Archive for April, 2010

Really Bad Idea Pants

Posted in True Stories with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 26, 2010 by dissectingthefetalpig

How stupid can one be?  The answer is simple, really fucking stupid.  I find myself having put on some tight fitting bad idea pants here and again.  I would like to share some of the more memorable ones at my own expense with you.  I mean why not?  If you can’t laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at?

Cocaine and poppers, for starters is a bad idea.   There was a previous conversation on “party bottoms” at a local watering hole (not one of THOSE watering holes either) and one patron who happened to be gay overheard the dialogue and chirped up.  Now mind you we were kind of having a bad laugh on the subject.  Turns out this patron sitting next to us at the bar, was technically that subject.  The dude swore by this combo but mentioned he likes “Tina” (meth, what the fuck? And why is this a gay drug?) better.  He not only had some blow, but poppers as well. So why not?

Worst case scenario is that if I did magically turn gay from doing this, I’d wind up a victim to my own undoing.  At least until the drugs wore off.  Best case scenario is that I get fucked up.  So the three of us jam into the bathroom of the bar and give it a go.  You have to do a bump, wait a second for that to kick in and then you start hitting the poppers.  You wind up like a baby fucking giraffe that got an espresso enema for a few minutes.  Your heart beats like crazy and you get all red and warm.  You feel woozy and yet you are perked and alert.  I can imagine that it looks really unattractive.  The shame of it all is pretty overbearing.  I repeated this sordid process 3 more times and decided that enough was enough.  I got the experience, sans anal rape, and was well over it.  I’d recommend doing this at least once in your life.

Another bad idea is Gatorade and booze.  Gatorade has all these lovely electrolytes that carry fluids into your blood stream faster. I learned all of this from watching Mr. Wizard as a kid.  So one brilliant summer afternoon in my youth some friends and I decided to try it with some Bacardi 151.  Wouldn’t you know?  The shit fucks you up.  I got so fucked up, I couldn’t remember my own name.  It was a good cheap drunk.  I proceeded to dabble with this for many a year.  After a while I started to worry about my kidneys  and liver and put this bad boy to rest.  I recommend this for people between the ages of 17 and 21.

Finally, what is probably the worst of the worst that I can think of at the moment: My experience with Biofreeze.  Biofreeze is like Ben Gay or Tiger Balm times a thousand.  A coworker had put me onto this stuff when I pinched a nerve in my neck.  I do recommend it for it’s intended purposes.  I do not recommend it for anything else.  Allow me to explain.

I had been working the 4pm to midnight shift at this prepress shop.  I almost never got out at midnight and I would find myself really bored waiting for jobs to drop in the wee hours of the morning.  So here I was with this bottle of Biofreeze and I was curious to know how bad it would be to put a little bit on your balls.  The answer is pretty bad.  It took a while for the burning sensation to wear off and the shit had me sweating like a catholic priest in a daycare center.  After it was said and done, I laughed at the experience.  Now while a smart man would stop there, my dumb ass decided to take it further.  Seeing as how I toughed out chemically roasting my sack, I figured I would up the ante and put some on my asshole.

Why?  Because I was that fucking bored.

So I proceed to take my tube of Biofreeze and go to the bathroom of my job and rub this ointment on my rabbits nostril.  This really fucking hurt.  Not only did it hurt, but I swear it made my ass feel like it was going to dilate wide enough for my lower intestines to fall out.  Did I mention that it fucking hurt?  This move had me running around my little backroom area like I was Speedy Gonzales and left me feeling rather dizzy from the shock and pain.  Of course I had to suck it up and let my coworkers think I was on drugs or something rather than explain what I had just done and how stupid I am.  It’s not like I could have an honest moment and explain to these people in a civil and honest manner that I had just put a very strong ligament cream on my genitals and anus.  As a friend of mine would say “No Bueno”.  I don’t ever recommend trying this at all.

I later confessed to my father over a couple of beers what I had done.  He looked me up and down and asked me two very important questions: Why are you telling me this?  And where did I go wrong as a father?

