I just threw up last night's buffalo wings. I'd like to mention that Frank's Redhot is actually spicier coming up than it is going down. Halfway through the barfing, my nose got so congested that I could only breathe through my mouth. So there I was barfing and gasping for air. It was quite the scene. My uvula is a swollen, burning mass in the back of my throat, reminding me every time I swallow that existence is pain.

Posted by: shank at 07:49 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
Post contains 81 words, total size 1 kb.

So we have a closet at work; well, it's a small room; that we keep office supplies in. It also houses our refrigerator, coffee maker and associated items, and boxes of...shit I guess. I have no idea what's in them.

In this closet, peculiarly, is a telephone. I'm not talking stored, I'm saying the phone is plugged into the wall and gets a dialtone. Now, I've never seen anyone answer it, or check the voice mailbox; but occasionally the fucker will ring. Of course, me being a curious little monkey, I'm always tempted to answer it:
"Hello, you've reached the closet."
Or maybe:
"This is shank, I'm in the closet. How may I help you?"
I've asked people if it used to be someone's office or something; but the consensus is that the space has in fact been utilized as a closet since the beginning of time. I mean, if it's always been a closet, it seems odd for a phone to be there; hence the intense curiosity about who may be on the other side of the ring.

Maybe it's God; and he just wants to say he loves us. Maybe it's the Commissioner, looking for Batman but accidentally transposing a few numbers. Maybe it's the internal complaint line. Me personally? I think it's a portal in and out of the Matrix. One day, when I have my affairs in order and I'm ready to take the red pill, I will answer the phone and bravely plunge myself into the truth. I hope I get to be The One.

Posted by: shank at 04:24 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
Post contains 264 words, total size 1 kb.

I don't get personal too often, but I'm going to now.
(I shortened this up, because it was more than I wanted to share)

All you motherfuckers that gave my family shit over the years; can suck my dick. Look where we're at now, and look at you; you fucking broken, dispicable, shams of families. Fucking facades is all you are. And you had the gall to tell us we were doing shit wrong!

We did it our own way, with honesty, and arguing, and ultimately LOVE. You fuckers spent your time and money on keeping up appearances and coddling delinquents. Fuck you. I'm so glad that I can now; freely and without rebuke say to you "Fuck. Off." It's the American dream bitches, and I'm living it.

Posted by: shank at 12:55 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
Post contains 132 words, total size 1 kb.

Don't you hate it when people bother you about shit that doesn't matter? My mom sends me this little notice saying maybe I should be taking in more iodine. It's good for my thyroid.

Firstly, my thyroid is fine. I'll start worrying when I get a goiter or something. Is that even what happens; or is that the pituitary? See - it doesn't matter, because if I woke up without the fucker tomorrow, I wouldn't even know.

Secondly, I've had plenty of iodine in my day. I'm old enough that when I was a kid, people put iodine drops on your fucking scrapes. God, it was like being branded. The pain from iodine was all the encouragement a kid needed to wear skateboard pads. Furthermore, I used it to sterilize water on many a long-term backpacking trip. You'd put a few drops in a bottle of stream water, let it sit in the sun for a few hours, and wa-la; no micro-organisms would be waiting in your water to give you a two-week long bout of the shits. The downside to that is that iodine tastes like 80 different kinds of ass.

Thirdly, before iodine deficiency rots my thyroid away (to some unknown/not-cared-about consequence) I'm sure I will have drank my liver into oblivion, smoked my lungs blacker than tar, been hit by a drunk driver, had my body devoured by some form of cancer, been shot by a lunatic, and maybe - maybe - eaten by a shark. I don't know what the top ten killers in America are, but I bet none of them is a crapped out thyroid.

So Ma, I appreciate the concern, but my dick is going to fall off from beating it too much before my thyroid shits out because I'm not eating enough iodine.

Shank out.

Posted by: shank at 08:02 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
Post contains 313 words, total size 2 kb.

Yesterday, while sitting through a meeting that I can only describe as a boredom marathon, I had an epiphany. more...

Posted by: shank at 04:23 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
Post contains 727 words, total size 4 kb.

There was a time not long ago that I could spit out posts like nobodyÂ’s business. I donÂ’t mean links or bullshit posts where you talk about having nothing. I mean posts that had a beginning, middle and an end. That had pacing and theme. Posts that told a story.

It would seem theyÂ’ve dried up. Maybe IÂ’ve gone to the well too many times. Maybe itÂ’s the fact that most of my stuff revolved around my interaction with other people, which I have been forced to limit, in order to preserve my sanity.

Or maybe my luck has improved. I haven’t scalded the shit out of my mouth with hot napalm-like pizza lately, I haven’t shit myself in a long time…no wonder I’ve got nothing. Today I’ve got a headache. There’s nothing funny about a headache. I’ve got nothing to play off of. It’s not like cramps and the running shits—that’s good stuff. My whole schtick revolved around embarrassment and I’ve had nothing since the underwear incident.

