Ahmet

Sorry for the absence, but I was in New York for a weekend.  On the way there, LSD and I were taking the shuttle to the other wing of the airport, and with us was a mother and her two children.  The younger one was being held by mom, while the older of the two, Ahmet, who looked to be around 4-years-old, was standing.  He seemed quite proud of his little kid luggage with the extendable handle.  Twice he fell down from the train motion, but what I dug about mom is that she didn't panic and micro manage the little guy.  Hence, Ahmet didn't panic.  Mom just said calmly, "Ahmet, just let go of the luggage and grab onto a pole," which he did.  

Then he looked up at me and said, "You think we'll get there soon?"  I said, "Won't be long, Ahmet" and LSD commented on how much she liked his luggage.  Then he matter-of-factly pointed out to us that there was a fire outside.  I figured he was confusing factory smoke for a fire, but sure enough, there was a blazing inferno off in the distance.  

Kind of strange that I don't tell you all about New York and how Will Ferrel was in the same trendy little Brooklyn bar as me.  Nope, you get to hear about Ahmet, my new little homie.  

Bring Your Screaming Kid To Work Day

I was extremely hungover from cheap draft beer while on my lunch break at my part time job, and it seemed as if it was Bring Your Screaming Kid to Work Day.  They were all playing off each other like the most perfectly awful orchestra of all time.  The worst culprit, of course, was seated (more like standing in his booth) directly next to me.  This young man looked to be around four years old and was just yelling away, and not in the way of an angry fit because he was smiling.  No, this rapscallion was bellowing to his heart's content just to get his jollies, and what really bugged me is that the parents didn't say anything as he did this over-and-over.

You have to understand, after dealing with the public for all those hours, I just wanted those 15 minutes to be somewhat quiet.  I realize parenting is difficult, but if you don't say anything to the kid screaming for no reason, the kid gets the message that he can do whatever he wants.  Why don't you just let him drive home if that's how it's going to be?*

After the seventh or eighth howl, I let out one of my own.  If he did another, I did another.  If he banged the table, I banged the damn table.  As this continued, I started to get odd looks from the surrounding patrons, and some moved away from me, but I could get no reaction from the family I was trying to annoy.  At long last, the kid's mother said to me, "Could you please stop doing that?"  I said to her, "Gee.  That's something I thought you might want to say to your kid, since he has been carrying on like that for my whole damn lunch break, but you feel it easier to ask a perfect strange to stop doing it, even if in my case it was just to make a point?"

Zing!  I had this awful parent right where I wanted.  Nope.  This is when she told me that her son has Autism and can't help doing that.  "Oh," I said.  "That's a rough one.  God bless you."  Then I got the hell out of there and some tables booed me, some threw fries, and I narrowly missed getting dowsed in a Jamba Juice.

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*The events in this story stop being true after this point.

Okay, I Got One More . . .

. . . to add to the previous post's list of crappy things in my apartment.  I hate using ice cube trays.  They suck.  I'm always squeezing them to get the cubes to pop out, but then sometimes I miss them and they fall on the floor.

I really hope no third world bloggers read this page.  They might not empathize with me.

Hey, remember in "The Stoned Age" when they pee in the ice tray?  If not, skip to 29 minutes . . .

These Are the Shitty Things About My Apartment . . .

1. No garbage disposal.  That really grosses me out.  I've never lived somewhere without one.  It means all food items go into the garbage and make it stink faster.

2. Oh yeah.  That's another thing.  The landlord doesn't provide a recycling thingy in the alley, which is not legal in my city of residence if you have more than 6 tenants (he has way more of that).  So, my girlfriend (LSD) is living in sin with me for the summer, and we're killing the environment.  Baby Jesus and Mother Nature are conspiring on how they will rape us in hell. 

3. The landlord also didn't provide any hardware to open the glass kitchen cabinets, so LSD and I had to go to home depot and buy handle-jobbers and super glue them on there.  We didn't notice until we got them on that they look like flaccid syphilitic wangs, but at least we can open the cabinets without getting finger prints on the glass.

4. The good news is that there are laundry machines in the basement.  The bad news is that they are not in the building I live in, so I have to walk through the alley to another one.  I can't wait for those trips when it's below zero! 

5. No central air.  I have a window unit for the bedroom, but the rest of the place is a sweat-house this summer.  This means that I spend a lot of time either in the bedroom or leaving to . . . see number six.

6. It's very close to tons of bars.  This could also be a good thing, but usually it's very bad for me.

it's summer and it's hot. jump in the pool!

