In light of yet another slew of shooting frenzies in America, it has come to my obvious conclusion that we cannot be trusted with sling shots much less fire arms.
I think we can all agree that most of our countrymen are dumb as cat shit. There is overwhelming evidence of this. I mean, we voted Bush Jr. in twice and made Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian famous for getting pounded harder than a gerbil at Richard Gere's happy camp. Seriously, I don't trust people enough to fold my taco bell food correctly yet I'm supposed stand with the gun-ho gun hoes at the NRA. Conservatives have fought gun control for years citing the American pastime of hunting small and ferociously furry deer, quail and duck while thousands of students, coworkers and bystanders are the ones getting fucked. Has anyone seen a hunting show recently on Spike TV? These guys look like they're in a porn except when I wait for a hot bunny to come out and get poked, it's actually a real bunny getting smoked.
It really kicks my ass when some of my own friends defend our gun toting American culture. They speak about getting prepared for the possibility of them being victimized. They look at a situation where kids get shot at school and say "See, if the teachers and students ALL had guns, they could have stopped the shooters or at least given them a good fight." Its this type of ass clown thinking that has our country ranked at the top of the Moron charts. Imagine a wild west America where everybody walks around strapped waiting for the paranoid sniff of danger, horn honking will become obsolete!
It is my belief that merely bringing a gun into the equation triples the chance of somebody pushing up daisies. Some asshole with a gun tries to take my wallet usually wants money not a murder wrap. Chances are, if I pull a gun instead of my money clip, that lowlife probably knows his way around a gun more than I. Basically I've successfully turned losing 50 bucks, a credit card and my hole punched subway sandwich cards into getting bucked at with a hole punched up my ass. No thanks. Take the money, I was gonna probably spend it on crap anyways. Having a gun at home is harmless, right? Not if you're this lady.
http://www.kfdm.com/articles/hanel-33000-montgomery-husband.html
Some people are even more amazing. They compare gun control to Fidel Castro and the Communist takeover of Cuba. They believe that Americans need to be armed in case of a "big government takeover" of our civil liberties and possible revolution. Like if Farmer Fran and his Ole' McDonald shotgun is theoretically going to stop a tank rolling down US1. Everybody needs get their head out of their ass on this one.
Guns make nobody safe.
Music
Friday, November 6, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Grassy Knoll
My friend Kris and I were drained and beat up after a formal suit and tie family function. My irresponsibly late dials began to lose steam as the discouraging drive back from the beach began to take its toll. It became painfully obvious there was only one true alternative here : Taco Hell; only this particular munchy hunger had an experimental feel to it.
We decided to order about 20 dollars worth of food which translates into about a thousand tacos. Only we didn't choose the run-of-the-mill tacos we usually enjoy, we decided to get creative. Meximelts, bean burritos, Taco Bell Grandes, enchiladas, crazy chalupas; anything under the sun which we felt would expand our Taco Bell horizons for future drunk visits.
After the first bite I took of that random ass guacamolito I realized we likely made a gross mistake.
There is no such thing as luck. Luck is simply when a two idiots, a Santa Claus bag full of tacos and opportunity meet.
On this night opportunity came first in the form of the ghetto-ist, bass pumping, gold teeth wearing thug-mobile Cadillac I have ever seen. Without a word or warning I threw a Roger Clemens lazer burrito right through the open Cadillac passenger window reminiscent of the JFK assassination. Those ponies were seriously ready to kill us. But still, I imagine it's difficult to think and drive rationally with sour cream and alpo meat stuck to the fake Versace's.
I easily lost them going around the block. When we hit the clear peeling down 32nd Avenue I realized my buddy was choking on his first bite from the laughter. I don't think I have ever seen a more sincere laughing attack 'til this day.
