Meanwhile, does anyone know how to invite someone here? Raechelle wants back in.

Car Collectin' Crazies: Volume 1

It gets harder and harder each day to spot a Chunky Beef. Perhaps that's a good thing and people are starting to actually think of their health. Unfortunately, it makes for long periods of no posts.

My apologies for that.

But lo-and-behold just as I thought the world was getting to be a bit saner... I stumbled onto something I hadn't seen in a good six years:


Puh...puh...puhlease mistah... can't I have just one...)

Yeah... that's right. Car Collectors.

The bane of my existence. Well, them along with...

• Wallabies


• Britney Spears


• Tim Eyman


• Tom Cruise


• TOM CRUISE


• Snakes on a plane (because I wanted to cash in on that internet phenomenon as well


• Queen Chunky Beef that lives downstairs in my house's basement

So I've decided to let that guy above kick-start this fun new segment: Car Collectin' Crazies.

Let's take a look at the specimen above. You can't see him from the front... that's because it's dangerous to stare at a car collector in the face. If you do, you run the risk of catching their vile disease and you too may start living at home with your parents at the tender age of 42.

You may also start to smell, reeking of desperation and Doritos (specifically the Nacho Cheese Doritos). Or corn-nuts. Or feces.

Probably feces actually, as these unholy monstrocities have never known the love of a bar of soap.

What makes them so unholy? Simple. Do you see that little kid there? Well, that little kid probably wants nothing more than to pick up the latest cool Hot Wheels car... something shiny and in black probably. But what does this Car Collectin' Crazy want? Why he wants to hoard them all to himself like a real life Kingpin... selling them on eBay or Craigslist or wherever else he can pawn off his ill-gotten cars.

The one you see before you is actually one of the "Blenders" as I like to call them, because they ALMOST look human. Almost being the key word. If you look close enough, you begin to see the three day old pizza stains and couch fibers embedded on their skin from where they sleep on their parents couch for thirteen hours at a time.

You remember all those nightmares your parents would tell you at night that would happen to you if you were a bad boy or girl.

Well they exist.

And they shop in the Hot Wheels toy car aisle at your local department or toy store.

Bring the pitch forks.

Chunky Beef Alert: Bio-Mechanical Beef

Here's my problem.

There are good people in the world. There are bad people in the world. And then, then there are lazy jack-asses. Not the lazy-jackasses like Jimmy or James. I'm talking about the lazy jack-asses who get in my way, smell funny, and/or take advantage of things...

Things such as people in wheelchairs.

One of the biggest problems with this country is that people are getting unhealthier and unhealthier. For example, they get FAT and they SMOKE. Seriously. Pick one. I would say pick the one that doesn't offend me as much... and you would think that would be getting FAT, because smoking stinks...

But if you've rode a bus in any city, you'd realize that fat people seem to abhore soap. (Not all fat people, because some who are overweight are genetically so, or are so because of injury, and I do sympathize with them... but for all the others, this applies to you.) So I can put up with one or the other, but not both.

Or anything close to that. For some reason, I find it personally offensive when someone does something doubly-unhealthy (i.e. the smoking and the fatness). I also find it offensive when a person takes advantage of things that were clearly not meant for them.

Where is this rant going? Right... here:


Oh my God... they've gone mechanical.

Now, on first glance, you might think... "Great... Jeff's lost his mind and now he's picking on vets who can't walk... should have seen that comin'..."

And while it's true, mental stability is always a give and take with me... I haven't lost my senses...

This guy that you see... he can walk. I know because before this picture was taken, he used the wheelchair to rest his bag. Meanwhile, he walked around a bit and was sitting on the bench (taking up more space). Then when the bus rolls around, he gets into the wheelchair and holds his bag and wheels up to the bus. He did this so he could have his own FUCKING SEAT!

Yes. That's right. That's laziness. That's laziness that affects me. It affects me because it means he takes up a bunch of seats with his FUCKING wheelchair while people then have to stand. He does this because he's too lazy to hold his own bag. Now, he does have a cast... but he could still use crutches. And after seeing his behavior, I have to question whether the cast is a prop.

