I came, I gamed, and I conquered...motherfucker.

Wow, what a week. I was groovin with some buds hardcore in just about everything this week, from Lost planet, to Gears of War, and mucho mucho (that means "more" for you English only bitches) others to say the least. Oh, and if you have been following this harrowing tales blog, you'll know that my keyboards take a beating due to inadvertent coffee spills, and ciggy burns. I swear, this keyboard I have atm, is a fuckin trooper. The "K" key for some reason still works, even though literally 3/4 of it looks like a melted plastic army man, remember, the ones ya used to torch with the can of Lysol and a match in the backyard and shit? Fuck, those army men cost me a serious ass beating once when I was about 8 or so. I was one serious fuckin child pyro, I gotta admit...anyways, my mom had just put in these new bathroom counters, and I swear they looked like some sort of funky ass camoflage made just for my army men to conquer and kill and cause mass fuckin mayhem on. I drop on my battalion of badasses on, and here comes the industrial size can of Lysol! (I gotta thank good ol' mom for buying that size, cripes you could torch some serious shit with that bug fuckin can) So I see that the grenade dude (the one in the perpetual throw motion) is about to fuck my boys up, so I target him first...Hayaaaaaaaaa motherufucker!! Take that!! That bitch went up like nuttin, and proceeded to melt not only onto my mom's new counter...but melted INTO mom's new counter. Oh fuck me...even when yer as young as that, you know the serious ass beating yer gonna get when you start fucking up shit that can't be just washed off. I literally went to my room after I made even more of a mess of it, by chipping the shit away as best I could with a fucking butterknife, which of course, made the shit worse.

Ok, let's see, sitting in my room, all I can think about is how shiny and nice and clean the old man's belt buckle looks right before he whips it off to cause serious damage to my ass cheeks. Well 15 minutes into that nightmare thought, good ol' mom, who is sniffing around the house like a fuckin bloodhound says..."something's burning in here, I can smell it!". She then asks me to help her find out where the smell is coming from. Of course i know, but thinking I'm one smart motherfucker, head to the back of the house, so I can draw her away from the bathroom. I say, "is this it?" way back in the kitchen, and she says she can't smell it and heads back down the hall. 10 seconds later all I hear is one word..."Oh!". Right then I'm shitting a brick, because dear old mom can lay down some ass whippin too, and all I can think about is how to fucking die so I don't get beat. She calls me into the bathroom shoiws me my handiwork and asks in a calm tone (calm tone = so fucking pissed she's about to have a coronary and shit) "Did you do this...son?" (Oh fuck, the "son" interjection is like a dagger to me, I know when I have no name, it's about to come) I then break into tears....and I start getting all wet faced and snotty, and start doing that hyperactive breathing and crying shit kids do when they are so fucked like I was...and I replied as quickly as I could through all my trauma....I say..."No mom." Mom looks at me and asks again..."Did you do this?" I reply after like 3 minutes of fast breath crying...."No mom." Then it comes, the 3rd asking of the question of doom. I have a choice here, since I know my mom like the back of a book, the 3rd try is due or die time see...if it don't come out after the 3rd one, you are so fucked, you just can't believe the pain and suffering you are gonna be in for. I mean, restriction, an ass whippin, no friends, no phone, no fuckin nuttin! So here it comes after another 2-3 minutes..."Did you do this?" And of course I wanna come clean, because I'm shittin baby seals and cantaloupe about now, so I say..."No mom, I swear to God I didn't!! Strike three motherfucker, yer out!!

Seeing as my mom is a devote religious type, the God part of my statement probably made her the most pissed, even though I just lied through my teeth 3 times as I looked her dead in the eye. Being that age, it seems kinda tough to come up with a story that woulda been a winner, seeing as I was the only one home at the time this shit happened. If my little bother had been there I though, he would be gettin a serious ass whippin now instead of me, because I woulda blamed this shit all over his ass. So now, I got mom wanting to kill me, and dad is like 2 hours away from getting off work. My life, in my opinion was over. All I could think about was ways to die again...oh how that would teach them both to be mad at me. I was thinking about ways to go so they would be sad and shit...yea, that would teach them! Beat me will they!! Anyway, after lie number 3, my mom laid into me, I got the "grab by the scruff of the neck, carry yer ass through the house while I spank yer ass treatment"...number 23A-6. Ahhh, the classic 23A-6. I numbered all the ass beatings in accordance with who did it, and how much discomfort it caused, seeing as I was a fuckin brat bastard when I was a kid, and got the shit spanked outta me pretty much daily. Of course no matter how much mom tried, she could never instill the kinda fear like dear old dad. Like I said before, that fuckin belt of his was some evil shit man. I hated to even go near it when it was on the floor. I shit you not, that was a scary motherfucker. T-minus 60 minutes until the dadster walked through the door...if he had a bad day at work, I was in for a few more wallops, so I was praying that no one pissed him off all day at work.