I miss my old ways. Once I was driving down the freeway and I noticed a wasp was in the car. Now IÂ’m a man and all, but there was a fucking wasp in the car. So I rolled down a window to blow it out, but instead of it going out it blew over to my side, and before I knew it the bastard was on my neck and I was swerving all over the road (in a man-like, controlled manner). There was a lot of swatting and wriggling on my part and IÂ’m pretty sure I was screaming pretty loud too before I got the bastard out.

You see, thatÂ’s funny, even though it was emotionally stressful at the time. As far as I was concerned I was fighting a fucking dragonÂ…itÂ’s all the same to me. One may be smaller but theyÂ’re both trying to kill me.

And speaking of stress, someone needs to explain what pleasure is derived from going to haunted houses/scare fests around Halloween. IÂ’ve done my share as a younger man and I failed to see the charm. You pay money to walk around in the dark while a bunch of assholes wait until youÂ’re most vulnerable and then jump out screaming and scare the living shit out of you. I donÂ’t find that type of anticipation pleasurable. I find it fucking stressful. IÂ’m a nervous wreck after that shit. I also donÂ’t like people yelling in my ear. My natural tendency is to attack someone that yells in my ear, and that tendency is hard to restrain. And often is not. Fear is the mother of violence. If you scare me, I will usually attack you.

I have no idea how to end this travesty. MordieuxÂ…what has become of me?

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 01:51 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
Post contains 472 words, total size 3 kb.

I never tire of reading this post.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 11:32 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 21 words, total size 1 kb.

This is your opportunity to complain about the new design and any problems you're having seeing things.

One thing I'll tweak more later is the font situation, but not until I know that everybody can read the blog title and description up there at the top.

Also, Shank and Paul need to decide what they want in the sidebars...I'll make any changes or additions you want.

Posted by: Jennifer at 10:51 PM | Comments (16) | Add Comment
Post contains 70 words, total size 1 kb.

1 I like the creepy hallway look. But I liked the blackish-grayish thing, too... I'm still not a fan of the "Remember personal info" button NOT remembering my personal info. That's a lot of shit to type in every time I want to comment.

Posted by: jenE at October 13, 2005 12:49 AM (K0Tmz)

2 This looks awesome, I told you she was the queen of MT! Good job Jen!

Posted by: Oorgo at October 13, 2005 01:41 AM (1JIkb)

3 JenE - it remembers my shit? Do you have your security settings on high or something? Jen - the site looks fantastic. Does that 'Search' thing really work? That's pretty cool. Thanks for pimping my ride.

Posted by: shank at October 13, 2005 07:50 AM (+H1yK)

4 Looks great Jen! I'm using IE and I can see everything fine.

Posted by: Jackie at October 13, 2005 08:01 AM (iErNK)

5 I'm using Firefox and it looks great to me. Your talent knows no bounds...

Posted by: Paul at October 13, 2005 08:06 AM (s/IK0)

6 By the way, has anyone noticed that much like at work, I successfully diverted all attention away from my not producing and effectively started a fire drill in someone elses department? It's the secret of my success. I should really write a book.

Posted by: Paul at October 13, 2005 08:08 AM (s/IK0)

7 Speaking of stuff in the sidebars Jen. Can we get a photo of a hot babe in the sidebar? I really like that girl in the blue bikini from the Say Anything Blog ads at Jeff Goldstein's place. Hellooooooo nurse!

Posted by: shank at October 13, 2005 09:26 AM (+H1yK)

8 Yes, Nurse Ratchet would be a fine addition.

Posted by: Jackie at October 13, 2005 10:11 AM (iErNK)

9 Shank, you had the Search button on the old template. I didn't add it.

Posted by: Jennifer at October 13, 2005 11:25 AM (uDrBj)

10 No, my security settings aren't on high. It didn't remember my information before the re-vamp, either. You may remember me bitching about it before. That's okay, though; your little blog is nice enough that I'll continue to read and endlessly pump my information into these damned text boxes. P.S. The overhead lights give this a very Dickensian "mental hospital" feel... I like it.

Posted by: jenE at October 13, 2005 12:13 PM (K0Tmz)

11 Thanks for you support.

Posted by: shank at October 13, 2005 12:41 PM (+H1yK)

12 I've gotta say, I'm getting quite proficient at typing all that crap in! I've been told I'm supportive like a good jock strap...cradle and cup the jewels, but never squeeze them.

Posted by: jenE at October 13, 2005 01:52 PM (K0Tmz)

13 Paul, if you did decide to write a book, you'd divert attention again as the deadline approached... ya freakin' slacker, I've got you figured out now.