Guys Who Own Boats

My buddy was talking about a friend of his with a big ass whatever-foot boat with a plasma-whatever TV.  It got me thinking, what is it about girls and boats?  They pretend to be friends with dudes who have boats, and then there is there this is this weird dynamic where girls have to come with more friends and their bikinis to get on board.  Invites have nothing to do with personalities, and if you are a dude, you had better bring like eleven chicks.  It's so sad.  These guys with the boats are like the little boys who had a swimming pool as a kid - nobody likes him, but you used him to swim in that pool.  They still try to wield that power, not bothering cultivating a decent personality to get friends, just using that boat.  No thanks, buddy.  An afternoon with you on a boat means me trapped with you in a small space and your awful personality with nowhere to hide but overboard.

Deer Neighbor,

So, you heard "Goodbye Horses" by Q Lazarus coming out of my apartment and you immediately call the police?  It can't just be because I think it's a cool song?  You right away assume that I have a plus-size woman in a pit in my basement, and I'm lowering her lotion with a bucket while I dance around in the mirror with my wang tucked between my legs while I seductively dab on lipstick?  I just . . . I just like the song.  You can trust me.

So I get a phone call this morning from downtown saying that there has been a change in my assignment and there was going to be a change in my schedule.  Then this woman, in a very matter of fact way, informed me that I would no longer be at the same office.  I told her this was not good news for me, and then she tried to explain that a lot of people like the hours I would have.  I let her know that it's not the schedule that bothers me, it's the fact that place has been like my home, like a family.  She apologized but told me that there is nothing they can do with so many retirees this past year, them not hiring anyone else because of the budget, and assignments going to people with more seniority.

After I was done talking to her, as I thought more about missing all these people I have come to know and love, I started to cry.  I only cry about once every two or three years, so that's kind of a big deal.  Then as I'm pumping my iPod full of aggressive heavy metal music to go on an angry therapeutic run, the same woman calls me back to tell me that because I seemed upset about that decision, she was able to move some things around and keep me at the same place.  They will let me know for sure by the end of the week.

So all that crying for nothing?  Not really because I think this happened to make me appreciate what a great job I have, somewhere I love going every morning, and how that could all change any day.

Tonight Crom and I got together to go over future creative projects, but mostly we just drank beers and caught up.  We decided to cut a podcast while we were at it with the topic being the top 3 Jason kills from "Friday the 13th" movies, since it is Friday the 13th today.  Turns out Jason killed people in lots of fun and creative ways.

Then we went across the street for dollar bottles and live band karaoke.  Let me tell you right now, you cannot find anything near that good of a deal in Lincoln Park in Chicago.  He and I threw down the first two songs of the nght.  He did "Crazy Train" and I did "White Wedding."  Suffice it to say, if you have ever done live band karaoke with a kick ass band behind you, making you fee like a rock god, you will never go back to the little monitor with the bouncy ball, making you feel like a drunk Korean business man.

We then went to visit my girlfriend, L.S.D., at the bar she works at, where Crom told me that he has purchased a wedding ring.  I'm really happy for him.  He's a really good dude and will be a terrific family man.

So then I had to get a late night bite to eat back in Lincoln Park, so I got a chorizo burrito at a local burrito joint.  Why do people order anything but chorizo?  Maybe it's the funny colored grease turning them off because it is without a doubt the most bomb-ass option.  In the booth next to me sat a coked out Asian Indian man with long hair, a beer belly, and a shark tooth necklace, and he was ordering up a coke deal.  I've never been into that scene, but I guess I always assumed there was code for things like that.  Nope.  This guy was just loudly bellowing into his phone while housing a pair of tacos: "I need money tonight.  I went in on this 8 ball and then everyone flaked.  These girls are expecting to have it.  What phone is this?  Call me in 5 minutes.  Meet me on the corner of (Dr. Ken's Street0 and (Dr. Ken's Cross Street)."

Unfortunately when I got to the coordinates of my home, there was no awesome drug deal going on, so I just came inside and wrote this shitty blog.

Heart Breaking Love Making

Get a look at this news story: boom!

An Atlanta cop died of a heart attack while having 3-way sex with another man and some lucky lady.  But, his estate was awarded 3 million dollars because a doctor, who knew of his condition, did not warn him not to engage in strenuous activities, such as joining in with a buddy to fill out some non-your-wife woman like an application. 

I would like to know that the police officers out there keeping me safe are able to run after criminals on foot, engage in high stress car chases, and 3-way some woman with a buddy.  If he can't do all of those, if he's just okay cardiovascular-wise to 2-way, then maybe he should be behind a desk somewhere while the real 3-way cops are out there busting their asses to keep our streets safe and our women double penetrated.

