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| Flippin' Birds |
| 08.29.04 (3:16 pm) [edit] |
I was infinitely delighted today, and it's all thanks to one man. I don't know his name, or where he's from, but I shall call him [b]Red SUV Dude[/b], and spread the gospel of his powers.
I was driving in Cincinnati with my girlfriend, heading to a car wash to clean my shitmobile. The main road outside of my girlfriend's apartment complex is two lanes that merge (quickly) into one lane after a stoplight. I turned onto the road, in the far right lane, and got stuck behind some fucking mullet-headed wifebeater in a Chevette or some shit.
I look to my left, trying to get over into the (eventual) single lane, since that's where the fucking car wash is. This douchebag, [b]Red SUV Dude[/b], is in the lane, but kind of meandering near the back of my car. When I speed up, he speeds up. I'm stuck behind a piece of shit car and beside a assraping shiteater.
The merge is coming up and the Chevette speeds up just a TAD. I take the advantage and glide into the left lane (USING MY TURN SIGNAL) and [b]Red SUV Dude [/b]shits a brick.
It wasn't my plan to catch the yellow light and stick [b]Red SUV Dude[/b] with the red light, but that's exactly what happened. I didn't mean to cut the fucker off, either, which I don't think I did. Regardless of my opinions, I glance in my rearview and see [b]Red SUV Dude[/b] VISIBLY angered. He reaches deep into the pit of soul and whips out....
[i][u][b]THE DOUBLE DEUCE![/b][/u][/i]
For those not in the know, the [b]Double Deuce [/b]is a remarkable maneuver accomplished by only the professional bird-flippers. It requires stamina and endurance, and takes a lot out of you. It sounds simple: You flip off someone with BOTH hands at once. Done incorrectly, you can die or lose your hands.
This dude did it while [i]DRIVING[/i]. Class-A fucking material, here.
[b]Red SUV Dude[/b] had stomped on his brakes when I changed lanes, inadvertantly fucking HIMSELF by then catching the red light. His only response was the majestic and holy [b]Double Deuce[/b].
Thank you, [b]Red SUV Dude[/b]. You made my day and I shall remember your awesome powers for life. Next time, don't be a fucking asshole.
Word.
[i]I'm going to bring the "Thunder On The Tundra" story (also known as "Last Weekend") to light some other day. I'm fucking worn out and still chuckling at the [b]Double Deuce[/b]... What a fucking assclown.[/i]
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| Hooters, The F-Bomb, and Siberian Tigers |
| 08.12.04 (5:19 pm) [edit] |
First off, let me preface this rant with the following statement:
[b]LAST NIGHT WAS WEDNESDAY... FUCKING WEDNESDAY![/b]
That said, the following events gain a whole new element of fucked-up-itude ([i]noun, "the state of being fucked-up[/i]").
I got home from work at my normal time and was sitting contentedly on the couch playing PS2. My roommate comes home, yakking on his phone. Then, he asked the fateful question.
[i]"Hey Rob, ya wanna go to [u]Hooters[/u]?"[/i]
Now, I'm not a big fan of [u]Hooters[/u] (the restaurant). Plus, I'd already eaten a decent lunch as wasn't very hungry. Travis (my roommate) rebuffed my answer with the following:
[i]"C'mon, you can see some titties and drink some beer!"[/i]
As many of you know, I'm a huge fan of both titties AND beer. Put the two together, and I'm usually there within fifteen minutes. Still, this was [u]Hooters[/u]...
So, Travis and I met our buddy Jack and headed to the closest [u]Hooters[/u] - on 161 in Columbus. Everyone was giddy with anticipation, except for me because I know the [u]Hooters[/u] game pretty well.
I'm not going to go into why [u]Hooters[/u] sucks so much. If you've ever seen the South Park episode where they spoofed the restaurant with [u]Raisins[/u], you know why. Here's a quick recap, though.
1. The girls are clothed. Skin-tight clothing, mind you, but no nudity.
2. They rub your back and fawn on every word you utter in the most cheap, plastic ways imaginable.
3. Their food isn't that good. Anyone who says their wings are delicious is a lying rat-bastard who's just there to ALMOST see titties.
