Stickin it to The Man... THIS Man!

They say that time is money, and if its true, I must be living on Confederate Time. I wasted an hour of my life today just to spite Kmart!

That's right, to try and get back at a store, I wasted a full fucking hour of the time I've been given on this Earth.

As usual with me, there is a long and convoluted back-story about who tried to fuck me and how I wanted to fuck them back... this one goes like this:

A few months ago, I got a present that I didn't want, and planed to exchange it for something I did. The present was a brand new box set of a TV show that I don't watch, but since it was from the prize closet at my radio station, naturally I didn't have the receipt. Regardless, I thought I'd go to my local Kmart and exchange it for a different show.

Please note, it's not that Kmart, (which, hence forth, will be referred to as Kfuck,) was my first choice to return it to. I would have much rather taken it to a store with one of those liberal, customer-friendly return policies, but where I live on the east coast of early 1950's America, we don't have anything like that a Best Buy or Circuit City. Kfuck is the only thing in town that sells anything that operates on batteries!

Besides, Kfuck is so close to my house that if I piss standing up, I splash the side of their building, so I decided to go there.

Even though they have the show I want to return and the one I want to get, something goes wrong between the cashier saying "we can exchange it..." and "I just need to get a manager..."

I understand that I didn't get the thing from Kfuck, so they aren't obligated to take it back… but, does that mean that they can't be polite?

See, Kfuck knows that they are the only game in town. You have to drive 2 towns over to get to Wal-Mart, and most people won't. So the people at Kfuck feel free to be dicks… let me print that a little bigger: the people at Kfuck feel free to act like TOTAL DICKS!

The manager takes her sweet-ass time getting to the register and then goes, "well, where's your receipt?!"

"Oh, this was a gift, M'am. As I explained to her, I don't' have one."

"Well, I ain't gotta take nuthin back with outta receipt…" and by now she has nonchalantly turned her back toward me.

"Oh M'am, I wasn't asking for a refund, I just want to get this set of equally priced DVDs right here."

To which she barks, "Look! I ain't gotta to take back a major appliance with out a receipt!"

All I can think is that she has to be fuckin with me. A major appliance?

A major appliance is a washing machine, a refrigerator, maybe even Rosie's vibrator. This box of DVDs has no cord, no moving parts, and it it performs no essential function. Even if you're still gonna consider it an appliance, would it really be a fuckin MAJOR one?!

So, I thank her for her time and leave… and I mean for GOOD! Let Kfuck go to hell! Next to my house or not, I will not shop there.

That's your back-story.

I decide I need to print a picture from my digital camera, but I'm not sure I have the right disk. I decide to go to Kfuck and make sure I have the right disk before I drive the extra distance to the Wal-Mart.

I get to Kfuck, walk up to the machine and everything works like a charm. Sadly, I admit that my finger hovers over the print button... Who's gonna know? I'll make one print and then be gone! I can restore my principals tomorrow!

Then I think back to the time they made me drag out my Major Appliance. As my integrity comes crashing back, I remember that Kfuck is dead to me.

I drive all the way to the Wal-Mart, and as I'm walking up to their photo machine I see that a woman is using it. Though it's annoying to wait, I am still proud that I've stuck to my principals, and with great pride, I bend down to kill a few seconds by re-tying my shoes. Since I don't want to clog up the isle behind her, in decide to wait a few feet away, out of the walkway.

Minute 00: As I'm waiting, a woman walks past me, makes eye contact with me, and proceeds tentatively to stand behind the woman at the photo machine.

Minute 01: Since they are both fat girls, I assume that they are here together. Surely, this other woman isn't gonna look me in the face and then decide to walk past me in the line.

Minute 15: I start to wonder if this is worth the effort to screw Kfuck, but still have a small sense of pride that I am going that extra mile to stick to my principals.

Minute 19: The woman at the machine continues rotating and cropping pictures of a little girl who looked like she had to block out time each year for a run in the Special Olympics.

Minute 23: Ansel Adams is done, and I've accepted the fact that the Ignorant Woman has indeed cut me in the line, and is getting ready to print her pictures.

Minute 23 and a half: I've fantasized about committing 4 violent crimes against the Ignorant Woman.

Minute 24: The Ignorant Woman has lost one of her memory cards by throwing it in a drive that is much to big for it.

Minute 25: After the Ignorant Woman's repeated attempts to put her camera's memory card in the proper slot have failed, I decide to step in and help her out.

Minute 29: I feel my left eye twitch.

Minute 32: I lean on the counter next to the Ignorant Woman and let out an enormous sigh.

Minute 35: the Ignorant Woman misspells the word "North" by substituting a Zero for the letter "o" …for the 3rd time.

Minute 38: I feel my left eye twitch a few more times.

Minute 39: Another giant sigh, followed by me dropping my arms against my legs while looking over my should for someone to motion "can you believe this?" to.

