So I've decided that tactless is the way to begin 2011 so here you go:
So Happy New Year.
Hoppy Pneu Yeer!
HAPEE NUUU YAIR!!
Okay, that's the extent of my creativity for the first weekend of 2011.
Wait, hold on, I need to exhibit a bit more control of my lack of tact [that sentence hurt my brain to type]:
I feel so much better having gotten that out, whew, thanks for your patience.
So, I spent last night filled with regret.
Major regret.
Hell, Three Star General with two tours in 'Nam Regret.
REE.
GREHT.
I was feeling carefree, I was feeling reckless, hell, I was feeling no pain at all.
So I went to the Red Box (for those of you cretins that lack this marvel, it's a tall, wait for it ... red ... box ... located outside grocery stores and such that rents you current DVDs for $1 a night.
This:
And being the whacky, bored schmuck that I am I rented this:
Holy shit.
I want my $1 back.
And I want to be reimbursed for the two hours of my life spent gaping at the screen wondering if it was possible for me to hate a movie more.
What.the.hell.
Steaming pile of refuse would be too kind in describing this film and the bad guy was so goddamn predictable from the first 14 seconds of the film I wanted to scream.
I may actually have screamed, I recall not.
And I'll come clean here; I love me some Angie.
I can completely hear you reading this, munching on your cornflakes muttering, "Yeah, yeah, you and every other male/female/orangutan."
Fair enough. Good point. I get it. So all I'm going to say to defend this is one word:
Hackers
Thank you, good night.
Oh, Brad, you debonaire son of a bitch you.
Switching gears, I thought I'd start 2011 ... oh, wait ... remember that lack of tact?
Okay, gears switched.
I decided that starting off the new year it's only fair that I provide new information about the only thing I'm really very sure of and that's ... me.
I lie.
I'm as confused about myself as I am every other thing on this planet (especially Budweiser Lime beer, what the hell is that?) but being that it's about me and no one knows me but me I'm free to state random nonsense and no one can correct it.
So, without further adieu, here are ten things that I know for a fact that you do not know about me.
1) I read magazines from back to front. Always have. Not sure why.
2) I call Bones, my cat, by his nickname more often than I call him Bones. His nickname os Bobaloo.
I will send one gillion dollars if you know where that quote is from.
You will not guess it.
3) The first word I ever uttered as a wee one was, "Ging" which mean strength in Chinese or "gang, group or troop" in, um, English I think.
4) My great grandfather's name is Percival Septimus Skene. His middle name had to do with him being the seventh son.
5) I have a scar on my chest from a girlfriend that was really into biting and decided she wanted to taste my blood while making out. Do not try this, it hurts ridiculously.
6) I got busted shoplifting "candy" at age six. I took it because I wanted to share it with the cute little blonde girl next door. The problem was that they were Tums (I was not too bright back then either) and her father came over and told my father that I was giving his kid antacids.
7) I killed my pet gerbil as I was kneeling to stop here from running away. Oh, I stopped her alright. With my knee. Her name was Susan. I cried for a week.
8) I have a suit of 14th century plate armour and practice full-speed, fully-armored, no-holds-barred, sword fighting with the folks that I work with at the Renaissance Festival yearly when they pass through. Yes, swords. Blunted metal. If I don't bleed once a weekend I consider it a lame weekend.
9) As I mentioned prior I annually bartend at the local Renaissance Festival for the eight weeks it's in town.
I still consider running away and traveling with them. Seriously. I get offers every year and each year I'm closer and closer to do so.
10) I always hum to myself when I cross the street. Always.
By the way, when you're rich and famous please buy me this:
It's a bottle of Lowebrau lager, recovered from the wreckage of the German airship Hindenburg after it burst into flames as it moored at Lakehurst, New Jersey, on May 6, 1937.
It recently sold for over $16,000, setting the new world record for the Most Expensive Bottle of Beer.
The brown bottle of Lowenbrau lager was discovered in the wreckage by Leroy Smith, a fire chief on the scene. Smith discovered a total of six bottles and a pitcher at the scene of the disaster. He distributed four of the bottles as souvenirs to colleagues and one to the Lowenbrau brewery in 1977, where it still remains.
Speaking of destroyed in a fire, some things ought to be:
My birthdays not until May, so I'm giving you some serious advance notice to get me this:
I already miss the snow from when I was in North Carolina. It was a total bitch to get around in since I wasn't prepared and because I had to return a rental car. If this had not been the case I would have built this:
Being that I'm in semitropical weather here in Florida 90% of the year I'm more used to rain.
And hippopotamuses.
Anyhoo, I'm off to go pollute my body with liberal doses of caffeine and a beer or two.
transitioning to
Lub,
Scotty
So Happy New Year.
Hoppy Pneu Yeer!
HAPEE NUUU YAIR!!