I dated a girl who's mom's legs were amputated. Now she needed a wheelchair. The great Biomechanical Chunk over here hardly does.

And I bet he smokes.

Smokey McBio Chunk.

Chunky Beef Alert: Queen Beef

I'm a nice guy.

It's true. I don't even have to try. I genuinely care about other people... their welfare... their happiness... there what-have-you. That's just the type of guy I am.

That's one of the prevailing reasons why I got into psychology. To help people in the best way that I can.

But don't cross me. It's just one of those lines.

Some of you may remember when I was foolishly nearly driven into driving into an oncoming car in high school. (Oh, who am I kdding. You sons-of-bitches don't even read this board anymore because you're too busy playing WoW or some other WoW-type equivalent. Bastards...)

Over the years, I have singled out people who have done so... or who I just don't like for whatever reasons I have: David Sanders. Tom Cruise. Alphabet Soup.

Well, I have a new one. And lo-and-behold, she makes the newest installment of:

Chunky Beef Alert!

The Queen walks with her drone... searching for the beef.

Meet the leader of all that is Chunky Beef. Queen Chunky Beef. Sure, she might not look like the biggest CB out there... but you don't have to be to be the leader. Rest assured, she could eat you. Whole.

Let me explain something to you. You do NOT call the Seattle Animal Shelter on me to complain about how my outdoor cat is going to die because it has no shelter when it does have a fuckin' shelter all because you don't like that he's an outdoor cat. Boo hoo Chunkizilla. If you were so worried about my cat's health, you wouldn't fuckin' smoke around my cat. Why don't you take a wet nap to your inner lungs before you come near my cat again. Hey, I know, if you are worried about shelter, why not liposuct some of your body fat and build him a little home from it.

With the amount you have, you could build him the Taj Mahal.

But I know this one... she didn't call the Seattle Animal Society because she was worried about the shelter... she called because I didn't want to lister to her go on and on about the various dangerous associated with living outdoors. Funny, how in the thousands of years before cats lived in houses, they seemed to do alright for themselves in the wild.

And you know, I'm not annoyed that she was worried about my cat. I'm annoyed that she tried to enforce her Whalrus will upon me behind my back, while puffing her smoke in my vacinity.

Some of you might remember my old rants about kangaroos. Well, be prepared... because Tubtastic here is my new focus.

An American Food

NOTE: I had to make this post quickly, because I was getting nightmares at seeing Chunky McSpears everytime I opened this site.

Remember when, during a picnic or barbeque, or ho-down for our country readers, there was that moment when the first hamburger was freshly grilled off the... well... grill.

I remember those moments. They are what makes summer barbeques great. Getting that burger. I preferred mine with a little bit of melted cheese. Oh, and some ketchup. Though lately I've moved on to mustard.

That's right, fuck you Heinz. German bastard. (German engineered bastard.)

There's something so delicious about those homemade burgers. And it's not like they cost much to make. Just a few patties, some buns, and your condiment of choice.

Sometimes though, we don't have time to make our own burgers, so we go to some place to have a burger. Like MacDonalds (eww.) or Wendys (less eww.) or Red Robin (variety of decent mixed with eww.). Of course, with these places, those burgers can increase in cost (Red Robin being the most expensive.)

I think a Red Robin burger costs like around 10 bucks, give or take. But hey, it can be worth it. (Jalepeno Burger, bitches!)

Well, following that logic, then THIS:

Fru Fru.
Has to be the most tasty burger on the muthafuckin' (source: Sam Jackson) planet.

This tasty-gem costs 100 dollars. NO... wait... actually, with tax and garnishes, it costs: $124.50.

(And, of course, you can only purchase this burger if you belong to an exclusive club where the membership is $40,000 with a $3,600 dollar yearly fee.)

Excuse me, while I...
HAAHAHAHEHEHAHAHEHAHAHA...