Here comes my point. If I'm gonna pay a girl to fawn all over my words and beg for my money, I'll go to a fucking strip club. They're nude, and it's hard to say no to a nekkid chick. [u]Hooters[/u] has all the pretense and motions of a shitty strip club, minus the nudity and "private dances."
Anyway, the restaurant is fucking packed because it's "[u]All You Can Eat Wing Wednesday[/u]." Good day to go to [u]Hooters[/u], if you like being surrounded by dudes drooling over chicks in orange hot pants.
As soon as I open the front door, we're fucking bombarded with plasticity. Two chicks immediately pounce on us, spouting words like "[i]Honey[/i]" and "[i]Baby[/i]" and "[i]Don't touch my ass[/i]" (that last one was directed at Jack, probably). We get seated and the waitress/whore immediately writes our names on separate napkins, each with her name before it. Mine's said "[i]Britany + Rob[/i]", Jack had "[i]Britany + Jack[/i]", and Travis had "[i]Britany + Chester[/i]" cuz he's such a fucking comedian. "Britany" takes our order and immediately loads us with beer.
While we're drinking, we notice that all of these fucking [u]Hooters[/u] chicks are pretty ugly. Our waitress ranked about Top 5 out of the haggard crew, and she had fucking acne. It may be superficial and sexist to demand hot chicks at [u]Hooters[/u]...
No, fuck that.
It's [u]Hooters[/u] for fuck's sake! That's the only reason people go there is to see hot chicks. This isn't a place where the waitresses "have great personalities." Obviously THIS [u]Hooters[/u] doesn't have high standards when hiring help.
Now, fast forward about two hours. We got there at 7:00 and were only supposed to get a couple beers and some wings. SOMEHOW, we killed [b]SEVEN FUCKING PITCHERS OF BEER[/b] between the three of us. Yeah. [b]SEVEN[/b]. So, of course, we're fucking loopy.
SOMEHOW, me and Jack got on the subject of cheating. I believe he brought it up, just in case my girlfriend reads this. Anyway, we were trying to figure out where the line is. Like, how far can it go before you dump your girlfriend. I've had this talk with my girl and can understand a drunken kiss or something along those lines, as long as I hear it from her the minute she sobers up. Anything else is cheating, plain and simple. No drunk chick has ever fucked somebody and not remembered it. If your girlfriend tried the old "[i]I think I fell on his dick[/i]" line, time to buy a whore.
Anyway, somehow one of the waitresses overhears our conversation and decides to put her two cents in. I really don't give a shit what a fucking Hooters waitress has between her ears, and I sure as fuck don't want to talk to them about relationships while they're jumping around so their titties shake. Hypocrisy, anyone?
The [u]Hooters[/u] chick tells us that anything done with another person is cheating, plain and simple. I decide that since this bitch has standards (all of a sudden), maybe another [u]Hooters[/u] girl will take my side. I grab the nearest one and ask her to define cheating. She spouts the same garbage the first chick did. Our waitress returns with Jack's second portion of wings.
[i][b]*By the way... it took those fuckers over a half-hour to bring Jack's second batch of wings. How is it "All You Can Eat" when they make you wait between servings? Stupid lying fuckers*[/b][/i]
I pose the question to her and get the same carbon copy response. They must teach this shit at [u]Hooters[/u] University or some shit. Then, Jack says something to her and she drops the F-bomb on him. Then, she storms off and we're all sitting there, confused. I'm in awe that she cursed at us, yet highly amused we got to her, and completely befuddled as to what Jack said.
About fifteen minutes later, she returns and apologizes for her language. We try to smooth things over and soon she returns to her plastic smile and stupid backrubs.
The best part? During this whole fiasco, Travis hasn't said a fucking word. When he DOES open his mouth, it's to try and pick up the upset waitress. He asks here where she's from, all that bullshit. She says she also works at some Siberian tiger clinic in Amish country.
Yeah... "[b]SIBERIAN TIGER CLINIC [/b]in [b]AMISH[/b] country..."
She has the pictures on her cell phone to prove it, and goddammit she wasn't lying.