As a drove my eyes grew wide. I wanted more. I became a man possessed. I became LOU HARVEY OSWALD in this bitch. It wasn't about the tacos anymore. It wasn't even about the accuracy. It wasn't even about the laughter from my buddy. I just got blood drunk with burritos. It was like fishing with dynamite! I'm sure the nice young couple out on a date didn't expect two enchiladas to smack 'em in the pelvis? What about the four spring breakers coming out of Señor Frogs brimming with all the allure that Miami brings? Did they in their wildest dreams foresee getting Rambo'ed by a Taco Bell Grande? Probably not.
Looking down at my side it seems Kris was turning shades of purple. I realized it was time for a good finale similar to the end of a fireworks show on 4th of July. A taxi, an older woman walking her dog, a Johnny Rockets server; nobody was safe from Operation Shock and Awe. All of these actions have their penalty in the eyes of karma which is something I can deal with. Let a bird shit on me at a football stadium or may my "dude" flop out through my boxers when I bend down to get the morning Miami Herald. Any of these consequences are understandable.
Regardless I know I went too far when I flagged down two corner spot pushers on a Grand Avenue backstreet. As they approached the car to negotiate for what they thought was a few dime powders, the onslaught of remaining tacos and burritos bursted out like a Fidel firing squad. One dude actually fell off his bike riddled by soft and crunchy shell ammo. I'm sure those guys have seen it all on the mean streets of the grove but they'll be hard pressed to brag about this particular shooting. It was the funniest memory of the night, but I easily could have gotten us killed. The lesson I take with me is that fast food can kill in a number of different ways. It's best to just go home early and make a sandwich. You'll definitely live longer.
We decided to order about 20 dollars worth of food which translates into about a thousand tacos. Only we didn't choose the run-of-the-mill tacos we usually enjoy, we decided to get creative. Meximelts, bean burritos, Taco Bell Grandes, enchiladas, crazy chalupas; anything under the sun which we felt would expand our Taco Bell horizons for future drunk visits.
After the first bite I took of that random ass guacamolito I realized we likely made a gross mistake.
There is no such thing as luck. Luck is simply when a two idiots, a Santa Claus bag full of tacos and opportunity meet.
On this night opportunity came first in the form of the ghetto-ist, bass pumping, gold teeth wearing thug-mobile Cadillac I have ever seen. Without a word or warning I threw a Roger Clemens lazer burrito right through the open Cadillac passenger window reminiscent of the JFK assassination. Those ponies were seriously ready to kill us. But still, I imagine it's difficult to think and drive rationally with sour cream and alpo meat stuck to the fake Versace's.
I easily lost them going around the block. When we hit the clear peeling down 32nd Avenue I realized my buddy was choking on his first bite from the laughter. I don't think I have ever seen a more sincere laughing attack 'til this day.
As a drove my eyes grew wide. I wanted more. I became a man possessed. I became LOU HARVEY OSWALD in this bitch. It wasn't about the tacos anymore. It wasn't even about the accuracy. It wasn't even about the laughter from my buddy. I just got blood drunk with burritos. It was like fishing with dynamite! I'm sure the nice young couple out on a date didn't expect two enchiladas to smack 'em in the pelvis? What about the four spring breakers coming out of Señor Frogs brimming with all the allure that Miami brings? Did they in their wildest dreams foresee getting Rambo'ed by a Taco Bell Grande? Probably not.
Looking down at my side it seems Kris was turning shades of purple. I realized it was time for a good finale similar to the end of a fireworks show on 4th of July. A taxi, an older woman walking her dog, a Johnny Rockets server; nobody was safe from Operation Shock and Awe. All of these actions have their penalty in the eyes of karma which is something I can deal with. Let a bird shit on me at a football stadium or may my "dude" flop out through my boxers when I bend down to get the morning Miami Herald. Any of these consequences are understandable.