Minute 40: In an effort to save myself some time, I decide to get an employee to start the extraction process for the missing memory card now, while the Ignorant Woman continues to put gaudy boarders on all of her poorly taken photos.

Minute 46: I can feel my left eye twitching uncontrollably

Minute 49: I have lost any pride I had in sticking to my principals.

Minute 54: I finally ask her, "are you gonna be much longer?" and she assures me that it will only be another 2 minutes.

Minute 56: The Ignorant Woman takes a break from dropping her shit in the machine, and I load in my disk..

Minute 58: I have printed my two pictures and have reacquired my disk, as I see the Ignorant Woman once again begin to use the machine like her personal toilet.

Minute 59: I pay for my pictures, and get a bill totaling twenty-seven cents plus tax.

Minute 60: I come to a startling realization: I wasted an hour of my life to make sure I screwed Kfuck out of thirty cents.

Let me say that again: I WASTED THE TIME IT TAKES TO PERFORM 4 ABORTIONS TO MAKE SURE THAT KFUCK DIDN'T GET MY THIRTY CENTS!

In that minute I realize that the only person who suffers from my mindset of petty retaliation is me. The time I waste trying to hurt people and corporations that don't even know I exists would be much better spent helping people around me and bettering myself…

I realize that if I let my constant hatred go, and the subsequent antics that myself and those around me have to suffer through as a result of said hatred, I'd have hours of free time each day!

Then I had another realization: If I rush home now, I can spend the few minutes I have left before I gotta get to work writing a scathing blog that really lays into Kfuck! I can trash them for all the world to see over 3 full pages!!

Up yours, Kfuck!

UN-Lucky Star

Last week I read that Madonna fell off a horse and broke her hand, collar bone and cracked three ribs.

The weird part is that, just like you, I don’t think that I could have cared less.

If anything, I was proud of the horse! If I could have found a way, I’d have cut my hand off and sent it to England for some one to pat him on the head with it. As it is, I spent the rest of the day trying to fill an envelope with carrots, sugar cubes and gratitude.

The girl who re-invented re-inventing yourself got the horse as a birthday present from her husband, director Guy Ritchie. The whole event tells me a few things:

1.) Even though he can’t speak, a horse has his own way to critique celebrity-written children’s books.

2.) Even if you have a seemingly limitless amount of cash, bad things happen to people who spend that much money just to say, “look who just turned 47… again.”

3.) Even though our society doesn’t remember, if there is a God, he never forgets who did and who didn’t spend the mid-through-late 80’s writhing around humping a crucifix.

But, in a perfect world, I’d like to say that the incident tells me this: After a fight with his mediocre actress-wife a few days before her birthday, Guy Ritchie saw the Biography Special on Christopher Reeves.

Ray Thinks Your Tractor's Stupid

I have to admit that I do a lot of terrible things to my girlfriend in the bed room, very few of which have to do with criticizing the way she makes the bed. So, when she said that she wanted to go see "The Fiddlin' Country Bumpkins," (a.k.a. the Kenny Chesney concert,) I have very little choice but to oblige her.

On the way there, I somehow got tricked into driving and my girlfriend was sitting next to me playing with a "Bop It."

If you are unfamiliar with the Bop It, its a brightly colored child's toy. It's a game kinda like Simon says, except instead of touching colors when instructed by the little device, there is a lever that you pull, a thing you can twist, and naturally a place to "bop" it.

As she is playing, I have the music in the car up, so its hard for her to hear the instructions from the game. I was just blasting the Distillers trying to pretend that the car wasn't rushing toward the inevitable redneck-convention like water being sucked down a drain...

Anyway, she cant hear the Bop It that well, and she thinks every once in a while it might be saying something other than the Pull it, Twist it or Bop it directives. I tell her that i think i hear the thing saying "Free Hand!"

She has no idea what that could mean, so I'm trying to say that it is probably a trick from the Bop It to see if you'll hit something, when you are supposed to just do some kinda free style hand-jive...

I sure-as-shit am no Bop It expert, but that's the best I can come up with. So, I'm waving my hand all around the car, and I decide that I should just play the damn thing so I can show her what the hell I'm talking about.

So, now I'm driving and trying to play Bop It. As I'm doing this, I look to my left and there is a minivan full of high school age boys motioning towards me with their heads and all hitting imaginary Bop Its!

They are hanging out the fuckin windows, reaching as if they want to play. I'm stuck at a light with them, and I can hear them clamoring through the closed window. I decide that I have to roll down my window because they aren't going away. When I do this, the one in the passenger's seat hangs his whole torso out of the window and, BURSTING with pride, asks me, "you goin' see Kenny?"

Just like that.

With a tongue like a brand new bag of cotton candy, this (probably half retarded) boy asks me, "You goin' see Kenny?"

I should say that I HOPE he's half retarded. At least half retarded - for his sake...

