Month: April 2005

it’s not a good burn either.

it’s noon. i hate noon. i hate everything before 4pm. what the fuck was i thinking when i agreed to meet at noon. i had to have been drunk, only excuse for a fuck up like this.

im going to make a little pamphlet to hand to clients on “mornings”. it’s gonna have huge bold verdana text at the top and say WHY IS MY WEB DESIGNER SHAKING AND CAN’T TALK? Like just a few paragraphs on alcohol, make some stock photography of jug wine and me laying face down on my keyboard.

i feel so not happy. im so glad no one died on the way here. i need to make this meeting as fast as possible and get home to the dark happiness im used to at fucking 12 o clock.

i can’t even explain it. i just hate your time of the day so much that im just sitting at Otherlands, shaking my head and typing. just so fucking not happy. I swear of this chick doesn’t show up for the meeting, i might kill her. no, no i would never kill anyone. i might be upset tho. actually i can defientely gurantee upset if she doesn’t show up.

there is a cop here. i saw his car out front so i knew he was going to be here. he looks like he’s meeting with his mom.

none of the cops that follow me wear uniforms.

the whole dying on the cross. that was hardcore. i’m sure it didn’t go exactly down like they said but even if a little of it is true, pretty hardcore.

our friend ripper said he was hardcore, and well, you’re hardcore too, jesus.

wow i think ive gotten off to a good start to this update.

okay lets break it down.

jesus fucking hates you. the new pope wants to molest you. i probably do too. this isn’t going to turn out okay. we have a pope that used to be in the nazi youth. yeah, he said he wasn’t “with it” but he still knows how it “works” and might “use” it in his “religion”.

blah, maybe people in africa shouldn’t use condoms and the nazi pope is what “we” need. Screw it, stupid church, open up your vaults and tell me where jesus’s kids are and we can talk about who is going to run our church, k?

lovingly yours

scout fucking master toad
church of crackhore

last night i was driving to a bar(whoa another surprise update). I was going down McLean heading towards vance. Right after we go past Union, it goes down to 1 lane as McLean goes into the residential area.

Now right when it comes to 1 lane, me and the 9 other cars in front and behind me start to wonder why we are going 5 miles an hour in a 30. Now I’m kind of in a hurry to get drinking. After we pass another street this asshole with a flat tire could have turned on, i get upset.

Now it might have been the NIN or something but I feel it makes me feel better to vent my frustrations by screaming and punching the steering wheel.

It’s better then smoking.

Anyway, I get to Vance and my phone rings. It’s good ole Merritt.

Hey Merritt, whats up?

Was that you?

Was that me where?

On McLean.

Yeah what the fuck was up with that?

Apparently Merritt and her mom were sitting in the front room of their house when they heard the fwapping sound of the flat tire. She got up and looked out the window and see’s a white del sol. Then she hears me screaming FUCKING DRIVE YOUR PIECE OF SHIT!! Merritt’s mom recognized my screaming and asked Merritt if it was me.

Went out to my new liquor store out in Cordova yesterday. (Surprise) This place is kinda new to meet so they are still getting used to seeing me once or twice a week.

I stroll back to the back, grab my jug of wine and head up to the counter. The old woman who’s sold to me a few times goes “oh wow, another jug of wine huh?”. I shake my head, “No, not wine, web design juice”. She stares. I explain to her that 1 jug of wine is equal to about 2-3 hours of web design. She asks how much a website would cost for their store. I tell her roughly 30 jugs, if she wants a good one.

At this point i notice their distributor is there and he stops unloading boxes and listens to us talk. He’s a big burly old guy, white beard, looks like he runs a business that sells to liquor stores.