I don’t know Pop, I just don’t know.


A Bitch Called Hope

Posted in Deep Thoughts with tags , , , , , on April 22, 2010 by dissectingthefetalpig

Ever see that movie 16 Years of Alcohol?  The main character goes on and on about hope.  Two things that I will point out in this characters ramblings on hope is one, it is currency for people that are losing.  In a way this is right and I will go into this later.  The other thing that he expands on that the more you hope, the less beautiful it becomes.  This is also true.  Hope is a bad romance that you cling to for familiarity.

I used to have hope; at times it was all I had.  I think it is safer to say that hope is a currency for people who feel damned.  I’d hope for better tomorrows that would never come.  I’d hope for situations to change and that I’d become a better person.  That magically overtime it would all be this better thing.  As I am starting to get older I am starting to realize that hope without direction is like stewing in your own shit.  Nothing comes from hope alone, just like cars alone cannot drive.  Much like the combustible engine; you will need fuel, a spark for the ignition and a driver.  Without these things your car is just a metal coffin that harbors rust.

You can romance the shit out of hope.  It sings a sweet song that holds you tight in its dark bosom of embrace and smothers you with comfort.  Its soothing lies of better tomorrows seep into your ears like a lullaby sweeter than any mother could sing.  Hope prefers one on one relationships, but she’ll sometimes cater to groups.  When you invite ambition and drive to come and have a drink with the two of you, it’ll go away.  Once you incorporate those things hope is gone and you are on the move again.  Fear not, hope will come calling like cat in heat at the first signs of failure.  Hope is a bitch like that.

Thinking and Knowing

Posted in Deep Thoughts, Rants with tags , , , , , , , , , , on April 21, 2010 by dissectingthefetalpig

A wise man once said “I think therefore I am”.  That’s all well and good, but why didn’t he know he simply “was”?  You see, there is a difference between thinking and knowing.  It’s a river deep and mountain high in terms of separation.  It’s not even the same fucking sport.

When one truly knows something, there is a drive behind it.  It may not be a sort of knowledge that is 100% accurate, but they know.  As some old alien in a galaxy far the fuck away would say “I feel a tremor in the force”.  No one ever says they “think” they just got hit in the balls, they know.  They may not know with what, but they know.  You know something happened, you know something is up and only you know what you did.  It may not always be something you can pinpoint, but you know it is there.  Knowing can leave a burning ulcer of certainty in your belly that is known as gut instinct.

Thinking on the other hand is akin to presumption for the most part.  You can think about all the shit you’d like until your head spins around and you still won’t know shit.  Thinking is an agent of tedium, which will destroy one’s mind given the right amount of time.  Thinking can lead to self deception.  A benign example of how thinking can set you up for failure could be summed up like this:

You know that you are hungry and have to eat something after a hard nights drinking.  You’d prefer to eat something healthy but you think a cheeseburger and fries are way tastier than a salad.  You think about the possibilities and you know you should go for the salad instead.  It’s healthier and you know that you should not be eating burgers so late at night.  However, you think some more and juggle all of the possibilities like a five dollar whore jockeys dicks in the back alley of the Republican National Convention only to give in to the cheeseburger.  Maybe, unlike the whore, you will feel ashamed of what you did.  Maybe not.  But you sure as shit knew that what you just did was dead wrong.

Now if all of this seems confusing, it should.  Maybe I exaggerated the distance between the two, because they sure as shit can swap shirts and leave even the smarter upper primates baffled as they imitate each other.  See, sometimes your head gets wrapped up in something and you think you know.  You think you know everything, you think you know your friends and you may think you have things covered.  Which is totally wrong; you’ve only fooled yourself.  Just wait and be patient, something will fuck up and everything you thought you knew will fuck itself and you.  And in the afterglow of that proper fucking you just took you will come to know that something somewhere went wrong.  You really don’t know shit.

And that is the difference between thinking and knowing.

PhotobucketDescartes, Philosopher or smug French asshole?

You decide.

%d bloggers like this: