Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Silent Night, Holy Shit

So I am sleeping soundly, dreaming of weird things....I had a dream that a friend of mine was getting ready to go out of town. It was actually a couple who are friends of mine. They both asked me to house sit for them. I seemed to be at their house as they were preparing to leave. I remember being really impatient, wanting them to leave really bad, so that as soon as they left I could go through all of their shit.

Anyway.....BOOM!! I wake out of my dream. A transformer must have blown I thought. BOOM!! All of the lights in apartment go out. I guess a transformer did blow. BOOM! What was that? BOOM! What in the devil was that? BOOM! BOOM! What the fuck is going on? I look out my window and see a fire.

Here is what I imagined was happening. If you have been a reader of my blog for a while you know that I live across the street from a very special, special place. We will call it the house that Vietnam created. About ten or so Vietnam vets live in this house. There is some border line supervision, but for the most part...they are nuts. Keep in mind that it is now 5:38 in the morning. I conclude that earmuffs has confinced the entire upstairs of the house that charlie has snuck in through the basement. Earmuffs is a person by the way (How he got his name will come in a later blog). Earmuffs assembles a team of four loons and they devise a plan. He then reaches under his bed and pulls out a shotgun that is sawed off so far down the barrell that you would be amazed if it still works. He positions one of the other loons near the window and rests the gun on top of this mans head for accuracy. He then attempts to take out the transformer. He will have the upper hand on his enemy in complete darkness. His first shot misses. The next shot is right on. The power goes out. In his confusion he forgets that charlie is in the basement and thinks his own team memebers are now the enemy. He begins taking them out one by one with shotgun blasts to all kinds of bad areas. He then turns the gun on himself and misses. He then turns the gun on himself and ends it all. The earmuffs fall to the floor and a dynasty comes to an end. I then attend one fucked up funeral.

Here is what really happened. If you have made it this far I commend you. In my neighborhood, the trees can grow up to 1000ft tall. I am pretty sure a Giant with magical beans lives at the top of the highest one. One of these gigantic trees just decided to be done with this whole being a tree bullshit. It took a headdive. In the process it knocked down three telephone poles and countless wires, it also cracked my motherfucking windshield. I walked outside and the entire neighborhood was yelling at me to not step off my porch. There were power lines on every car. It was like a real life after school special. Except nobody was in the car. I couldn't at this point make out if my car was ok. So I went back inside and went to sleep. About an hour later I walk back out on the porch and a fireman yelled at me to get back in my house. I eventually snuck out my back door, went down the alleyway, and had someone come pick me up. I went back later and saw the damage. Apparantly all of the loud "BOOMS!" were power lines dancing off my car. All is well with my cars electronic system but I do believe the vets are in for some intense counseling this week.

Hope this made you all laugh a little. Pray for the people who now have nowhere to call home due to the hurricane. Peace.

Saturday, August 27, 2005

Press Your luck

This story is fantastic. There was a link to it on sneeze blog which can be found if you look to the right side of the screen, dumbass. Here is the link for those who have lost partial movement of their head.

Thursday, August 25, 2005

War monger Tree head.

War monger.

I am an IV pharmacy technician. We use a lot of drugs. We have a room that is about 10 x 15 that is full of drugs. Not only do we have a lot of drugs but we go through a ton of drugs. I would be willing to bet that there is not an IV pharmacy in the midwest (maybe even the country) that goes through as many drugs as we do. What is amazing about this situation is we have one person that is responsible for keeping all of these drugs in stock. He will remain nameless. His name is either Ed, Gobbler, or pick which name you like and continue with the story. The funny thing about Gobbler is that he thinks we are in the middle of a war. I am serious. I asked him how he was the other day and he said he feels like the Russians being pinned down by the Germans. His supplies have been cutoff and we are making outrageous demands of him. To top it off, he hides drugs all over the place. Like he is storing ammunition. I will tell him that we are out of something and he will hit a button that opens up a secret closet in which there is a shovel that he uses to dig a hole where there is the drug I need. I am pretty sure that he has secret tunnels all over this damn building. Stef, please back me up on this so people know I am not making any of this up.

Tree Head.

We have a pharmacist that works here named D******. We will call him Drake. Drake was a full time pharmacist up until about a year ago. Drake decided one day to cut down a tree and instead of the tree falling the opposite direction it fell into his face. This was a very serious matter around the office, Drake almost died. We all prayed hard. Drake has recently come back to the office and now works only three days a week. To give you an idea of his progress, he checks all of our orders. This is a pretty serious task since we could seriously kill someone if we make the order wrong. Drake however cannot, oh, let me see, DRIVE A CAR! Anyway, back to the point. Every since this has happened to Darrell he has become really similar to me. He walks around saying goofy shit all the time and takes almost nothing seriously. Before the accident he was nothing like me. Always moping around and never laughing. Now that a tree landed on his face we are two of a kind. I wonder if I got hit in the head really hard when I was a kid. If you have any information, let me know.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

Mr. President....

