A Rollerskating Jam Named Saturday.

There's free admission to an "Air Museum" in Vancouver somewhere. I anticipate it being related to aviation, but had thoughts of showing up to a room filled with tightly closed mason jars. Inside the jars would be trapped air from different eras of history. "This air was trapped near the Hindenburg explosion in 1937, there's some hydrogen mixed with the air. Not that you can tell.

I could have gone on with that, but I got bored just thinking about it.

Bethany Storro, the latest religious white woman in America to do something fucked up and then blame it on a black person, is due in court next Wednesday. I hope the judge arraigns her with "Hey pretty girl, you want to plea to this?" I'm wondering if she will come out with a spiritually inspired self help book entitled "Liquid Drain Cleaner for the Soul." She's now saying that she was trying to kill herself by applying the stuff to her face. Yes, she used gloves and a towel to apply drain cleaner to her face in an act of suicide. A face that she had a cosmetic prodedure done to only a week earlier. She is truly full of shit. At least bullshit defenses make for good gavel to gavel news coverage.

I love playing PS3 Move's table tennis in its "Sports Champions" suite of games. Ping Pong is the one sport where an Asian intimidates me more than a black dude. Unless you consider math a sport. Then there's two sports. I guess.

I'm having a spectuacular day doing a little something I like to call "whatever the fuck I want." I ate Taco Bell for breakfast, played PS3, vacuumed the house. Going to clean the truck next. Maybe work out then a nap.

goochout

I hate Katy Perry

Katy Perry: "How can I stay relevant/important without my tits hanging out? I mean, sure it's a kids' show but dammit my tits are the curtain and my talent is a little old man hiding behind the curtains running the smoke and mirrors."

 

Picture caption: "One of these two is only entertaining when a hand is inserted into them. The other is Elmo."

 

Wow, that practically wrote itself. And by that, I mean I'm sure I didn't originate such filthy puppet humor.

 

As I write this, I'm in an office where small electronics are fixed. One of the customers in here at the moment is a lesbian with a laptop first came to the shop with a vibrator in hand. The shop owner refused to fix it. True story. I bet if she was hot, it would have gotten fixed.

 

 

 

 

My pee smells like coffee.

My Mother, someone who knows nothing of this site due to my tendency to be unabashedly candid and offensive, is in the hospital. She has spinal meningitis. Ultimately, it's an infection in her spinal fluid that developed and moved into her brain, rendering her into a coma-ish state. Not sure if it fit the definition of a coma, but I've always marveled at the frustration one could feel about seeing a loved one who just won't, you know, wake up. I got a taste of that feeling Friday when I saw her in the intensive care unit. I went back to the hospital Saturday and she was awake and smiling, but didn't know quite what was going on. Her brain was still shell shocked from the infection but she was responsive. Her speaking consisted of incomplete sentences - all subjects no predicates - but I felt a mixed blessing that she knew who I was and where she was at, but that we had to ask her and the chance she wouldn't know the answer to those questions saddened me greatly.

The hospital rooms where she's staying have wide chairs with hide-a-beds that fold out. The springs are so noisy that I defy anyone to sleep in one without making enough noise to wake up the patient/loved one in whose room you're staying. Mom is waking up fairly easy and last night I guess I kept her up a bit, so I'm staying home tonight after I visit her this afternoon. It's a good thing, the hide a bed is atrocity in the world of sleep. How did someone develop a bed that is so uncomfortable that the user cannot sleep and so noisy that anyone around them can't sleep either?

I'm sure if I proofread this, I will find errors and some nonsense. I am, however, to tired to care. (but not too tired to use parenthetical comma-separated phrases apparently). I'm awake simply because of a medically frowned upon amount of caffeine consumption. I must sleep tonight.

goochout.

Gooch:ThePodcast

Return from another hiatus with a new tool to combat long bouts of podcastlessness: a voice recorder. This post is somewhat lacking focus, but the dawn of every new era lacks focus, right? [walks away, hoping no one noticed that what he just said didn't make sense. Eats an Oreo cakester. Smiles.]

snooze button

Please check out the tweets when I lag on updating the blog. I thought my Discovery Channel ones were funny as fuck, but little response was received.

And Lucy Pinder is resting below.

Oh, if only that was the case.

goochout.

super bore me: bore me forever

Sluts:

I'm still obnoxious when I'm out in public and sober. The difference being is that I don't have any excuse for being obnoxious when I'm not drinking.

Heading to the Festa Italiana this afternoon for a bit. Or as the non Italians call it, GuineaFest. Hell, that's what I call it. Every race seems to need a festival or gathering to celebrate their heritage. Italians have this. The Irish have St. Patrick's day. Mexicans have border crossings. Canadians, um, I have no idea.



I'm working a door up top at the Festa Italiana today at Pioneer Courthouse Square from 2 to 5pm. Come say hi and watch me drink copious amounts of Pellegrino.

goochout.

super bore me

i'm typing this on my netbook, so forget any use of the shift keys. you see, when it comes to typing, i comes correct. The thalydimide baby underdeveloped shift keys inherent with a netbook are not meaty enough for my pinkies to hit.

Not drinking has put me in my old school "steady mobbing" state of being. going from place to place. seeking adventure. Out until the break of dawn. I can drive without fear of an alcohol related incident. at least not in which i'm at fault. I've also lost the hangover as an excuse to not go to the gym. I want to get my arms big again. not because they'll look intimidating and impressive, but because they'll make the rest of my body look smaller by comparison.

My new glasses have made me look like a video game character:

This is a bit of genius, as he not only looks like me, but 80% of all IT people employed and unemployed today. I only wear my body armor at home, and even then only after I've picked out a safe word.

My friend Gregster in 2009 on the left and Katie Price on the right. I call this compilation: Three Big Boobs.

 Ha!

 me gotta go.

goochout