Okay, that's the extent of my creativity for the first weekend of 2011.
Wait, hold on, I need to exhibit a bit more control of my lack of tact [that sentence hurt my brain to type]:
I feel so much better having gotten that out, whew, thanks for your patience.
So, I spent last night filled with regret.
Major regret.
Hell, Three Star General with two tours in 'Nam Regret.
REE.
GREHT.
I was feeling carefree, I was feeling reckless, hell, I was feeling no pain at all.
So I went to the Red Box (for those of you cretins that lack this marvel, it's a tall, wait for it ... red ... box ... located outside grocery stores and such that rents you current DVDs for $1 a night.
This:
And being the whacky, bored schmuck that I am I rented this:
Holy shit.
I want my $1 back.
And I want to be reimbursed for the two hours of my life spent gaping at the screen wondering if it was possible for me to hate a movie more.
What.the.hell.
Steaming pile of refuse would be too kind in describing this film and the bad guy was so goddamn predictable from the first 14 seconds of the film I wanted to scream.
I may actually have screamed, I recall not.
And I'll come clean here; I love me some Angie.
I can completely hear you reading this, munching on your cornflakes muttering, "Yeah, yeah, you and every other male/female/orangutan."
Fair enough. Good point. I get it. So all I'm going to say to defend this is one word:
Hackers
Thank you, good night.
Oh, Brad, you debonaire son of a bitch you.
Switching gears, I thought I'd start 2011 ... oh, wait ... remember that lack of tact?
Okay, gears switched.
I decided that starting off the new year it's only fair that I provide new information about the only thing I'm really very sure of and that's ... me.
I lie.
I'm as confused about myself as I am every other thing on this planet (especially Budweiser Lime beer, what the hell is that?) but being that it's about me and no one knows me but me I'm free to state random nonsense and no one can correct it.
So, without further adieu, here are ten things that I know for a fact that you do not know about me.
1) I read magazines from back to front. Always have. Not sure why.
2) I call Bones, my cat, by his nickname more often than I call him Bones. His nickname os Bobaloo.
I will send one gillion dollars if you know where that quote is from.
You will not guess it.
3) The first word I ever uttered as a wee one was, "Ging" which mean strength in Chinese or "gang, group or troop" in, um, English I think.
4) My great grandfather's name is Percival Septimus Skene. His middle name had to do with him being the seventh son.
5) I have a scar on my chest from a girlfriend that was really into biting and decided she wanted to taste my blood while making out. Do not try this, it hurts ridiculously.
6) I got busted shoplifting "candy" at age six. I took it because I wanted to share it with the cute little blonde girl next door. The problem was that they were Tums (I was not too bright back then either) and her father came over and told my father that I was giving his kid antacids.
7) I killed my pet gerbil as I was kneeling to stop here from running away. Oh, I stopped her alright. With my knee. Her name was Susan. I cried for a week.
8) I have a suit of 14th century plate armour and practice full-speed, fully-armored, no-holds-barred, sword fighting with the folks that I work with at the Renaissance Festival yearly when they pass through. Yes, swords. Blunted metal. If I don't bleed once a weekend I consider it a lame weekend.
9) As I mentioned prior I annually bartend at the local Renaissance Festival for the eight weeks it's in town.
I still consider running away and traveling with them. Seriously. I get offers every year and each year I'm closer and closer to do so.
10) I always hum to myself when I cross the street. Always.
By the way, when you're rich and famous please buy me this:
It's a bottle of Lowebrau lager, recovered from the wreckage of the German airship Hindenburg after it burst into flames as it moored at Lakehurst, New Jersey, on May 6, 1937.
It recently sold for over $16,000, setting the new world record for the Most Expensive Bottle of Beer.
The brown bottle of Lowenbrau lager was discovered in the wreckage by Leroy Smith, a fire chief on the scene. Smith discovered a total of six bottles and a pitcher at the scene of the disaster. He distributed four of the bottles as souvenirs to colleagues and one to the Lowenbrau brewery in 1977, where it still remains.
Speaking of destroyed in a fire, some things ought to be:
My birthdays not until May, so I'm giving you some serious advance notice to get me this:
I already miss the snow from when I was in North Carolina. It was a total bitch to get around in since I wasn't prepared and because I had to return a rental car. If this had not been the case I would have built this:
Being that I'm in semitropical weather here in Florida 90% of the year I'm more used to rain.
And hippopotamuses.
Anyhoo, I'm off to go pollute my body with liberal doses of caffeine and a beer or two.
transitioning to
Lub,
Scotty
VIEW 14 of 14 COMMENTS
First, I wouldn't blame you for calling me Crash! Cars are mean, damnit!
Second, I like your Tum-thieving story, hahaha.
&third, Susan is a great name for a gerbil -- I had two named Winston & Julia!
&&The unicorn farts are helping more than you can ever know!!