What Would Jesus Bomb?

Sunday, August 21, 2005

A Midsummer Nights Asskicking

The 5k run was a success. Although, it did kick my ass. I believe that it kicked all of our asses. I am satisfied with how I performed. My goal was to run the thing in under thirty minutes. God decided to let me run it in 30 minutes and 2 seconds just to be a wise guy/girl. I am still happy with how I did. I never quit running/jogging/walking but with all the movements of running.

Here is a detailed descirption of the entire day.

I have decide to call us team bullshit. Here is a pre-race picture of team bullshit.

(Kyle, Brad, Chicken, Matt, Steve)

The key to successful race is to get lots of relaxation and energy. Thanks to the brilliant efforts of Steve our hotel was the starting line of the race. We did not have waste precious energy walking to the damn thing. We arrived in Lexington around 2 o'clock. We had a quick lunch and decided it was time to hit the pool. This was a vital part of Team Bullshits pre race relaxation. We stayed at the Radison which I highly reccomend, but their pool rules were a little specific.

After our time relaxing in the pool we returned to the room. Our time in the room was mainly spent sleeping and watching something on A and E about convicts. It is important to have the mind occupied with other things before a big race. Like convicts.

The race was scheduled to begin at 8:30. So naturally we started gearing up around 7:00. Team bullshit refuses to participate in any event without a live version of "eye of the tiger" played before such event. Steve was more than happy to accomodate.

Notice that he has his racing number on already. If you think I am kidding about this part you are sadly, sadly mistaken. Eye of the Tiger was ROCKED!!

The next step was energy. It was a gift from god that this booth was setup right at the starting line.

Seriously folks. Who the fuck sets up a funnel cake booth at a 5k run.

Anyway, I am getting a little carried away with the pictures here. Forgive me. The race started pretty promptly. After the first mile I was feeling pretty good. After the second mile I blacked out and for a second thought that I was a farmer back in the eighteen hundreds and I was running after a donkey that got spooked. I thought I was done for after the second mile. The side stitch was creeping up a little but nothing like it had in the past. Thanks to everyone who gave me advice on this (Ben, Tara, etc...) I followed a little bit of it all and it worked! Mile three was all determination. It was hot as chili fire out there. Even thought I am proud of how I did, it would be worthwhile to note that at one point an old man pushing a baby ran past me. Overall it was a success! For anyone who doubted me, I took a little picture for you as well. Love you all like you were my children.

Friday, August 19, 2005

Guest Editorial

Every now and then I will present you with an article from a guest writer known as Two tone. I may not take credit for these as I did not write them. If you would like to be considered for creating an "onion-like" editorial please email me. Our first example of such a story may be found below. Please leave many comments letting the author and I know what you think. Peace out folks.

I am running the 5k tomorrow. I will let you all know how I do. Or I may lie. Either way, we be livin.

Onion Like Guest Editorial

FBI: don’t hate the playa, hate the game
What-up bitches? Anas Al-Liby back wit’ ya to drop mo’ flava. You know I got some shit this time. I bet you was thinkin’ that I merked out and was a straight bitch just becuz those American sons of whores got my ass on the FBI’s most wanted list. Fuck that, I ain’t going into hiding even if they is knockin on my doe with their helmets and dogs and shit. I’ll smoke they ass if they fuck with me.

I don’t even know why they trippin’. They hatin’ because of them bombz I dropped on the Dar es Salaam Embassy back in the day, in 1998, and shit. They some playa hatas. I tell them like I tell that two-bit chump Imad that couldn’t even pull off a plane-jackin’. I tell that punk Imad, “don’t hate the playa, hate the game.” He mad jealous cuz I killed more American snakes and Allah surely favors me mo’ then his bitch-ass.

His game is all fucked. His bitches be showing they faces in public and shit. Last week, one of his bitches wasn’t wearing a berka, so I formed a mob and we stoned her to death. Now that’s gangsta. They be making him look like a little bitch. Everyone in the damn hood talks about stoning all of his hoes, raping his daughters, and taking his livestock.

I need to get the fuck up off that list tho’ fo-real. It is fucking with my street rep like a mo’. Last week, I went down to the sto’ and when I came around this foo, he was acting like I had a bomb strapped to my fo’head or somethin’! His eyes got all big and shit when he saw me, and he closed his little flap on his rickety-ass tent right in front of me. I was like, “What the fuck wrong wit chu?” Actually, I did have a bomb strapped to me, but it was tucked up under my throwback Supersonics jersey. You know I always stay strapped muthafuckas.