My mom of course is now on the phone to dad, he's about to leave the job, and start his commute, when all I hear is, "Guess what your son did yadda yadda yadda"...oh fuck, she made me sound like Manson and shit. Then I hear her sign off with, "You had better do something about this when you get home!". Those words were like the last nail in the coffin for me. I knew my ass was gonna be throbbing in T-minus 45 minutes now. I don't know about any of you...but lemme tell ya, when there is impending doom on the horizon, I start to freak out and think up some serious shit in how to escape it. First off I was gonna run away from home, so for whatever reason, I need to fast pack "essentials" for my life on the run. What do I take? 5 pairs of underwear, and 2 t-shirts. In my thinking, I can wear the same pants and socks forever, but I can't have dirty fuckin undies now can I? Plus they were easy to pack...I just stuffed all of the shit into my pants, so I didn't have to carry any of it. Fuckin' brilliant if you ask me! Ok, so here I am, scavenging the necessary shit I need to (undies and shirts) and they are now all crammed into my pants, so I look like some kinda freak with a gland problem in my crotch and shit, when mom walks in and sees me heading for the open window. She snags my young ass and makes me "unpack". I know she was trying her ass off not to laugh, but it took me years to realise that shit. She says sit down and don't move...T-minus 10 minutes until dad walks in.

T-minus 5 minutes and I start crying. It wasn't real crying, it was that mom, "please don't let dad kill me" kinda crying. But I guess that counter was a bit over the top when it came to my ass being spared. She just said, "knock it off, that aint working today". Fuck that, now I really start crying because I'm all terrified and shit. Then I hear my old man's car pull up into the driveway. I stop crying so I can hear the plan of abuse heading my way when he walks in and chats it up with my mom. They were kinda quiet for a bit, and I strained like fuck to hear what they were saying, then the old man walks into the bathroom, and looks at my new decorative skills on the counter, and just went..."well shit, that's not gonna be easy to replace now is it?" He then walks into my room, where I'm sitting on my bed, and closes the door. I say "hello dad, how was work today?" He replies..."It was shit". My mind is now going bonkers, and I think my asshole puckered so hard, I sucked up some of the bed linens. He asks..."that counter in the bathroom, the new one your mom just had put in...did you burn an army man on it, and let it burn through the counter?" Now, my mom is someone who takes a bit of shit, but dad don't, ever. I mean ever. Instead of replying to his question, I just drop my head and start doing the "quiet sniffle crying" shit. He then tells me, if I tell him the truth, I won't get beat for it. I'm thinking I just lost my hearing and shit, this is too fuckin good to be true, so I keep my head down, and keep up the sniveling. He brings my head up, and asks again, and I know I heard him right this time, so of course I say, "Yes dad, I did burn the army man into the counter". What a fuckin relief!! My dad then gets up and walks out of the room, and I'm just sitting there, amazed like I just saw a fucking alien or some shit. I literally cannot move because it was surreal for me not to get an ass whippin for this disaster. Woohooo!

Now, I think all of 1 minute went by, and I start putting my clothes away (undies and t-shirts) that I had for my trip. When all of a sudden, the old man bursts through the door, and whips off his belt, grabs my narry little ass, and goes to town on the southern end. SSHHHWWWACK!! This is for lying to your mother....SSHHHWWWACK!! This is for lying to your mother and me!! SSHHHWWWACK!! SSHHHWWWACK!! SSHHHWWWACK!! You will...SSHHHWWWACK!! not ever...SSHHHWWWACK!! SSHHHWWWACK!! SSHHHWWWACK!! lie to me...SSHHHWWWACK!! SSHHHWWWACK!! SSHHHWWWACK!! or SSHHHWWWACK!! SSHHHWWWACK!! your mother SSHHHWWWACK!! SSHHHWWWACK!! SSHHHWWWACK!! got it???!!! SSHHHWWWACK!! SSHHHWWWACK!! Once he got done tanning my ass, I swear I blamed myself for lying like a fuckin rug to my mom, over something anyone else woulda just given up because they weren't stupid enough like me to even try to get away with this shit. Damn...all that drama over a fucking army man toy. I swore I wasn't gonna play with those evil fuckin plastic men ever again. Well, that is until dear old mom bought another industrial sized can of Lysol that is. You can't play army men without ammo...you know? All I know was to never fuckin play army men in the bathroom again, because after all, no kid, no matter how fucked up, would do some shit like that twice. Now...under my bed in my room, that's another story...those fuckers look glorious in the dark when they're flaring up and shit!! Ahhh, to be young again...damn I miss that shit.