There really is a sucker born every minute.

I'm sorry, but a $43,724.50 burger? Are you fuckin' out of your mind? Seriously? Gentle Jesus this is the stupidest thing I have heard of yet. (Aside from Carrot Top.) I mean... for fuck's sake... the only thing this solves is that people will be less likely to become Chunky Beef (see previous post below).

Of course, not to be outdone, Hickville, USA has come up with the anti-stupid expensive burger, by shoving as much crap as they can in it.

Introducing the Monster Thick Burger:

Look ma, it's Australia... no wait... that's just the type of food truckers named Mel eat...

I'm going to go out on a limb and say, "Thank God someone has invented a way to subtly kill fat people."

Because that's what this thing does. At 1420 calories and 2740mg of sodium, this thing could stop the heart of a walrus.

At least we still have In-and-Out Burger.

Chunk Beef Alert: Celebrity Scaredown

I have to say, by and large, I've seen some very scary things in my time. Especially living in Seattle. Not so much because it's a scary city... rather a very tame city... but because when you group a large number of people together, there are always those odd ones that slip out and make themselves prominent. And I'm not saying the cool odd ones. Or the entertaining odd ones (see James Collins. But the odd ones that make you question humanity and beg for a quick and timely death (painless optional).

Humanity has a way of doing that. Sometimes you are immensely proud of it, and sometimes you shudder at the thought of being linked genetically with it.

And that harrowing thought brings me to tonights...

Chunky Beef Alert!

HAHAHAHAHAhahahahahah...-gasp, gasp-... HAHAHAHAHahahahahaha

Wow. You know, for years I hated Britney Spears for making me want to gouge my ears out every time her voice came over the radio... and then I felt a little sorry for her because she married White Trash on Legs. Now... wow. Wow. I mean... wow.

I mean, it's probably hard to remember back in the day... but THIS:

WAS Britney Spears.

So... Wow. I guess all I can say is, I feel a weird sense of pity mixed with uncontrollable laughter.

And the scariest part... she hasn't changed her dress style since her younger picture.

Chunky Beer Alert: Hospital Dangers!

I don't understand people. At least, not all people. And I don't understand how some things are structured.

Take, for example, how some hospitals have McDonald's built right into them. I mean, seriously?

What the fuck are you thinking?

The nearest I can figure is that it's an attempt to bring in repeat customers. Mr. Johnson, who has a heart-valve transplant because his heart is tired of pumping greasy burgers through his beaten up old veins, goes straight from his hospital bed down to the McDonald's and orders up a McHeart-Attack, SuperSized, of course... and bam, two weeks later, he's spending more for a second heart-valve.

Way to go Douchebag Johnson.

And that brings me to Chunky Beef, Smoker Lady.


Seriously? At a hospital?

I took this at the VA Hospital, where there is a smoking shelter. No, scratch that, there are like three smoking shelters. What the fuck? I can understand something like that at a bar or restaurant... but at a hospital? Why not just get rid of it and force people to adapt. For fuck's sake! It's smoking, not eating... (although in this case, this lady seems to have a problem with both).

You know what, if she wants to smoke, make her ass walk down the block and smoke there! It might help deter her from smoking a little. And that is providing exercise. I just cannot comprehend this act of providing shelter to someone who's already harming their body. If you really want to be a risk-taker, smoke in the fucking rain!

Chunky Beef Alert: The Dangers of Bus-Ridin'

Today I am starting a new special, called "Chunky Beef Alert" in which I bring to you, all those that read this blog (all 1 of you), the dangers of those I designate as Chunky Beef.

Now, before we get to the dirt and grit of the post, I should at least explain what Chunky Beef is and what Chunky Beef is not.

Chunky Beef IS NOT simply a large man or woman.

Chunky Beef is a large man or woman that pisses me off or is obnoxious.

Lastly, Chunky Beef is WHOEVER I say.

Simple rules, no?

