This is the glamorous.

Shooting At Unarmed Men - Boredom Is the Feeling That Everything...

Thu, 02 Sep 2010 14:14:00 -0500

Shooting At Unarmed Men - Boredom Is the Feeling That Everything Is a Waste of Time

Oh, the Urbanity!

Thu, 02 Sep 2010 10:56:34 -0500

Oh, the Urbanity!

Going to work is much like any other date I've been on.

Thu, 02 Sep 2010 10:33:00 -0500

(or, the closest you’ll ever get me to participate in Super Sexy Thursday, tumblrverse.)

I have a shirt that I wear on first dates that hits the exact target of “we’re on a casual date but I still got dressed up.” It’s clearly a shirt would be very acceptable in a business setting. It’s one of the few shirts that when I wear it I know I look good in it. Also, I’m not a cologne person. That doesn’t mean I don’t like to smell good, but I try to smell as neutral as possible in my day-to-day existence. Typically, I only wear cologne when I’m on a date or going to some sort of high-falutin’ social event. For whatever reason this morning, I decided to wear ‘the date shirt’ and cologne to work. Maybe I wanted to bolster my confidence, maybe I wanted to hit on the woman who’s outside the Subway near my office with a shopping cart filled with garbage who screams for change at everyone, or maybe I knew that pimpin’ ain’t easy and life is my trick. The point is I left my apartment this morning thinking (knowing?) I smelled and looked like a champ.

As I walked from my bus stop to my office, the rain started to come down and I didn’t bring an umbrella. Annoying, but the dots of water on me will soon dry off. As I get right in front of my office, a car speeds by, hits a puddle, and sprays me with dirty water. Again, not the end of the world, but all the water seemed to fly directly on my pants so it looks like I pissed myself. I get into my office (after grabbing some paper towels to clean myself off) and one of my co-workers walks in to say hello. As soon as she walks in, she says, “Hey! How are… HAHAHAHA!” She points at my pants which clearly makes me look like I need undergarments. “I’m so sorry, but that’s funny.” We talk for awhile and before she goes she says, “By the way, are you wearing cologne? Because it smells great. More than I can say for your pants. HAHAHAHA!” At that moment I realize this day at work is like most of the first dates I’ve been on: I try my best to look good, no matter how hard I try I spill something on myself, and a woman is laughing at me just not in the way I wanted.

Threatmantics - Big Man

Thu, 02 Sep 2010 02:45:53 -0500

Threatmantics - Big Man

www.hackiswack.com

Thu, 02 Sep 2010 01:23:23 -0500

www.hackiswack.com

Minor Threat - In My Eyesfairest

Wed, 01 Sep 2010 21:04:28 -0500

Minor Threat - In My Eyes
fairest

Iron & Wine - Woman Kingsufferbus

Wed, 01 Sep 2010 15:48:43 -0500

Iron & Wine - Woman King
sufferbus

oldtobegin:pressdarling:ihatemyname:katreeeena

Wed, 01 Sep 2010 11:34:30 -0500

oldtobegin:pressdarling:ihatemyname:katreeeena

Interpreting office speak.

Wed, 01 Sep 2010 10:31:00 -0500

Coworker: “Man, your office is sparse. There is nothing in here!”
(translation: Word around the office is you’re leaving. You’re not thinking of leaving already, are you?)

Me: “Yeah, I know. I was thinking that as well.”
(translation: Fucking lay off. I’m not leaving.)

Coworker: “You’re here most of the day. You should make it look more like home.”
(translation: This is my polite way of figuring out your private life.)

Me: “Trust me, if I had things to bring I would. Plus, I don’t drive here so I don’t want to haul things on the bus, you know.”
(translation: I ain’t telling you shit about my private life. Plus, all I have is hardcore porn at home. You want me to bring that? Because I will. I GODDAMN WILL. Plus, I really don’t want to look like a doofus on the bus.)

Coworker: “When I first got my office, I immediately brought my entire collection of little teddy bears my kids have given me over the years.”
(translation: I’m so alone.)

Me: “Oh, that’s so sweet! Yeah, I was thinking I need to bring a plant or something. And preferably something that smells nice.”
(translation: I feel ya, I’m alone as well. Also, I fart non-stop when the door is shut so I want to mask the odor.)

Coworker: “OK, I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”
(translation: OK, so you’re not leaving?)

Me: “I know I’m being slow about it but, trust me, give me time. I’ll have this office looking livable soon.”
(translation: No, I’m not leaving. I just don’t care about shit like that. SO BACK OFF.)

