record, if I really did have balls, I'd be laughing 'em off right now...)
Well, yeah, I know.
I do have balls.
Brass ones, according to my dead mother.
Heh.
The one thing she was ever right about...

Anyway....
Here are my "rules":
1. Women suck.
2. If you're a woman, 9 outta 10 times when ya open your mouth, I wish you'd just shut up. For all our sakes, if not your own.
3. I absolutely love Rob and will stand toe-to-toe with ANYBODY who wants to debate this issue. Or any issue about him. That man saved my life, okay? He saved my mind, too (what little I had left). Just ask my Dad. Hell, even Dad's wife said "Thank God for your blog..." because of how much it's helped me grow and change for the better. Well, that's fine. Thank God all ya want. Just don't forget to thank Rob, too. To me, the man is a hero. Not only did he air his broken heart and save me by doing so, he's also been just about more fucked over by one woman than I was all the useless bitches I've been stuck knowing put together. And... he's still standing tall. Walking tall, if you will. (If you won't... then bite me.)
4. Say what you really feel. The truth is the most important and least utilized thing in life. The ones who matter won't mind and the ones who mind don't matter. At all. In fact, if someone "minds" you speaking your mind, hence your "truth", that is a sign to RUN!!!!! Only control-freak assholes want to censor people, right?
Right.

Oh, and here's about as close to Rob's particular situation as I'm gonna go...

These stupid people (women) who keep giving him so much shit about what he says and does call themselves his "friends".
Well, excuse me, buuuut....
In the real world, the definition nof the word "friend" is NOT: One who knows you and has met you in person and maybe even talks to ya on the phone and therefore has the right to expect certain behaviors from you and for you to CHANGE for them and be someone you're not. It also doesn't mean: I will have an understanding of what you've been put through, will dismiss that, and expect perfection from you anyway.

In other words, if you're gonna hang out with a painfully wounded lion and ya happen to be of the same species that did him his grievious injuries, ya kindaoughta expect to see teeth, hear growls and if ya don't have the brains to back the fuck off, even get bit now and then.
Not his fault.
YOU choose to be around him and then get all "offended" when his primal nature shows.
Da fuck do ya expect after what he's gone through?
I'll tell ya what you expect... y'all expect him to put aside alla that and treat you "special", which... you ain't.
In fact, the instant you start "expecting" shit from him, you're proving yourself to be the exact same kinda bitch/witch/woman that his ex is.
You suck him in with all this "friendship" shit, get him to feeling halfway comfortable with you, then change up on his ass.

In my world, if he actually gets to the point where he's being himself around you, that's a GOOD thing. Not something you need to try to change.

If ya can't run with the big, honest dogs without pissing and moaning and bitching about it, stay on the goddamned porch and just watch the rest of us have a blast.
'Cause, we are, ya know.
Laughing at your hypocrisy and horseshit and most of all... YOU.
So sad when the worst offenders are so blind to their own bullshit behavior.
Sad, but incongruously funny, too.
You stupid, sad people are doing the EXACT SAME THING you give him so much grief over... showing the truth of what you are. Which, in most of your cases, is insecure control-freaks.

Next time Rob speaks the truth and you feel your panties waddin' up, instead of firing off a missive to him about how wrong he is to think and feel the way he does, maybe ya oughta write to YOURSELF about why you have such issues with the man and the truth.

I'm just sayin'.
(And, nope. Still not pissed...)

Posted by: Stevie at 07:06 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

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