And now, meet our first Chunk Beef Alert:

Much like pictures of the elusive Big Foot, Chunky Beef Bus-Man, dodges behind urban "trees" to avoid the camera.

I have a problem with people who blantantly don't take care of themselves and then demand compensation. It's like someone who drinks when they have liver disease. And I'm not talking about those who have mental health issues. That's different. The ones who simply refuse to try and change... they bother me.

So the same goes for this Chunky Beef. I ran into this, and barely survived a mauling, when I was waiting for the bus. While waiting, Chunky Beef Bus-Man was sitting on a bench (all of the bench) smoking a cigarette outside of the smoking shelter. Contaminating my air. Yeah, that's right. Fat and smokey... and then he cuts in front of me while getting on the bus.

Fuck you Chunky Beef Bus-Man. I do not need to make space for you when you are threatening my existence with your gravity-altering mass of destruction. You're very presence has probably altered the tidal ebb and flow of the oceans.

Hey, here's a thought: Try a Lean-Pocket with some Nicotine Gum!

I know it sounds mean, but if you were trying to be healthy, I would not have a problem with you.

Sausage-Man

0010

The Seattle Metro System. An endless supplier of strange oddities. And that's just the people that ride it.

You wake up in the mornings somedays... after your dog takes a crap on your bed and you're forced to bleach the hell out of it... to board a bus filled with people who instinctively all want to punch you, or you want to punch them, square in the neck.

Again, there's no real reason why. It's just this feeling when you look at them, or they look at you. It's group misery. While the bus isn't all that bad, there are those days when it's all that bad and then some. Those are the days when you wish you could take a nerf bat on board and just start whackin' people left and right.

Or that you could just Jack-Bauer them.

Case in point: Sausage-Man.

Now you might think, hey, a man who gives sausages. (And if your James, you're thinking... "yumm, I want to eat his sausages".)

But no, it's not like that. He's no hot-dog vendor. He's a guy that smells like sausage. But not good sausage. Three or four day old sausage that's been left out a plate in front of a dingy window by the sink. Covered in its own oils. Even most forms of bacteria don't want to grow on it... just the smelly kind.

And he sits there, on the bus, talking to some larger woman, who's playing with some sort of decrepit old police scanner/radio that looks like it came from the 70's (you know, back when all the cool, hip technology came from). And you wonder, "Do they know each other?" and "How can she stand his sausage-smell?" and "Maybe she smells of sausage?"

Or, "Is he flirting with her?" - which is quickly followed by a prayer that they never have sausage-smelling kids.

Don't get me wrong, I don't care how big or small you are... fat, skinny... whatever. But you don't have to smell bad. Common courtesy... if you are going to sit next to me in public, try to at least bathe once in awhile.

Instead, I'm stuck feeling nauseated and sick because of Sausage-Man. And after over thirty minutes of this, because the bus was stuck downtown, I really did want to Jack-Bauer him:


You've Been Jack-Bauer'd! Enjoy a hole in your wife's leg!

Cyber-Mega-INTRA-WEBtastic Security

0009

One of the things that often happens at most places of employment is that you have to go through training. Be that safety training, cashier training, customer service training, sexual harassment training, potty training... whatever.

And often, it is one boring piece of shit experience.

We all know what I'm talking about. We all know, because we've all gone through it. Even those of us without jobs currently have still gone through it. Hell, they even put us through that bullshit in high school.

Of course, it's not always there fault. After all, there are some very stupid people out there that probably would do the most enormously stupid things, like playing with exposed electrical wires that are obviously sparking with electricity.

But for the rest of us, it is rather pointless, and almost insulting that we have to go through training, and also watch training videos, that seem to have been made for a toddler with Down syndrome (or for Fred Phelps. Fuck you Fred Phelps.)