Those Bastard Souls - Telegram

Tue, 31 Aug 2010 23:19:00 -0500

Those Bastard Souls - Telegram

Arcade Fire's "The Suburbs"

Tue, 31 Aug 2010 22:34:38 -0500

eventualghost:

I feel like I should start a tumblrreviewsreviewed Tumblr.

Here’s a review of the Arcade Fire’s “The Suburbs” album:

If you’re a teen, you may like it because your older brother at college likes it.

If you’re in your 20’s, you may like it because it is swelling and magisterial and makes you feel like the world holds eternal promise. Or, you may dislike it because it is insufficiently ________.

If you’re in your 30’s, you may like it because it reminds you of The Cure or R.E.M. or because you heard it on NPR.

If you’re in your 40’s, you may like it because it reminds you of U2.

If you’re in your 50’s, you’re wondering why young bands don’t sing about fast cars and puss anymore.

If you’re in your 60’s, you may like it because you heard it on NPR.

For cmpblldllghn and anyone else interested. Also, he wrote the...

Tue, 31 Aug 2010 19:43:39 -0500

For cmpblldllghn and anyone else interested.

Also, he wrote the websites on the backs of the tear-away taxi receipts. The one that shows the actual front of the receipt is the ‘mob’ one.

weselec replied to your post: Later bitches. I’m off to get the Holy Grail with a tweeked-out...

Tue, 31 Aug 2010 12:23:43 -0500

weselec replied to your post: Later bitches. I’m off to get the Holy Grail with a tweeked-out Polish cabbie.

Why is your life so fantastically interesting?

First, my life is not that interesting. I only talk about the interesting parts. Believe me for every one of these incidents there are thousands of me sitting at home in my boxers angry that Friday Night Lights’ season is over. WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN TO TIM IN JAIL?! AND WHAT ABOUT VINCE PAYING BACK THOSE GANG MEMBERS FOR HIS MOM’S REHAB? THERE ARE SO MANY QUESTIONS. Trust me, I am boring 99% of the time. A lot of me reading, farting around the internet (and literally farting), and figuring out how to get that black mildew off my shower tile grout. The 1% I just try to make sound as entertaining as possible.

Second, I will be the first to admit that I have an equal propensity to attract weirdos as well as dive head long into situations where I know someone is going to do something awesome. I think I’ve talked about it before but people of a certain ilk seem to be attracted to me. These people tend to be homeless and/or street people. I believe it’s because I’m fat and have glasses. I think they interpret that as meaning I’m well-fed and have medical insurance so that means I have money (I DON’T.) Also, who else is fat and has glasses? That’s right, Santa Claus. Also, if I see a man standing on a street corner taking off his pants and complaining about the state of the grape harvest to his friend the ghost, I will probably walk up to him and try to start a conversation.

Third, stuff like this happens to other people all the time. Trust me. Everyone has weird experiences everyday. The only difference is they don’t write it down and try to make it sound entertaining. The instance with that cabbie last night? FRIGHTENING AS SHIT. A hyper Polish man was telling me about a Forex scam and had me locked in his cab. Thank god I tipped him well.

cmpblldllghn replied to your post: Later bitches. I’m off to get the Holy Grail with a tweeked-out Polish cabbie.

this is an incredible story and if you don’t mind, please email me the websites bc i am very interested in this business venture

When I get home, I’ll scan the papers he gave me. Well, all of them except one. The one he said was the website run by the Russian mob. I hope you understand.

Later bitches. I'm off to get the Holy Grail with a tweeked-out Polish cabbie.

Tue, 31 Aug 2010 11:48:00 -0500

(Due to the possible ramifications of using his real name, the taxi driver’s name in the proceeding story has been changed. Because I don’t want to die.)

Due to my inability to tell time and read the bus schedule, I had to take a cab home. Thankfully, I was on a fairly well-traveled street so I was able to get a taxi pretty quickly. The taxi driver in an extremely thick Polish accent asked, ”Where are we off to, my friend?” After telling him my address, we quickly sped off. He immediately started talking.

Nikolai: “Hello my friend, my name is Nikolai. What is your name?”
Me: “My name is David. It’s nice to meet you.”
Nikolai: [laughing] “Me too! Me too! David, how long do you think it takes to get to your place?”
Me: “Ahh, from here? I’ll say maybe 20-25 minutes.”
Nikolai: “Right. I’ll get us there in less than 20.”

Nikolai starts speeding through the streets faster than any cab I’ve ever been in. He’s swerving in and around other cars. He’s slipping past parked cars with the width of a piece of paper to spare. He’s yelling out his window at bicyclists and pedestrians who are slowing him down.