With the little self respect I have packing for a long absence, I answer yes as a cry for a game of Bop It comes from the back window. I promise to bring it into the show and firmly resolve to not look to my left for the rest of the evening.

My girlfriend, needless to say, is dying...

There i sit: on my way to a Kenny Chesney concert, and as a group of strangers drive by I'm observed furiously working on a game of Bop It. I would have rather a group of strangers drive by and observe me furiously working on my own cock!! At least masturbating is something that grown men DO!

Then, the show... the show... If nothing else, the show was a victory for fat people, drunks and whoever makes female cowboy hats. It would have been more enjoyable to be the guest of honor at a prison rape. At least it would have sounded better.

And whats with that little bowling pin shaped singer?

I don't know what exactly it is, but there is definitely something wrong with the top of his head. He is never photographed without a big dumb cowboy hat, baseball cap, fright wig - something on that shrunken head of his!! There is something up there he does NOT want us to see.

My guess is it's his balls. They cant be between his legs.

He wears jeans that must be made of a biker-short material and he has to put them on in a process that involves a vacuum press. On top of that, that man spent 109 of his 110 minute performance with his legs in 2 different zip codes! The Marlboro Man doesn't spend that much time bow-legged!

Now, if girls weren't in love with this guy like he's a hillbilly James Dean, I'd assume that he had no boy-parts... but the ladies love him, which can only lead me to believe hes got his sack somewhere on the top of his skull.

I'd like to be able to say that I'm just kidding, and that at the end of the night he took off his hat as he bowed to the thousands of adoring fans and showed us that his scalp is ball-free, but I wouldn't know.

I'd have to say that, if I were looking for a moral to this story, it'd probably be something like: I guess there is a finite number of times that you can scream out "how does Jack White's dick taste?!" before the good ol' boys take it upon themselves to forcibly removed from a Kenny Chesney show.

Who knew..?

Sometimes It Doesn't Go The Way You Think It Will…

If you have to tell someone that you’re a celebrity, then you're not. I’m sure that’s just common sense… But, if you end up becoming one, then that is the mother of all told-ya-so’s!!!

Now, I understand that I’m not an according-to-Hoyle-celebrity, but that doesn't stop me from trying to convince my girlfriend that I am. I spend hours telling her that she’s lucky to be going out with a celebrity and it makes her furious. It's quite a fun game, that sometimes pays off in surprisingly pleasant ways.

One night we went to the local heath food restaurant for dinner, and as we’re waiting for our food, this guy keeps looking over at us. After a little while, he starts walking toward the table.

Now, you might know where this is going, but at the time I had no idea. I assume that when a stranger is walking toward me, I’m finally gonna get that long-overdue ass kicking.

Instead, the guy very timidly leans over and says, “hey - I just wanted to say that I saw your show last night and I thought it was great. You're very funny.”

…and right in my girlfriends face! Out of the corner of my eye I can see this look of disbelief wash across her face! It’s priceless! I can’t thank this guy enough for helping me prove my girlfriend wrong!

So, naturally, I do the only thing I can… I respond, “hey you clod, can't you see I'm trying to eat my fuckin’ dinner here?!??!”

Then I spend the rest of the night talking about how right Eminem is about the fans.

See, my girlfriend lives and works an hour-and-a-half away from me, which is hard. It’s also one of the things that makes brushes with (my own) greatness so much fun. I don’t get to see her that often, so to be able to show off when she’s around is the best.

Sometimes it doesn’t go the way you think it will, though…

My girlfriend was telling me that earlier today, some of the girls around the office were talking to a new girl about comedy. The New Girl said that she thought it’d be great to date a comedian.

So, I asked my girlfriend if she told ‘em it’s actually a drag because comics think that they’re celebrities. But, she said that she wasn't really involved with the conversation… which continued.

The New Girl says that having a comic for a boyfriend must be great because he could make you laugh when you're depressed, which must be non-stop fun! The New Girl even says that she went to see some comedy last weekend, and that she thought one of the comics was cute, but decided not to talk to him after the show.

If you’ve read any of my previous entries, then you know why I stopped her and asked if she directed The New Girl to this very blog, (specifically, "Girls, Girls, Girls!" posted below.)

At this point, she told me to stop interrupting because I was wasting her daytime minutes. (What a way to treat a celebrity!)

Someone asked The New Girl where she saw the show, and she replied Nags Head, which my girlfriend still didn’t think anything of. She didn’t even think much of it when The New Girl says that she was at Laff Trax in the Ramada.

But, when The New Girl says the comic that was the object of her little crush had "all these crazy tattoos on…” my girlfriend starts to pay attention! One of her coworkers takes a picture of YOURS TRULY off her desk and shows it to The New Girl and says, “was this the comic?”

Let's just say that there’s more to this story, but I’ll have to finish it later… Two very attractive girls at my house are about to become so much more than coworkers.

Sometimes it doesn’t go the way you think it will… but just sometimes, it goes even better. Hey - that’s just the life of a celebrity.