On the way out, he wheels past me and we start talking about sites. He tells me that he uses Dreamweaver. Doesn’t everyone now. I was expecting to hear Frontpage. He says he does sites for friends but probably no where near as someone who does it for a living. I turn to his truck and go “well, you have the wine for it, all you need is some NIN.”

i feel a little sad in that fact. i’m not very special. just someone with wine and a bunch of mp3s. not a tough formula.

god i’ll never get guys who are really into putting cream on their face and really into cologne, etc……it goes tooth brush, tooth paste, deodorant, razor, shaving cream, comb, nail clippers….

every other product is for a female and if you’re a guy you have bought into marketing and advertising……

strikes down upon us again. huge storm a day ago, next day the power goes out for 4 hours.

talk about a boring 4 hours. i got a lot done surpsingly tho. you’d be surprised how distracted you are from “work” when you have the internet, even when you make websites.

anyway, last week really hurt me. after a good night of sleep and a few good meals, you look back like “okay, this next week, im going be a better worker”. then you realize you had a conversation exactly like this last week. and probably the week before.

im eating some chicken. 2nd piece of chicken i’ve ate today. body is starting to break down. im wearing a bright orange autozone shirt and a yellow trucker hat, tilted to the side. really not looking like a winner.

it’s 3am and im pacing back and forth in the computer room, clutching the piece of chicken like i had just slayed it, just pacing back and forth.

steve walks into the kitchen and sees me and i see him.

he said i look like i just got caught masturbating.

god im going to bed, what the fuck is wrong with me.

it’s funny when it’s 4am. drunk and angry at my ancestors for having such good genes.

ive tried everything to end myself in a fashionable way. ive tried drugs, alcohol, car wrecks, nothing seems to kill me.

i just keep going. i keep doing what i do because it’s what gets what i need to do, done. okay that didn’t make sense. well it might have.

every thought seems so redundant at this point. i catch myself telling the same crackhore stories over and over.

i hate that there is someone else out there, doing exactly what im doing. i am not special. i am not a unique snowflake. even typing these thoughts is the most useless thing ive ever done. all i can do is work, crank out as much bullshit as possible and then die.

where is the owner’s manual.

sigh.

the only hope comes from this website at this point. im going to take the gloves off.

my birthday will start the new launch of this site.

i hope you all come.

and after you come, i want you to drink from the condom.

I love people. I am seriously addicted to people. Brad says i’m like a serial killer, i’m just going to keep going out and affecting people until someone stops me.

I thrive off the ability to communicate with people. The power of speech and aim will never cease to not entertain me.

Today i woke up and felt like a corpse. The whiskey, beer and photoshop yielded some crappy design from last night and a hangover that kept me in bed most of the day. Around 3pm, i decide i gotta get out and get my oil changed so i could feel like i did something today.

I hit up a place on poplar, pull my car in, tell them i want the dank synthetic oil and sit in the little waiting room. Hands shaking from alcohol withdrawl, i text msg back and forth with Jeff.

This amazingly hot black chick pulls up in this dope new Mustang. She walks in, sits for a second and then walks to the gas station to get something to drink. The black dude changing my oil comes into the waiting room to ask for my info. We both sit and stare at her ass as she walks across the parking lot, high five, like “omg”. He’s like “You like black chicks?” and i respond that we are all the same color when the lights are off but that ass is still huge.

I dunno if it was the collective conscience or whatever but she turns around the second we stand up and high five. She smiles and starts laughing since i guess it was obvious what we were staring. You can’t have a ass like that and expect guys not to stare, i guess.

The oil change dude walks out the door laughing to go change my oil and she comes back. Akward small talk for the next 15 minutes, she waves bye as she drives off.

I pay for my oil change, give the black dude named Clarence a crackhore.com koozie and drive off.

hehe saturday night, valerie, wes and i all went out for a few drinks.

from this innocent beginning, we went and had a few pitchers.

then we go to neils.

more beer, now wes is on whiskey…..

we leave and no one is sober.

wes walks by a Evergreen Neighberhood Award site. He kicks it. It doesn’t budge. Valerie suggests that explosives might be required to dislodge the sign.

We head back inside and Wes heads to the kitchen to look under the sink for anything we can mix together. Wes pulls out some generic Pine Sol. He’s goes “omg, pine sol, you guys gotta see this trick!”

He douses his arm with Pine Sol and then asks for a lighter. Toad, who is always on the look out for his friend’s well being, tosses him a lighter.

*click*click*click*

Nothing.

Wes remembers that the last time he did this “trick” it was with real Pine Sol, not the generic rip off we have under our sink.

The moral of this story? Generics are no good in explosives.