Nikolai: “David, do you smoke?”
Me: “No, no I don’t.”
Nikolai: “Good for you. I was going to tell you if you wanted to smoke that you could. I admit it was so I could smoke too. But good for you for not smoking. One more thing. Do you mind if I turn on radio? It’s Sirius. I want to listen to Fox News.”
Me: “No, that’s fine.”
Nikolai: “I understand that not everyone likes Fox News. I swear I only listen to business report. They have best business report on Sirius.”

Nikolai turns on his radio and starts blaring Fox News. He is speeding faster and faster though residential streets, taking short cuts that I didn’t know could be short cuts, and all the while getting call after call on his cell phone. He’s shouting in Polish and English at the callers and frequently saying, “NOT NOW, I HAVE A CLIENT!”

Nikolai: “David, I feel great today. How about you?”
Me: “Great! I feel great today as well.”
Nikolai: “Excellent! David, you know why I feel great? Because I take this pill everyday and WHOOSH! I’m filled with energy all day. It’s the best.”

As we approach my street I look down at his radio to see what the clock says. The trip appears to have taken 17 minutes. Nikolai tells me the fare and I give him a fairly large tip. The tip is for the short amount of time of the ride and that he’s given me plenty of fodder to write about. Nikolai sees the tip, his eyes get big, and he hits the button power locking all the doors.

Nikolai: “David, this is a generous tip. I want to repay.”
Me: “Oh, no, that’s OK…”
Nikolai: “Look at this!”

Nikolai produces an iPad. He quickly brings up a picture of a desk with at least 8 LCD monitors on it all belching out financial charts and hands the iPad to me.

Nikolai: “What do you see there?”
Me: “Umm, computer monitors with charts on them?”
Nikolai: “Exactly! That is my home computer set-up. David, you are so nice to me I want to be nice to you. What do you do for business?”
Me: “Sales.”
Nikolai: “What kind?”
Me: [REDACTED, I tell him what I ‘sell.’ Sorry, it would give away where I work.]
Nikolai: “Then you should know this. What is the Holy Grail of sales?”
Me: “I’m sorry.”
Nikolai: “What is the Holy Grail of sales?”
Me: “I have no idea.”
Nikolai: “Money. Literally selling money. Here!”

Nikolai pulls out a tiny pad of paper and scribbles down a number of websites on them. He hands the paper to me as I hand back his iPad.

Nikolai: “I have two jobs. I drive this taxi and I trade currency. You know, FOREX. You see, I drive taxi to make instant money. Cash on hand, no? But with my computers, I trade Euros and Yen the rest of the time. If I have good day trading, I don’t drive taxi that day. If I have bad day, I drive taxi until I make the amount I want. And, when I want vacation I just take it. But currency, I’m telling you, is the best. I bought this taxi brand new because of currency. I buy this computers and iPad because of currency. How much you make last year?”
Me: “Well, ahh…”
Nikolai: “I made over $200,000 last year. I am not millionaire, but I am getting there, yes?”
Me: “Sure…”
Nikolai: “So, those websites I give you, they will teach you everything you need to know. They make you money. Not super rich, but more than you make now.”
Me: “Well, ah, thank you.”
Nikolai: “My pleasure. Oh, that website,” Nikolai pushes his hand over the plexiglass divide to the papers he’s given me, “don’t go to it straight away. Use Tor. You know what Tor is?”
Me: “Yes, yes I do.”
Nikolai: “OHH GOOD! That site is controlled by Russian gangsters. Use Tor when you go there.”
Me: “I will. Do you mind unlocking the door?”
Nikolai: “Oh, yes. Sorry!”

As I get out of the cab, Nikolai pops his head out the passenger window, “I know where you live now. I stop by and we discuss how were are doing, yes?” Without saying anything, I walk down the alleyway next to my apartment so it isn’t apparent which apartment I am going to and slip through the back door. I hear Nikolai one last time.

Nikolai: “Holy Grail, David. HOLY GRAIL!”

Sometimes, your parents just need a cheerleader in the bedroom.

Mon, 30 Aug 2010 15:22:00 -0500

This post had me laughing far harder than it probably should have. For better or worse, I’ve had two very distinct instances where I was confronted with the fact my parents were once still engaged in sexual relations. One of those times, I was clearly an asshole.

I hated getting up in the morning when I was going to school. From elementary to high school, I think I made it to school on-time maybe three or four times total. Once high school rolled around that meant I had to be there for the final bell at 7:23am. The thought of getting up early combined with the thought of having to get up early for school of all things didn’t encourage many days where I was up, bright and early.