We get the fuck out of Dodge after getting our whopping $75 bill. The bitch neglected to mention that the pitchers she so generously served where close to $8 a piece. Thank god Travis covered the tip, because all she would've gotten from me was a swift punch to the jugular.
Me and Jack are lit like fucking Christmas trees, ready to go home and pass the fuck out. Travis decided to throw THIS little gambit out:
[i]"We're going to [u]Adobe Gila's [/u]to pick up chicks"[/i]
I don't need chicks, but I'm along for the ride. We end up at this trendy-fuck bar in Easton, sitting off to side where we can't even SEE chicks. The waitress there starts loading us up with beer and someone (probably me) yells "[i]Jagermeister[/i]!"
[i][b]*Quadratic Formula - Pitchers and Jager DO NOT MIX*[/b][/i]
After that, we stumble over to [u]Bar Louie's[/u], another trendy-fuck bar and drink there. This is where I forget everything. I eventually ended up home and proceeded to call people up. If I called you, I don't remember it and it never happened.
The moral of this story?
1. [u]Hooters[/u] fucking sucks, and that bitch waitress will hopefully get mauled by one of those Amish tigers.
2. Drinking on Wednesday is [b]NEVER EVER EVER[/b] a good idea, no matter what the cause.
3. Never say "[i]We'll only be out for a few beers[/i]" or "[i]We'll be back in an hour[/i]" or any of that shit. You'll become a fucking liar who just jinxed yourself and will end up shitfaced, closing a bar and setting people on fire.
Fuck. I'm tired. Go away.
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| The Life and Times of Trent Steel |
| 08.10.04 (11:12 am) [edit] |
[i]I'm still working on my political rant. Trust me, it'll rock. Everything I do rocks. Never fucking forget that...[/i]
[i]Until then, here's the latest installment of Trent Steel's spite-filled life. Enjoy and comment.[/i]
[u][b]Today’s Episode: You Couldn't Make This Shit Up![/b][/u]
I know, I know…. You’ve all been holding your breath in anticipation of the latest installment of the Times. I must apologize. It's been a busy month in Steel-Land.
Actually, I take that back.
What I meant to say was I bought Splinter Cell for my Xbox and have been spending every waking hour trying to beat that goddamn game. I’m serious! If you feel you’ve been spending too much time interacting with other people, pick this game up... it will cure you of that malady quickly. It also gives you the added benefit of being able to shoot foreign people in the face, without the hassle of joining the army or going to jail. Anyway, on with the show:
A little over a year ago, I moved away from pretty much everything and everyone that I know to this nice peaceful town in the mountains of Pennsylvania.
Fast forward to present day.
After a year of living and interacting with these people, I’m here to tell you that they're all fucking nuts. Now I know what you thinking, it’s just MY crazy ass that thinks these people are weird.
This is not the case.
Whenever any one from home comes to this little slice of hell, they all eventually point out the fact that the natives here are fucking clown nuts crazy. Plain not right in the head. So, to prove that I’M not crazy, let me give you a brief synopsis of some of the things I’ve witnessed.
It's All In The Name
First and foremost, the name of the county I live in is all apeshit fucked up. I live in Schuylkill (pronounced "skook-el") County.
Schuylkill? Come the fuck on...
The first time I became aware of this, we were driving through a little burg called Schuylkill Haven. When I heard the name, I almost fell out of the car because I was losing it. This was some genuinely funny shit. When I learned I was soon to become a resident of Schuylkill County, it became less funny. A LOT less.
In Schuylkill County there are about six hundred little towns, which could all be combined into roughly three small cities because they're all about a 1/2 mile apart. Alas, no one around here is that fucking smart. About twice a week you’ll hear on the news about some little podunk town that ran out of money and had to close down their police department. Easily avoidable if you had more then thirty-five tax payers, you fucking morons.
The Natives Are Restless... And Drunk
The only redeeming quality of this hole in the world is the brewery. My town is home to America’s oldest brewery, and a fine drink it is. This creates its own set of problems, however. The fact that the brewery is right in the middle of town means the beer is dirt-cheap for a quality brew.
Get ready to bring in the drunks...
