So here’s the thing: We have two sand volleyball courts at the bar I work at and surprisingly to me a lot of people play volleyball. I say “surprisingly” because the thought of playing volleyball to me is like the thought of a colonoscopy, just not fun. It’s fun to watch on the other hand, and that’s where I get confused. I don’t understand the people who actually think that they posses the physical necessities to spike a volleyball over the net. I’ll watch the same guy over and over again jumping up and trying to spike the ball over the net, and he’s lucky to hit the bottom of the net before it rolls off in another disappointing moment. I wan’t to ask him “what are you doing?” You’re five foot three, over weight and forgive me but you have no athletic ability what so ever. Please stop trying to spike the ball, just hit it over the net so maybe you have a chance at winning a point. What the hell good does it do to consistently hit the ball into the ground? If I did take my fat ass out there to play volleyball and this guy was on my team, he would piss me off because I like to win, and we can’t win with this asshole thinking he’s six foot three and athletic. I would say “hey Carl, what are you doing? Could you please stop trying to spike the ball? Have you ever successfully spiked a volleyball over the net? Let me answer that for you Carl, no, no you haven’t. Guess what Carl? It isn’t going to be today either, so how about just hit the fucking ball over the net so we don’t lose the Applebee’s staff again. I understand wanting to spike the ball, Carl, but it’s a physical impossibility for you to do it. Guess what Carl? It’s impossible for me too, that’s why you don’t see my fat ass trying. I’ll make you a deal Carl, if you stop trying to spike the ball I’ll buy you a hot dog every week before we play. Deal?
So here’s the thing: Who the hell are these “knife people”? You’re probably thinking “what knife people”? Settle down bubba, I”m gonna tell you. The “knife people” are the people who when you’re having a casual conversation with somebody at the coffee shop or supermarket and notice a loose thread on your shirt, these people produce a knife from nowhere and are ready to cut the shit out of that thread before you get out the full sentence that you’ve noticed a loose thread. First, why the hell do you have a knife? Second, why the fuck do you have a knife? Now, if you work on a farm or in a packing factory where needing a blade is just a part of the job, then I get it, but if you have a job that doesn’t require a knife, why you packin it? Are you just a person in the mood for a good stabbing if the time is right? Do you have a obsession to cut shirt tags that irritate the back of someones neck? These “knife people” scare the hell out of me. You know what else scares me? Fat free Ranch dressing.
So here’s the thing: I’m sitting on the couch watching Judge Judy this afternoon when my vision started to almost blur. Of course I thought I was about to have a stroke seeing as how I’ve eaten pork in some form at every meal for six days in a row. It wasn’t a stroke, it was a spider web that was between my face and the television. As I started realizing what it was my vision began to focus and that’s when I noticed this little spider on the end of the web staring at me like I slapped his momma. What did I do? I freaked the fuck out and jumped off the couch crashing into my coffee table (a cardboard box that said television came in) and spilled all the shit on top of it that included a bottle of tap water, a to-go box containing a half eaten chef salad with a side of ranch dressing from the night before that I don’t remember eating. Fortunately it all spilled onto my tan carpet creating a new stain to accompany an existing stained caused by a 24 ounce diet Dr. Pepper that I don’t remember how I spilled. This all happened in a few seconds while I was shrieking like a little girl. Don’t forget to listen to the podcast while you’re here. On a separate note, I love Judge Judy sooooo much.
So here’s the thing: I enjoy a nice little breakfast, even though the only time I’m up early enough to have breakfast are the times when I haven’t gone to sleep. There’s something about smoking a cigarette and eating over medium eggs with toast and bacon wile drinking a black cup of coffee that is just pure bliss. As enjoyable as it is, I often think about the eggs I’m eating. I know that an egg isn’t a baby chicken until it’s fertilized by the rooster, but it’s still an egg that comes out of the chicken’s ass, that if fertilized will hatch into a baby chicken, and that freaks me out. It doesn’t freak me out enough to stop eating them, but food for thought. If you’re reading this, please listen to the podcast, listen, like, share, thanks. On a separate note, my coffee table is a cardboard box and I’m thirty eight years old.
So here’s the thing: I get a text from my mother the other night at around midnight. She and I don’t talk very much but there’s really no reason, we have a great relationship, we just don’t talk that often. So when I get a text from my mommy at midnight, I’m interested and concerned. This is exactly what it said, “If the Pentagon was run by women, do you think the missiles would be shaped differently?”. Now, I don’t know exactly what inspired her to send that to me, and I can’t help but see the sexual overtone it carries. This leaves me in a strange place. I didn’t know what to say in response, so I didn’t say anything. In fact, I’m going to forget it even happened. It kinda makes me think of some of the texts I’ve sent out over the years and how I should probably not be allowed to text, ever.