One day, for whatever reason, I happened to wake up at 5am and knew enough that if I went back to sleep I wouldn’t make it to school. My bedroom in my parents’ house is above the garage so I have a small set of stairs that leads to a mud room which then leads to the rest of the house. The wall of the mud room shares a wall with my parents’ bedroom. As I groggily stumbled down the stairs, I heard something. I didn’t know what exactly, but it was coming from my parents’ bedroom. I stood in the mud room long enough to piece together what my parents were doing and I did what any other teenage son would do. I started pounding on the wall with both fists and started screaming, “YOU GO GET ‘EM!”

Within seconds, my father emerged from their bedroom hurriedly tying his bathrobe around him. “Umm… ahh… So, you’re up early.” Looking back, besides realizing what a horrific prick I was (no pun intended), I’m sure at some point that morning one of my parents turned to the other and said something to the effect of, “You know, our son is a lazy piece of shit. If we start right now, he won’t be awake for at least a hour.” I should note that my mother refused to leave the bedroom until after I left for school. When I got home, my father said nothing. My mother deservedly chewed me out for at least twenty minutes.

Flash forward about fourteen years later. My father’s health is becoming of greater concern so we are taking quarterly visits to the Cleveland Clinic to see various specialists. My father asked me specifically to take him to go see his urologist. While it was nothing serious, his prostate was an issue due to his age and his other ailments. I sat around in various waiting rooms drinking horrible coffee and reading large print Reader’s Digest as my father was shuffled from one room to another, one building to another. Normally, he was quite open about why we were going to see one of his doctors. But, when he mentioned it was his urologist, I knew that meant prostate so I didn’t ask any more questions. When we were all done, he said he had to go to the pharmacy in the hospital immediately to get something. I didn’t think much of it until he left the pharmacy carrying what looked like a mini styrofoam cooler. “What’s that?” I asked. “Caverject,” he said. I was completely confused so I asked him to explain. He explained in vague words but very easy-to-understand hand gestures which lead to me letting out a “JESUS CHRIST, MAN” in the very quiet hospital hallway.

As I was driving him home, I finally blurted out, “So, I’m assuming you and Mom still have sex?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Not to be rude, but it’s not a concern with all of your health problems?”
“Well, we try. Obviously, I have to be careful but we try.”
“That medication doesn’t interfere with your heart at all?”
“No, no. That’s one of the reasons they prescribed it to me.”
“Oh, OK. Good.”

After a little bit of silence, my father said, “I don’t know why I even got this. It’s not like your Mother ever wants to do it.” As I clutched the steering wheel for dear life, I immediately started laughing hysterically. “I’m glad someone thinks it’s funny,” he said, “because I sure as hell don’t.”

Out of context email sentences from this weekend.

Mon, 30 Aug 2010 10:38:26 -0500

“…’cause you’re dealing with a seasoned steak right here. Really fatty, chewy, gamey steak, but IT’S STILL A STEAK.”
“In the meantime, just worry about the boils on your crotch.”
“I’ve learned to accept I have the handwriting of an 11-year-old girl who’s discovered that she can replace her ‘i’s with hearts.”
“Nothing says pimp like getting a text that says ‘POOP FART’ at seven in the morning.”
“‘Oh, what’s that action sports superstar? Can you shove a dollar worth of quarters in each of your nostrils? You can’t? Sucks to be you.’”

Film School Thesis Statement Generator

Mon, 30 Aug 2010 09:37:00 -0500

wondertonic:

Enter a movie. Click create. Write your Paper.

Deftones - Drivedavislove

Mon, 30 Aug 2010 00:21:00 -0500

Deftones - Drive
davislove

Photo

Sun, 29 Aug 2010 21:52:03 -0500

Psycho Cubicle Neighbor strikes again.

Sun, 29 Aug 2010 19:13:35 -0500

A friend of mine who works at the place of my old employment very excitedly had to tell me she inadvertently got to spend Friday night with the Psycho Cubicle Neighbor (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8). Here are some of the choice phrases PCN dished out on Friday:

“So isn’t all milk organic? I mean really? It is, right?”
“Breastfeeding is so over rated. I am pumping for like 20 minutes and not seeing any results. Shit.”
PCN: ”I have something really mean to say, but [xxxxx]’s baby is so not cute. Sorry but he is not cute.”
Other person: “[xxxxx]’s baby has Down’s Syndrome.”
PCN: “Oh…”