Regardless I know I went too far when I flagged down two corner spot pushers on a Grand Avenue backstreet. As they approached the car to negotiate for what they thought was a few dime powders, the onslaught of remaining tacos and burritos bursted out like a Fidel firing squad. One dude actually fell off his bike riddled by soft and crunchy shell ammo. I'm sure those guys have seen it all on the mean streets of the grove but they'll be hard pressed to brag about this particular shooting. It was the funniest memory of the night, but I easily could have gotten us killed. The lesson I take with me is that fast food can kill in a number of different ways. It's best to just go home early and make a sandwich. You'll definitely live longer.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
A Horse of Course Not?
Correct me if I'm wrong but what the FUCK is the deal with cops on Horseback trotting down Biscayne Blvd like its a super bowl Bud commercial? I'm mean seriously, are we in the wild west? What purpose can it possibly serve? I just want you all to imagine the scene this morning at the local police department. It seems some clown cop decided that enforcing the crime element in often shady Downtown Miami requires SEABISCUIT. Last time I checked the horse has been updated since the days of yore...its called either the motorcycle or even his sissy sister "bike". Can we get these cops a golf cart or at the very least some ass powder from riding that thing all day?
Honestly, if I'm a criminal about to get the job done I'm probably more worried about the results of last nights women's basketball game then a cop on a caballo. I think pony cops actually encourage crime more than anything. Gunfight at the O.K. Corral...Gables? Really?
And do you really think our friend Mr. Ed is having a good time out there in the 80 degree weather? Well, he is not. I speak fluent horse due to my family racing and owning horses most of my life. When I rolled down the window the horse goes "I need a fat cop on my back like I need a baseball bat across the face". That was enough for me. Went home pissed enough to write this blog.
Also, in this economy its hard enough to find a job as a midget and now cops want to rape another one of the small man's options. MAKES ME SICK. Word Association: Horse is to Midget Jockey as Dounut diving-High Divorce Rate having-drug planting-dick is to Cop. A bit much? Maybe.
Some may say "Hey bro, a horse cop gives us that warm fuzzy small town feel that we big cities lack...besides, cops are more approachable on horse than inside a cop car". Now, before I bash this simpleton theory...its true, we do live in a time where cops are about as down to earth as Christian Bale on the set of Terminator. Asking a cop for directions or help with a flat tire would more likely draw guns and arrest than actual help these days. All that aside I am a city dwelling Liberal. FUCK MAIN STREET. I'm so sick of hearing all about this mythological "Main St." But that's a whole other blog I can charge up later. Whats next? Are my cops gonna be wearing snowflake sweaters serving eggnog on Grand Ave while a crackhead breaks into my car? No thanks Skippy.
Honestly, if I'm a criminal about to get the job done I'm probably more worried about the results of last nights women's basketball game then a cop on a caballo. I think pony cops actually encourage crime more than anything. Gunfight at the O.K. Corral...Gables? Really?
And do you really think our friend Mr. Ed is having a good time out there in the 80 degree weather? Well, he is not. I speak fluent horse due to my family racing and owning horses most of my life. When I rolled down the window the horse goes "I need a fat cop on my back like I need a baseball bat across the face". That was enough for me. Went home pissed enough to write this blog.
Also, in this economy its hard enough to find a job as a midget and now cops want to rape another one of the small man's options. MAKES ME SICK. Word Association: Horse is to Midget Jockey as Dounut diving-High Divorce Rate having-drug planting-dick is to Cop. A bit much? Maybe.
Some may say "Hey bro, a horse cop gives us that warm fuzzy small town feel that we big cities lack...besides, cops are more approachable on horse than inside a cop car". Now, before I bash this simpleton theory...its true, we do live in a time where cops are about as down to earth as Christian Bale on the set of Terminator. Asking a cop for directions or help with a flat tire would more likely draw guns and arrest than actual help these days. All that aside I am a city dwelling Liberal. FUCK MAIN STREET. I'm so sick of hearing all about this mythological "Main St." But that's a whole other blog I can charge up later. Whats next? Are my cops gonna be wearing snowflake sweaters serving eggnog on Grand Ave while a crackhead breaks into my car? No thanks Skippy.
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