My personal gripe is the safety videos and safety training... both of which I had to do again, as part of a yearly cycle. So I'm sitting there, at my nice and neat little offi-cube (a slash between an office and a cubicle for those of you that fall into the Fred Phelps category), doing the online training safety video... when we approach the topic of cybersecurity. And then this picture pops up:



Now honestly... what the hell is that? Why the hell would someone sit at a computer with a fuckin' ski mask? Most computers I know of (unless they are Macs) have no built in camera. And this being the VA, I can tell you that there are no cameras floating around overhead watching your every move. (We're too cheap and too underfunded for that.) So that means they paid some fucker to wear that ski mask and sit like a moron to take a completely unrealistic, childish, and downright insulting picture. It's like telling someone, "Now see here... if you aren't careful, this bad scary man with the mask could steal your information!!! Oooogadiboogadii boo!!!"

Stupid cybersecurity training video.

And seriously... what sad excuse for a human being would actually sit with a ski mask on in some chair and act all spooky bank robber like?

Buttcrack

0008


I want to know something.

Why the hell do people think that I want to see their ass-cracks? Seriously. I don't. Even if you were the hottest person on Earth... I don't want to see your ass-crack.

Well, maybe Natalie Portman. I'm undecided on that one. Or that chick from Lost.

But even then, I'm not sure. I'd rather have them wearing a parka.

There is definitely absolutely nothing appealing about seeing someone's ass-crack. Nothing.

Especially when I'm eating chowder on a sunny day. I guess it being a sunny day really has nothing to do with the fact that I was eating chowder. But it was sunny, and it's for setting the setting.

Fuckers.

So anyway, there I was, after having gone to the Seattle Cheese Festival, and getting loaded on cheese, eating chowder. The Crab Pot. Good chowder. Not the best chowder... I'm still on the hunt for the best chowder. But damn fine chowder nonetheless. So there I was, enjoying my chowder... when McChunky decides to sit in front of me, her back facing me. And there it was... ass-crack.

ASS-CRACK.

Staring me down, while I'm eating. But I can't fault her completely, she did decide to pull down her undersized shirt a little, which meant that instead of showing all of her flabby backside, she was only showing 25% of her flabby backside.

Yeah, I'm a lucky guy.

You Never Truly Escape

0007


Seeking nostalgia, partly because I saw an old friend (from the 5th-6th grade era) today, I decided to go looking through my vast collection of pictures. As I was doing so, I ran across a picture that brought me back to my days of working at Target.

Ah, yes, for those young'uns that don't realize it (and you all really need to start respecting your elders - Michael, DT, I'm looking at you fuckers), I used to be a part of the grand Target family.

(You know, that family that you try to hide away and pretend like you aren't related to.) To be sure, I wasn't the first of us to work there. That honor is purely reserved for Jimmy. But I was one of the first in a line of many of us who would go on to work there.

Others such as:

• Jimmy Miller


• Michael Collins


• Zacho


• Steven Pearson (I think... someone verify this for me, if you're not all too busy playing WOW)


• Joe Ellefson (someone you don't know)


• Kyle Batie (another someone you don't know)


• Cali Archer (see above)

Yeah... now I know some of those are names that you don't know. Ohhh, big surprise, Jeff knows people outside this group of people. Maybe if you all read the board and posted, I wouldn't need to go off and make new friends. I blame you all.

But anyway, suffice it to say, many of us have felt the taint of Target.

And specifically, the taint of this man:

"Let's hit it hot, hard, and heavy!"

Yes, good ol' Roger.

Now you might be askin': "Why Jeff, why are you talking about this man when its been years since you've had to work under his oppressive aussie thumb?" Well, because I was a fool.

A fool?

Yes, a fool. For years, I stayed up here in Seattle, around the UW, thinking that I was safely tucked away in my corner of the state. And then, much to my surprise, this man shows up... and at the one place I would have thought I was the safest: UW. Look at that picture carefully... notice that he's not inside a Target... or a SuperTarget... or some sort of UltraMegaTarget? That's because he's hanging out in Mary Gates Hall... trying to recruit more Targetears... the bastard.

And he recognized me. Which is the sad, scary part.