There are three kinds of people in my town: drunks, raging drunks, and full-blown alcoholics. I shit you not, if you live here and don’t drink (not a problem I have) people look at you like you have three heads. The kids start to drink at about thirteen, and the old fuckers drink until they're on their death beds. These old people live next to some friends of mine. You haven’t seen anything until you’ve seen ten old-as-dirt fuckers getting hammered in the backyard on a Sunday afternoon. Words don’t do it justice.
Is That English?
If you’re a native, born-and-bred in this area, then you’re a full-blown "Skook" (this is a name I’ve created to describe/degrade these people). A native Skook drinks about seven nights a week, has a few kids, and a Joe Punch-clock job. Their main goal in life is to not go to jail, and to...
Hmm, come to think of it, I think that may be the only thing these people strive for. I bet they teach it in their high schools.
They also speak their own language that only the people from this area can comprehend. I think its roots are in English, but I’m not entirely sure. I like to call it "Skookese." Speaking Skookese requires that you end the majority of your sentences "then," and the word "you’s" is quite prevalent.
An example of a Skookese sentence: "Hey, are you’s guys goin' boozing then?"
People have said this EXACT phrase to me on several occasions. I don’t pretend to be the most eloquent speaker all of time, but the lexicon here is so strewn with local vernacular that if you haven’t spoken it your entire life, you won't know what the fuck these people are talking about half the time.
Derp Derp Derp!
The people here are ignorant to other things as well, and make statements to prove this on a regular basis.
Example: The minority population has been growing in town over the past several years, as it probably has in most areas. The normal right-minded person would say, "Well, it's a sign of the times. Can't be just us white folks forever!" or something along those lines.
In a Skook’s mind this situation is explained thusly: All of the minorities that have moved into the area recently are here because of the prison not far from here. These people moved in to be closer to their relatives, who are in the prison. Because of this influx of non-native minorities, the crime and drug problems have increased dramatically.
I’m not making this up, someone told me that with a straight face. They really believed that shit.
I'm sure you're saying to yourself, "No big deal, there are strange people all over. You should see some of the people that I have to deal with!" I will acquiesce to this fact, and you can tell me all about it when you’re at Cruise Night next year.
Oh, you don’t have Cruise Night?
Well shit, you're really missing out. Skooks have this event where you pay a nominal fee of, like, eight dollars to drive your car up and down the main drag in town so jackasses can get hammered on the sidewalk and scream "Light em up!" when you drive by. The best part is you don’t even have to have a nice car. Any dolt with eight bucks can enter any piece of shit car they like and no one cares, just as long as the drinking on the sidewalk is not impeded by the cops. It’s still illegal, but if the local PD started to arrest people, they would be there for a fucking week because 3/4 of the town would be in the clink.
If you cant make it to Cruise Night I’ll be at the block party tomorrow.
What? The fire departments in your town don’t have booze fests to raise money? Well shit, how do all EIGHT of them stay open?
You mean you don’t have a "hose company" every other block? With the amount of fire protection in this area you’d think the houses were all insulated with gasoline soaked rags. Fucking hose companies... it doesn’t get any better than that. Only here in Schuylkill can you just be a social member of one of the local volunteer fire departments. No fire fighting, but plenty of cheep beer and a nice place to drink it.
In closing, let me just say this place is un-fucking believable!
Your pal,
Trent Steel
P.S. Stay tuned for my next rant, [b]Trent Steel Vs. Atlantic City[/b]. Coming soon...
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| Update |
| 08.03.04 (3:21 am) [edit] |
I got some feedback on the last rant, not all of it positive. Still, I believe it is a helpful primer for those going through college and life. So, fuck off.
Still really haven't been hit by the old muse enough to post a meaningful blog, so you'll be getting these mini-updates semi-frequently.
[url=http://www.homestarrunner.com...]Peasant's Quest from the Homestarrunner Crew[/url]
This dumb little game will own your ass.
[url=http://www.homestarrunner.com...]The rest of the Brothers Chaps games.[/url]
Trent Steel will be making a triumphant return to these hallowed pages very soon. I think he's currently incarcerated for killing a man with a 7-11 brand Spork. I'd recommend holding your breath until we post his latest.
Off to my wonderful job...
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