Poolhall Assholes

Being a professional writer isn’t easy. Especially when you’re not a great writer. I’ll admit, I think I have my moments sometime, but, this shit doesn’t just come out of nowhere, I have to think about it… a lot. And hard. Long and hard. Here’s a short story:


Charlie, Jordan, and Jimmy were tired of loitering at the coffee shop. They were planning to go to their favorite pub when Jordan interjected. “Hey, let’s go to that shithole, Louie’s, so I can eat and you guys can grab a beer.” They went to Louie’s. Jordan ordered the “Macho Chicken Nachos”, Jimmy the “Southwestern Egg rolls”, while Charlie ordered nothing. The food was as expected… not that good, but it did the job. Fuel. Jordan was nursing a hangover and desperately needed fuel, hence going to Louie’s.
The gang ate then promptly left. To Finnegan’s Fighting Goat to play some pool and reminisce. The pool tables were occupied, but the beer flowed freely. They sat at some tall tables in the back by the pool tables to wait out the old fucks shooting like sloppy drunk assholes. They… took… forever. So long, in fact, Jimmy retired for home. The trio was torn to a duo.
The tables were occupied by two different couples that seemed to know each other. At the beginning of each game one of the pool champions would break and then strike up a conversation with someone from the other table. In between inter-table conversations the couple closest to Jordan and Charlie would sneak in little kisses and long gross make-outs. Gross, indeed! Old drunken redneck smacking sounds followed by bellows of ignorant laughter and probably silent farts. They could only assume the horrible flatulent smell was exuding from these disgusting people.
After a few more grotesque minutes the couple furthest from the two gentlemen, known as Charles and Jordan, left the table for the bar. The lady passed Charlie as he politely asked “Excuse me, are you two done playing?” to which the lady responded “Yes.” with a head nod. That was their “cue”. The two grabbed some pool cues and Jordan began racking the balls. Just as the rack was set the gentleman who had left the table came back, surprised, and started accusing Charlie of stealing the table. Which, by the way, was a free table. It costs no money to play and had been abandoned. “What the hell? You’re stealing the table from us?!” Yelled the portly man to Charlie. “No, we asked the lady you with if you guys were done, and she said ‘yes’.” He replied. But, the old bugger wasn’t having it. “You’re a fucking liar!” This exchange seemed to upset the swine of a man at the other table. He quickly came to the aid of the accuser. “You can’t just fucking steal the table! You gotta play for it!” But, no matter how calmly Charlie would explain that he asked for the table and was told that it was open, they wouldn’t believe him, nor calm down. It seemed the two gentlemen were on their way to a fight with two old fat fucks with necks more red than the Devil’s dick. BUT… Charlie being the calm and collected gentleman he is, cooled the situation down and decided to give the table back. If you ask this author, the gentlemen should have taken the lower road and broke those fucking cues over their skulls. But, what do I know. I guess the moral of the story is, old people are gross. Well, most of them.

The 2nd Worst Morning Ever

 When God gives you lemons you open a door, or something. It’s not always easy to make the best out of a “shitty” situation, but, God dammit, sometimes you just gotta carefully remove your soiled boxer briefs and carry on.
A few nights ago I had a night on the town with a few friends and I’m pretty sure I hit it harder than the rest. I had no intention of going out that night, but after a ten hour shift in a kitchen, I felt I deserved a few drinks. I got off work and leisurely enjoyed a cold brew with my shift meal. Some co-workers discarded a few glasses of wine, so I helped myself. This action swiftly set me up for a successful night.
My buds and I met a local pub, tossed back a few pints, met some d-bag named Ian, who is apparently a really awesome dude (he might say), and split for another bar.
 “WHOA! IAN! YOU‘RE AT THIS BAR TOO?! Another shot? I’d love one.”
We carried on throughout the night like respectful young adults then parted ways. I ended up sleeping, off and on, until about 3:30 pm the next day, right before I had work. The three and half hours I was there were hell. My stomach felt like it was going to fall out of my ass and my head felt… well, my head didn’t feel that bad, actually. It was mainly my tummy. So, I get off work, go home, and slept like a baby for 8 solid hours. This rarely happens, I usually just take two four hour naps everyday.
I, surprisingly, felt really good this morning. It seemed as if my stomach problems were done for. I got dressed for work and went to the bathroom to take a pisser. I felt a little gas and decided to go ahead and let it go. Within a second I instantly regretted this decision. The poot made no sound, and felt… wet. I moved my right butt cheek half an inch and knew right then. I had heard of this sort of thing happening to people my age all the time, but never thought it would happen to me. Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve heard of it happening a few times, and I have been waiting for years for it to happen to me. I’m actually pretty surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. But, now, after twenty-some-odd years, I have joined the ranks of people who have shit their pants after infancy. And good day to you.