I lost where I was going with this rant. So to tie it up... you all keep in mind... those things that you fear the most... those things that you thought you could escape by running away... oh no my friends. You never escape. They always show up... whether or not you expect it.

Hmm, I wish I could say I was happy with this post, but I'm not. Not that it matters. You all won't read it. Lazy bastards.

0006

Rolling Damage

I am a firm believer that in order to grow and succeed and evolve and whatnot... that you have to face adversity. That's just how the whole growth process works.

And yet, I'd like to know how a fuckin' blown tire really helps me.

Two days ago, Saturday (May 6th. 2006), I was scrambling to put together all the pieces for a bachelor party at a paintball place in Everett. And what was supposed to be scheduled, wasn't. So in the end, trying to get nine people up to a place in Everett with only a three-seater truck and a motorcycle made things a little difficult. But then we got my roommates truck, and all seemed to be working just fine. That is...

until I was told to follow the the truck into a gas-station because people thought it was a shortcut. Then when they realized it wasn't (and I had already known but went along - my mistake) I had to circle around the block, finding myself at an intersection with no immediate right turn available. Then someone suggests making a "U-ie" and so I try that. And I misjudge the distance between the car and the curb. And I hit the curb. And I hear that fun sound of a tire exploding.

And there goes Paintball.

I post this not to entertain you retards - since none of you ever read this board. I post it to remind myself of another time when I was driving, and then told to do something that I didn't initially want to do... and that lead to an accident.

That incident, of course, was the headlights-kicking-in incident way back in the days of Bethel High School. When I followed a car that tried to run me into oncoming traffic. And after following for a bit, under the suggestion of the carload, those inside said, "fuck it, never mind" and I slammed on the brakes, the car went for a spin, and ended up in a ditch. Truthfully, nothing was wrong with it, other than we had to push a little to get it out. But I was mad, and I kicked in one of the headlights.

Go figure.

Somewhere there is a lesson in all of these incidents. I suppose it is to not listen to you people when I drive, as I do so much better that way.

That or I need anger-management class.

That or I just need to start driving more often to hone my skills.

Of course, if I one day hit a pedestrian due to situations similar to above, I'd get at least 100 hit points.

So that's something.

0005

Harken

So I was thinking lately... actually not so lately... that we should all do some paintball again. I've been saying that for the past few years, but you fuckers never actually help go through with it. And of course I know that money is a part of the issue, but I'm sure we can all figure out a way to get around that. At the very least, we could make it a yearly thing. A "jimmoi-day" mega-summerpolooza of sorts... Everybody seems to enjoy a good --olooza.

Which also reminds me... we haven't done any sort of camping thing. That's partly my fault... I've been busy often. But I think that the next three day weekend I have off, we should all go to Fort Lewis and do a little cheap camping again. (And this time I'll bring my paintball gun, so if Mike has any fish or trout problems, we can deal with those.)

I don't know that anybody reads this board anymore, but it was worth a try. You bastards are probably too busy with your WOW to read this. Or post. And the supposedly new forums... yeah, that seemed like a joke. That and I've never really liked forums anyway.

0004 - Most Hated, 2006

You know, you bastards should really come to Cupcake sometime.

Of course, you all are too busy playing WOW. Or whatever other MMORPG that has come along to grasp your attention. And for that, I hate you all.

Which reminds me of other things that I dislike.

That's right, it's the Hate List 2006. Or the Most Disliked. I don't remember... I just remember having some list that I would make on a yearly basis, when I remembered it.

So yeah. We'll try that again:

The "I Hate..." List 2006

• 10. Smoker Guy on Bus - Now this isn't to say that I hate all smokers. I know Jimmy and DT like to smoke. Haha, there go your lungs you fuckers. But I don't hate them. What I do hate is this guy that gets on my bus after smoking the tree equivalent of all a state forest, and then saddles up right next to me. Damn you Smoker Guy on Bus.