Posted by: Ted at October 13, 2005 05:08 PM (+OVgL)

14 What a manipulator eh? And we all fell for it.... 33 comments worth of it.

Posted by: Oorgo at October 13, 2005 06:34 PM (lM0qs)

15 I like it a lot! It suits the blog authors' personalities: slow and creepy. Nah, it looks great, Jen.

Posted by: De at October 14, 2005 11:18 AM (IdVP4)

16 Light's too damn bright. And it don't remember me, neither.

Posted by: Bane at October 14, 2005 11:30 PM (JO5DH)

Hide Comments | Add Comment

I spend lots of time at work on the Internet.
I left early today, and I'm not going back tomorrow.
People tell me I do good work, and I don't know why. It's easy.
I'm drinking now, I might stay and close the bar tonight. Tomorrow I sleep like the dead.
I don't like most people. They tend to suck the life out of me.
That's why I like the web. I can talk when I want.
I mainly posted this because I like symmetry.


It's like poetry for people who can't read. No. No it's not. That is stupid. It's like...fuckit; I'll stick to poetry for blind people. Just take it at face value and roll with it. Has anyone seen Bill? He's not really dead is he?

Posted by: shank at 06:10 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
Post contains 131 words, total size 1 kb.

Saturday morning I took the kid to play in her first soccer game. It was much worse than I ever imagined.

First of all sheÂ’s only five. Neither she nor I had any great expectations. I never cared for the sport, personally. The kid has no clue about the game at all, but insisted she join a team anyway. SheÂ’s a social creature.

So we get there and itÂ’s worse than I expect by a long shot. Every caricature of a sports parent that you could ever imagine was incarnated on this field. So I tell the kid to go have fun and I sit down away from the other parents. As the kids are warming up I notice that most parents arenÂ’t speaking English. Portuguese and Spanish are dominant. Some of the fathers are kicking a ball around off to the side, completely overdoing it, hamming it up and causing a general scene by yelping loudly in their native tongues. They are all grossly overweight and out of shape. Within minutes it comes to a grinding halt, with one guy holding his hand over his heart and panting like a dog. Adios Mio! This guyÂ’s going to die here in the grass, I thought. I donÂ’t have time for this today.

Instead he slowly got up and walked back to the rest of his family and collapsed on a bench. His family consisted of at least nine adults and a passel of poorly-mannered kids of all ages. Their normal speaking voices were deafening. They all yelled at each other for the entire game.

Meanwhile I turned my attention back to my kid. The game was about to start and I was fairly certain she didnÂ’t even know the basic rules of the game. The whistle blows and the game begins. Every player from both teams swarm the ball and it resembles a rugby scrum. No one plays defense. Even the goalies are in the scrum. Eventually the ball squirts out of the clump with a child or two chasing it while the rest of them just stand there watching. Less than a minute in, most of the kids have already had enough. Two of them were crying.

To make a long story short, it works like this. The kids chase the ball in a big clump. If one of them actually manages to kick it, it goes out of bounds. This continues until itÂ’s time to go home, or enough children are crying that they have to call a time out. Within the first ten minutes most of the parents were chasing their kids around the field yelling instructions at them. The coach sees the hopelessness of all this and bans the parents from the field.

Meanwhile, I realize that the fat bastard who thought he was having a heart attack stole my two bottles of water. Now my kid’s got nothing to drink and it’s hot out. I went over to the guy and pointed out his error, but one bottle was already gone and he was drinking out of the other one. As I’m talking to him I hear a great commotion coming from his family. They’re all screaming, “Carlos! Carlos! Carlos!”

The guy I’m talking to dashes off to the sideline along with his giant extended family. On the field there’s a kid that looks a lot older than the others. These kids are supposed to be between three and five years old and this kid looks like he’s ten. He’s dribbling the ball downfield all by himself, the rest of both teams either crying or sitting down on the field. The big kid is approaching the net and there is no goalie in sight. With a flourish the kid kicks the ball into the open goal and throws his hands into the air. Instantly, the giant family of Portuguese people run onto the field and lift the kid up onto their shoulders cheering, “Carlos! Carlos! Carlos!”

It was surreal. The coach, who had had quite enough, was trying to restore order, but it was hopeless. I looked around trying to find my kid and saw her and another little girl sitting in the grass chatting. They were nonplussed.

When the whole ordeal was over and we were walking to our car through the sea of minivans, I asked if she had fun.

“It’s too hot out.”

“I know, Sweetie, but did you like it?”

“I would like it better if it was inside.”

“You don’t want to come anymore?”

“Not really.”

“Well, I don’t blame you. “

As I buckled her into the car I could still hear little CarlosÂ’s family going at it. I looked up just in time to see the fat father kick a soccer ball into the side of someoneÂ’s van.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 08:48 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 810 words, total size 4 kb.