Wow, I was gonna talk about games wasn't I? Well shit, guess you'll have to check out my next entry bitchasses. I now have to go answer all my spam in my mail. I really think that Kenya guy needs my help, so I'm off to the bank!! Have fun, and remember, if you see me on Live, say hello...or at least say piss off or something. If I see you first, I'll definitely tell you what I think about you, bitches.

PUN

Thought of the day: Imagine at least 10 ways you can use butter without using it in cooking. On your mark, get set, go!

"Getting Bdays, the so called good ones"

2old2play.com is a pretty nice site if you are an older gamer without a doubt. It lets you hang out and converse/bash/rap/shizzle/whatever with folks who are close to your age somewhat, and don't use the term "faggot" or "your mom is..." in every other sentence. That's a nice thing, but then there are the not so nice things that we have to listen to from all our gamer buds and budesses. What are they, for the most part? Age related shit. After reading through a buncha posts, I sometimes get seriously depressed about getting older. To me, you got 2 birthdays in your life that actually mean something. Of course there is the sweet Sixteen Bday. Or it could be close if you are in a state that makes ya wait until 17/18 to drive. At least for me, 16 mwas the year you could get your license and drive legally. Bam, one down. Next of course, there is the big ol' party at 18 years of age. That's the day your parents can legally get you outta their fuckin house. 18 Years old for me was a drag, because I spent it in a warzone with the military...fuckin lame Bday if there ever was one lemme tell ya (I joined the US Army at 17). Of course the grand daddy of Bdays is of course, 21. Oh yea, 21 and you can get into a bar legally and drink, then drive, then kill other people legally!! Weeeeeee!! Well, for me, I was going into bars legally at 17 (NCO club on base then overseas in the Army), so the 21st again, meant jack and fuck to me in that "excited and get a boner" because I can drink sense. So now...what the fuck is left?

I shall digress fellow readers. Oh, and if you are already taking Zoloft or Zanax or any other Z fuckin drug for depression, go ahead and skip the next paragraph or two, or you may just need to up your dose and shit. Yea, and I really don't want you to put any more money into those big pharmaceutical companies than ya have to already. Oh, and also skip the rest if you have no sense of humor, or, if you're just a plain asshole, or even more so if you're a retarded asshole, because I just hate assholes. And it seems that almost all asshooles are either retarded, or very close to retardation. You have been warned...so read on bitches!!

I thought since I got ripped off, I would make up my own birthdays to get all excited about. Fuck the norm, I got screwed twice, and since I couldn't do anything about it, vowed to just pick some days where it was gonna be important to me myself and I. So at 21 I grabbed my life planner book, made from the back of a cigarette carton (Salem Menthols, oh yea! btw...how many 21 year olds smoke Salem anyway? Wow, I was seriously fucked up eh?)) and write down these very important times in my life that would be a reason for celebrating that specific Bday. Now, the act didn't have to occur exactly on that Bday, but had to be at least 12 months before said Bday.

Ok, so the first major event that I celebrated was 23rd Bday, the "stop smoking one". Salem's and lung tissue don't mix for shit, and waking up with lung loogies really sucks. I stopped smoking for like 2 days. By the end of the 2nd day, I coulda strangled a fuckin girl scout since I was jonesin so bad, well, maybe not a girl scout, unless she was puffin a cig in front of me and shit. That cold turkey method sucks ass I thought, so of course I then tried the wean yerself offa these things slowly. Well it seems that I wanted to smoke even more by monitoring how much I smoked, so that worked for shit too. I then tried the patches, and gum. Well I was spending some serious fuckin goink for that shit man. Plus, I was then addicted to the fuckin patches and gum. I mean seriously, when yer wearing like 15 patches, and chewin the gum like you were at a fuckin bubble blowing contest...well ya know right there it aint gonna be a good thing. I eventually had to stop wearing the patches, because I had nowhere left to put them since they made my skin all raw and shit. Plus after a while, the gum made my jaw lock-up like a motherfucker...how many times have you woken up due to a fuckin mouth cramp? Unless yer a hooker or something, that shit had to go too. Ok, well I gave it the ol' college try, but it didn't work, I'm still smoking like a fuckin train, but at least my skin is healthy again.