• 09. Brokeback Mountain Lovers - Not all those people that like Brokeback Mountain. Just the ones who like the movie and then get all pissy when I don't want to watch it. News flash people, just because a person doesn't want to watch a gay cowboy movie, doesn't make him a) homophobic, b) closet gay, or c) Tom Cruise. I don't really like very many cowboy films. So I have no interest in the movie. Oh, and I really don't want to see two guys doin' it. Doesn't mean I don't like gay people. I'm pretty sure there are plenty of gay people out there that don't like watching two straight people gettin' it on. You don't call them heterophobes.


• 08. Bill Nye, the Science Guy - I just don't like the way your name sounds.


• 07. Karl Rove - You haunt my dreams.


• 06. Casper, the Friendly Ghost - Fuck you Casper. There is no way you are going to be that friendly all the time when your a ghost. Nobody can be. Not unless you are the ghost of Mother Theresa, and even then, I bet you'd be pissed off that your dead. And you can't be the ghost of Mother Theresa, or your name would be Mother Theresa, the Friendly Ghost. No, best bet is your the future ghost of Casper Van Diem, who died in the future, or is perhaps dead now, and went back in time to a time and place when people didn't know how much you sucked. And if you are him, Casper, I doubt you'd be that friendly, knowing that you were once Casper Van Diem. Unless you lose your memories when you die, then, and only then, would I see you being overly friendly, at having forgotten how much you suck.


• 05. Tickle Me, Elmo - Pedofile.


• 04. Harry Whittington - Pure stupidity. Who in their right mind would actually be five miles near Dick Cheney with a gun?? Good sir, it is your own fault.


• 03. Suri Cruise - For being the child of Tom Cruise. Choose better parents next time.


• 02. Every Single Contestant on American Idol - It is because of you all that that fuckin' show continues to stay on the air.



• 01. Tom Cruise

  - Even if you tried, you couldn't be less of a douchebag than L. Ron Hubbard. You brainwash you actresses, impregnate them (which I still doubt, I think it was another Scientologist crony) with your vile seed, name your children idiotic names, create hyper-shitty movies like MI:2 (thank God, J. J. Abrams is making MI:3, so hopefully it won't be the shitstorm that MI:2 was - fuck you Woo, your making the list next year), and your name is Tom Cruise. Fuck you Tom. You've only been watchable in a few movies, and you can't even hold a candle to actors like Brad Pitt, Philip Seymore Hoffman, Christian Bale (to name a broad, diverse few)... hell, even Carrot Top (okay, maybe that was a bit overboard). But oh so how I loathe you.

Ah, there's something to be said about traditions, and about hating on Tom Cruise.

Fuck you Cruise.

Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk,
I'm a woman's man: no time to talk.
Music loud and women warm, I've been kicked around
since I was born.
And now it's all right. It's OK.
And you may look the other way.
We can try to understand
the New York Times' effect on man.

Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother,
you're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.
Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin',
and we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive.

Well now, I get low and I get high,
and if I can't get either, I really try.
Got the wings of heaven on my shoes.
I'm a dancin' man and I just can't lose.
You know it's all right. It's OK.
I'll live to see another day.
We can try to understand
the New York Times' effect on man.

Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother,
you're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.
Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin',
and we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive.

Life goin' nowhere. Somebody help me.
Somebody help me, yeah.
Life goin' nowhere. Somebody help me.
Somebody help me, yeah. Stayin' alive.

Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk,
I'm a woman's man: no time to talk.
Music loud and women warm,
I've been kicked around since I was born.
And now it's all right. It's OK.
And you may look the other way.
We can try to understand
the New York Times' effect on man.

Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother,
you're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.
Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin',
and we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive.

Life goin' nowhere. Somebody help me.
Somebody help me, yeah.
Life goin' nowhere. Somebody help me, yeah.
I'm stayin' alive.

0003

Wow Adam, I'm surprised anybody is still trying to post on this. Way to go man. Way to not let this thing die when both of its legs have been chewed off by rabid kangaroos.

Kangaroos... man that brings back memories.