Worst. Post. Ever.

Well, day four. I have nothing to say. Absolutely nothing. I did hear a good joke yesterday. Well, read… I read a good joke yesterday.
Q: Why aren’t there any jokes about the Jonestown Massacre?
A: The punch line is too long.
Get it? They all killed themselves by drinking cyanide laced punch! Genius! Actually, I think a whole lot of the people at Jonestown might have been forced to drink it against their will, and the whole thing was real tragic, but… Tragedy and comedy go together like mustard and coffee. That analogy too much for you? Deal with it. Chump.

Good Gravy

It’s really hard for me to take a stance on most things. I try to be objective in most situations. And probably too objective. Almost to the point of defending horrible human beings and their horrible actions. I’m not, inherently, a bad person. I do bad things from time to time, but, “bad” is a subjective term. SEE! That’s what I’m talking about. If I ever do take a stance on something, it’s a “well, who am I to judge?” stance, which isn't a stance. But, really, Who am I to judge? Everyone is made of the same stuff, we’re all basically the same thing. We all have our own ideologies and prejudices, but at some point we were all exactly the same. If only for about a year or two right after we were all born, respectively. As Pete Holmes says, “It’s amazing to me to think that every person on Earth has, at least one time, had diarrhea.” We can make awful cosmic references to human inter-connectivity, or we can make crude understatements of how every human being is somehow connected. We might take different roads, but we’ll end up in the same place. It’s real easy to get wrapped up in ones life. Bullshit constantly drops from the sky, some people are just better at dodging it. A good way to dodge it is to look at life for what it really is… a big fucking joke. This doesn't have to be a depressing statement if you don’t want it to be. Life’s a joke, so laugh at it. Have fun. Tear shit up, but not people. A lot of people make it seem like the human race is a terrible disease slowly killing itself and it’s home, and that may very well be the case, but, let’s not let those fucks ruin our party, it’s only midnight.

Workin' It

Stream of consciousness #2 - I have to write. I don’t know what about, but I have to write, so, I’m doing these “stream of consciousness” things. I think, then I write. I hear it’s some kind of writing exercise that writers do.

My day off work consists of such:
Noon - Too early to get up on such a beautiful day.
1:45pm - Sandwich, back to bed.
2:00pm - Think about what it would be like to get out of bed. Oh, all the things I could do.
8:00pm - Coffee, write.
9:00pm - Think about how stupid I am for having a job.
4:37am - Lay awake in bed and think about how stupid I am for not going to bed at a reasonable hour.
4:39am - Sleep.

I’m a busy man with nothing to do. I make food for a bunch of people I’ve never met, nor do I care to meet. They surely know what Italian food is. These people ALL HAVE TASTE… GOOD TASTE.

Takin' Care of Business

Stream of consciousness #1 - Ok, so, the Casualties are rapists. Who cares? People rape and get raped. I’m not condoning it by any means, but… They’re not that good anyway, so you shouldn't support them on principle of that. In other news, let’s do this for real. Let’s start a fire. At a church. Let’s burn that shit down then move on the Washington and burn that shit down. Revolution? Fuck no. No one cares about that shit. It’s all a bunch of bologna. Let’s just wreck shit until no one wants it anymore and we can take back what is rightfully ours. You know, like Justin Timberlake did with N’sync. We’ll plant our seed in every town we pass through and kill the old people who try to stop us. We’re not in this to change anyone’s lives but our own. We’re selfish and we know it. They made us this way and then try to blame us for it. FUCK THEM! Who are they? They are the old, they are the ignorant, they are you. Well, maybe not you, but they’re definitely not us. Creating isn't easy, unless you’re into that hippy dippy shit and believe that everything is beautiful. Everything is not beautiful. Most things are disgusting, in fact. Like rape. Rape is disgusting and we've been the ass end of it for too long. Well, guy, I’m done being raped. If the revolution does come I’m not stock piling a bunch of guns and canned food. I’m sitting in front of my record player until the electricity goes out, then I’ll go sit outside for a while and watch the stars every night. Nothing romantic, nothing beautiful, just day-to-day shit. Keepin’ it real. As long as pot comes from the ground you’ll always have something to do. Stay on your toes, dress warm when it’s cold, hold your babies tight… the road might get a little bumpy.

The Coolest Year Ever

I haven't seen my apartment in days. And I haven't updated this shit in a while. Who cares? I don't.

Anyway, I've been thinking about the past year, you know, 2012. Righteous ass year, right, bro? Sure. The perfect way to cap off a shitty year... sucker punched by some douche named Dino. Couldn't ask for anything better.

Really, though, I thought this shit was supposed to end. Fuck the Mayans.

Here's a badass review of music from this past year from Brady W-Hunt. Read it. All of it.

http://vastogaw.wordpress.com/2012/12/31/top-5-albums-of-2012/