Check it though, I gots to get back to planning my next attack on the American infidels so I can slap the asses of some of them 70 virgins when I get to paradise. Werd. You know Anas is down with some virgin-love. Awww yeah….

Peace ya’ll and one-love to all my bitches. 187 to all of you FBI playa hatas who can’t respek a true playa.

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

No Title or Create your own title (What Fun my blog is!)

I have received requests from some that I blog a blog everyday. Let me start off by saying fuck you. Honestly folks, I do not have that much to say. I also do not have internet access at home. The fact that I even maintain a blog is like Nasa launching a space shuttle in Florida from Deleware. What am I talking about? I bet it wouldn't even be that hard to do that. It is hard for me to maintain my blog. A lot of you folks who participate in my blog are funny funny people. This, in fact, is the only reason we are friends. I wish you all would start blogs of your own so we could all laugh at each other all day long. ALL DAY LONG! I will place links to your blogs on my blog and if you only get 10% of my 10,000+ hits a day that is still 7,000 people coming to your site. Think about it folks. As a side note, my friend Tim will be publishing an article on here later this week or early next week. You are all to read it and comment on it or be banned from WISDOM BLOG forever. A lifetime ban from WISDOM BLOG is nothing to mess with, ask the pope. Not the new pope, ask the old pope. The new pope hasn't pissed me off yet. Also if anyone ever refers to WISDOM BLOG in a comment it must be capitalized.

Today I went into the gym early to have a meeting with a personal trainer. I did not hire this guy, it is just something my gym provides free of charge. They also provide large towels and small towels but that is neither here nor there. I received by body fat analysis. I received one of these about 8 - 10 years ago and the process was much different. In the old process they used that big pincher tool to actually measure the fattest parts of my body. I am debating on what these are called, my dad says calipers?? This time, it was different. My trainer input my age, height and weight into a little gadget that looked like a playstation controller. I then was instructed to hold this controller out in front of me with my thumbs directly on top. I then pissed my trainer off by pretending to play Grand Theft Auto while doing this part. I kept saying, "C'mon chica, hooker get in the car and give me some, give me some, c'mon slut". I understand why he was upset, it was 6:30 in the morning. A little to early to be playing pretend playstation and deffinately too early for hookers. Not by much, but too early. Anyway, after fifteen seconds this machine gave me a body fat percentage of 22. something percent. How in the hell did this machine figure this out? Does anyone know? On the way home I was really depressed because they say the body is 75% water. If I am 25% fat and 75% water I am a big mess. I am essentialy no different than 29 sticks of butter dumped into a full bath tub. Or a Crisco factory going over a waterfall. Either way, this sucks.

Thursday, August 04, 2005

Side stitch

Does anyone know what causes this? Let me explain what it is. When you are running along and then suddenly it feels as if you are being stabbed in the right rib with a weed eater.

I quit smoking about 8 weeks ago. since then I have started running. I set a goal of running the mini marathon next May and running a 5k on August 20th. When I first started running I would get the cramp in my side all the time. As time went on, I changed my diet and drank a lot more water and it seemed to go away. Every now and then it will flare up for a second and then back off. The pain level when this happens is about a 4. Scale 1-17.5 (This is the international pain scale, not including Antartica..The cold does something to the pain which fluctuates the scale). Anyway, I run 5 days a week. Three days a week I do a five minute warm up and then run two 10 minute miles. These are my intense days. I am going to run the 5k in Lexington with a few guys from work, my progress on the treadmill has led to me saying things like "Hey liver legs, I am gonna beat you in that race like you are in some kind of retarded relay".

Since the race is a little over two weeks away, I decided I would run three miles outside today. I, my friends, have proven to be captain of the retarded relay squad. At on point the guy I was running with demonstrated how a grandma with a cain would be going faster than me in the race. The problem is side my side cramps.

I seriously think my legs and lungs are in good enough shape to run this race but I can't shake the side cramp. It came on with a vengence about a mile into the run. The pain was seriously at a 14. I had no choice but to stop. I asked my doctor what caused this and she said, "if I could figure out the answer to that I would be one rich woman." I hate answers like that. Just say you don't know. If anyone out there has any feedback that might help I would appreciate it. Any comments that might refer to me as having any of the following symptoms should not be posted as I have already thought of them; bitch tits, man boobs, my pussy hurts, bandaid on my heart, I should wear my somersault shoes, I am a baby, an infant, a girl, a man girl, I don't have the eye of the tiger, I should quit whining, quit bitching, "Just do it", or that I should suck it up. If anyone can really tell me how to lead the Retard Squad to victory, I would appreciate it.
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