The 2nd major event was a glorious one...I must say. My 24th Bday was the "Get rid of the hateful bitch you married for whatever reason" day. I divorced the hateful bitch that was my wife. That's all, and if you happen to know where the bitch is, kick her in the fuckin stomach for me ok? Man she was a fuckin hateful bitch. She did have decent titties though. Although they were hateful titties.

The 3rd major event was the "Cancer, wtf, I'm only 32 motherfucker, are you fuckin serious?" Bday. The doc who was my doc at the time threw this tidbit of info at me at 32 years old, and I went kinda limp. I was like fuck me, this is not too groovealicious to say the least. Well thanks to his tests done at a later time, and through all of the blood drawn, and even more tests done, and after, well, you get the idea. Anyways, 6 months later he tells me it was a false alarm, and that somehow the tests I took earlier were in error. Well geeeeeeee willickers doc, thanks for the speedy fuckin change in opinion there. I mean I was giving shit away, telling my bosses to get fucked and all those other things ya wanna do but don't because ya gotta be there tomorrow and shit. Doctors fuckin suck, more on that later in another entry methinks. Not all doctors, just the ones I seem to employ for my care.

Now of course there were others in there I coulda celebrated, but for me, these are the ones that just stuck with me for whatever reason as important to me. Be they good, or bad, just like real Bday's, ya gotta have 'em I guess. Let's hope your Bday memories are kickass. Well at least more kickass than mine. If they aren't, well, you should post them, because I love reading about other mofo's bad days, it makes me feel better and shit.

Wow, time is flying and i needs to grab me some gaming before I need to re-medicate. I'm goonna start throwing out cheesy reviews of my games that I have played at the request of a few folks in my gaming guild here at 2o2p. Seeing as this is my second entry in blogville, I think it's nice to toss shit around now and then, but of course, clean up sucks, especially if you have long fingernails. wtf?

PUN

Thought of the day: If you had no arms, how would you scratch your ass? Please, tell us all, I need to know.

Hello bitches! Note: NSFW is my mantra.

25 January, 2007

Just wanted to start this mutha up (this blog thingy that is). What to expect here? Rantings from a certifiable lunatic, with a seriously ciggy burned assed keyboard. I have to order freakin keyboards by the gross and shit, so if a letter seems to be missing from a lot of the words, just blame it on the cloves baby. Oh yea, cloves, I puff 'em by the carton baby...they remind me of that one night in Punjar, India with that $1.02 hooker. The extra .02 was payment to have her wash before we got all phunky with each other. Hot damn what a night...wait, what the fuck was I even talking about?

Anyway, for those who get offended easily, please do yourself a favor, and never click this blog link again, or you may just go blind and shit from all the groove funk I spill out. I mean if the entry starts with some shit like..."Anyway, as I was fisting this chick, see..." please don't assume right off the bat that it will be offensive. Oh no my dear reader, please read further into that, and that's where the real nasty shit will probably be. But there again, do not harbor ill will of me even then dear reader....no, please meet me in a game and then you can really be annoyed and hated by my bubbly personality, and freakishly good looks. Only then will you realise, that I am definitely your true hero, and now that you have discovered me, you can now live with yourself as your ying and yang have just gotten blown by one another and you are now on the path of true inner peace...or some fuckin shit like dat.

Again, please don't hate me because I'm beautiful, or that my postings may touch a nerve or three...just take this shit for what it will always be...shit. I reserve the right to be unedited, unless you are "Mr. T", because he is the only other person on this planet who can throw out the groove thang better than anyone else, and he is a damn uber leet badmammajamma to boot..."I pity the fool *insert anything here, the line is classic*". Man that's some awesome shit. Wait, what the fuck was I talkin about again? Cripes, my mind wanders too damn much methinks. In fact, yes, I will have pickles with that. Seven dollars!!?? For a fuckin sandwich...wtf??!!

Ok, so there's the start of me blog matey's. See ya soon, and yes, I am available for baby sitting, as long as the doctors let me out on the dates/times you need. See ya soon, bitches!

PUN

Yes, I am your hero...don't even try to deny it, and oh yes, I'm also as pretty as a girl. Remember kiddies, this blog will never be safe for work, clickee and get fuckee by your bosses, it ain't my fault, dumbass.

Aint he just the cutest little thang?