Dangerous memories of a time spent persecuted by--

Anyway, you have inspired me to post more on this. Of course, I don't expect that inspiration to last very long - quite possibly 45 minutes.

But hey, it's something right?

Right.

It's now been over five years.


Wow.

Perhaps you've just got dry skin?

0002

Working at a veteran's hospital, you begin to get used to certain things... you know... what you would normally expect. Old guys mostly... talking about the great war, or the "gook" war, or the damn liberals... so forth and so on. Old guys in wheel chairs... old guys hooked up to oxygen tanks... old guys with walkers and canes.

Old guys everywhere.

(For anyone thinking that a hospital is a great place to hook up with some hot doctor woman... the VA hospital does not fall into that category.)

I have spent a little over a year at the VA hospital now... and after that time, you eventually become numb to a great many things, and things others might find funny, sad, life-altering or shocking, you begin to shrug off as just another day on the job.

And then yesterday I saw something I have never seen before:

As I was walking down the hallway from the canteen (what a layperson calls a cafeteria, but the government has to call a canteen), with my co-worker, after having discussed what we hate about our jobs, I took notice of a smell vaguely familiar of lotion.

Yes, I am familiar with the smell of lotion. Fill in whatever depraved thoughts you jack-asses might have, but I'm familiar with it...

So I look around, thinking that maybe it's my female co-worker using lotion. But no... I know it's not for two reasons. 1) She's a sane person, and no sane person would just bust out a bottle of lotion and start "lotioning" up on the way back to the office unless their skin was so chapped and cracked that they were in danger of turning to dust with the slightly breeze. And at that point, being in a hospital, she would do better to go to a doctor. 2) Her lotion smells different. Like plums or something... I don't know. I know it doesn't smell like this kind of lotion. You pick up on things like this when you're stuck in an office together with a woman for a year.

Looking around for the source, I stumble across that which I have never seen before. Before me is a guy, no taller than me. Quite shorter in fact, but not so short as to be called a midget or whatever the politically correct term is. I believe he's one of the "special" workers the VA employs to pick up the recycling every afternoon. You know... an "iSenior!"

He is looking around, almost like he's looking for help. But he's not asking anybody for anything. Just looking. Sad, almost dejected. You never really notice the more shocking or odd things first. Not always anyway. I noticed that he seemed stranded. It wasn't until I began to pass him that I noticed that his face and hands were covered in white goop.

Yes. White goop. Dripping, droopy, semi-clear, semi-white goop. Hands and face.

Now, of course you have all figured out that the source of the lotion smell was probably coming from him. That's what I deduced at least. I didn't bother to confirm this, but given the oddity of the situation, I had my reasons for why.

And of course the white goop was lotion.

But still, you all know you were thinking it. Even my female co-worker was thinking it. She was the one who first said it.

"I hope that was lotion..."

Given the context of things though, and what half of you probably thought when I said that I was familiar with the smell of lotion... and of course Jimmy's experience with lotion and such...

"... at least I think it was."

Maybe it's that I live in Seattle. After all, I seem to have had the most experience with odd things and odd encounters and I live here. Even Aaron had his little "Muthafuckin' Ring Two!" experience in Seattle.

Lather, Rinse, Repeat

0001

Memory is a funny thing. It hits you when you least expect it and nags you until you acknowledge it.

To that end, I provide this:
(you may need to scroll out)




I know I probably have forgotten some of you, and my apologies for that. Email me (nonfinis@gmail.com) if so, and I will rectify that. (that is if you bastards still check this board at all - and that is something i will change).

And lastly, to let you all see where you fit in the rest of my collective circles:



Mostly because James noted that most of you I know through him. And almost seemed to insinuate that that's how I know all of my associations.

Not quite. And this chart is also probably missing components.

Now, your job is to make your own. Basically it is a map of the people I know, and through which person I originally met them by. If you can't make one of these, send me the info in an email and I will generate it and then make it for you. Then they will all be hyperlinked like an image map.

Now go, spread forth and create. Fools.