This post is brought to you by the commenter on the last blog who said "You are a fucking idiot."  Whenever someone says something like that, I'm only going to get more offensive.  If you've been here long enough to make a rude judgement like the one you made, you should know this by now.

felcher

i work my summer job with this one boisterous and hyper guy, a lot like me, and he is also very off color with his jokes, like me.  so the other day someone is being a total doucher, and so gross guy says that the perfect term for someone like that is a felcher.  i had never heard of this, and i was informed, probably within earshot of customers, that this is a term for someone who sucks the semen, sometimes with a straw, out of another guy's anus after anal sex.

i did some research and found this quote from someone who wrote a comic on felching:

OK, since we didn’t get in any trouble with Snatch and Jiz, and a couple of these other comics, I was partying one night with Crumb, Wilson and these other guys. And Wilson mentioned to me, he says, "I was talking to Ken Weaver and he had this real interesting word." I said what, "What is it?" "A word called 'felch.'" I said, "What does that mean?" He said, "It is a real old term and it means orally withdrawing semen from someone’s lower digestive tract after having anal sex." I said, "There’s a word for something like that?" That’s incredible that not only is there a word like that, but it has a provenance. Hell yeah, we’re going to do a felch comic. So I talked to Crumb, "Yeah, we’re going to do a felch comic."

 that must be good reading!  and think of the illustrations!

big shitty

there is an after hours bar in chicago called big city tap, but everyone calls it big shitty.  when i say everyone calls it that, i mean everyone, to the point where i have actually never heard it called by its actual name.  you really don't go there unless you close out a 2 a.m. last call bar within walking distance.  you certainly wouldn't get in a cab to go there.

if i owned that joint, i would make some changes to the place so that people wouldn't think it was so damn shitty; either that or change the name.  the only other option would be to really embrace the name, maybe even use big city nights by the scorpions in a commercial, with city changed to shitty, of course.

dave

some guy at work was joking around with me and asked, "what about your balls?"  to which i responded, "they're smooth as eggs."  he asked me what that is from because he knew it from somewhere - it was from a chappelle stand-up bit.  i got thinking about dave and how damn funny he is.  l.s.d. thinks i'm nuts because i will watch youtubes all day of anything with him in it.  just the other night, when i thought i had seen everything, i found some clips of him on the daily show, and i was thrilled.  i think pound-for-pound, he is the funniest man alive, and i just wish he would work again.  

think about how many times you come across someone quoting something of his.  can you get through a day or two without that happening?  not a chance.  people quote stuff from seinfeld and simpsons all the time, but those shows have over 10 seasons; amazingly, chappelle's show was only 2 seasons.

i miss him like i miss friends i haven't seen in a while.  yup.  that sounds creepy for sure.  just seeing it typed, yeah . . . but i must admit that part of why i laugh so much is because he is so damn likeable.  when he starts laughing, you join in.

i know he loves getting out of the spotlight and raising his family, but you just know a creative genius type like that has loads of terrific ideas swimming around in that brain of his, just dying to get out and see the light of day.  until then, i guess i'll just keep watching old clips of him on conan, and oprah, and behind the actors studio, and . . .  

do you ever talk yourself into hitting the snooze button one last time with really stupid reasons?  this morning i exhausted all possible snoozes and told myself that i had to get up on the next ring, but when the sound came, this is what i said to myself:

"yeah, but i didnt know i would be driving around in cool hummer trucks in my dream."

the cast period

this post and a a bunch to follow will be in all lower case with minimum characters (shift buttons are not easy for me these days) and with a lot of typos because this cast on my hand is messing up my blog functioning.  it's cool though because this will be known as the 'cast period' when i'm studied in blogging courses at universities some day, or more likely in case profiling for nut-jobs. 

i think i mentioned in a previous post that this is a kickball injury.  yes, the game we played in recess as a kid.  yes, the ball is big and mushy, so there is no logical answer for how i could manage to hurt myself other than i'm a fragile wuss of a man.

knowing that i would have to get surgery on the finger monday morning, screwing up most physical activity for just about the whole summer, i decided to soak up as much beach volleyball time as possible sunday afternoon by lake michigan in chicago.  volleyball on sundays in the summertime for me is like church to people who go to that sort of thing - people with beliefs and a moral compass.  volleyball is one of the first things i think about when i think of chicago summers, and my whole week is out of whack if i don't get out there.  that being said, i was geeked to get onto the beach, and only an hour or so in, a giant storm comes out of nowhere.  it got suddenly dark with insane winds, all the seagulls were getting the f' out of there in a hurry, and a voice comes over the p.a. telling us to do the same.

oats and i sought refuge by his place for a while and put on the cubs home game to watch for when they pulled the tarp to play ball as a means of gauging when the storm was going to blow over, which it eventually did in a couple of hours.  so i'm hauling balls on my bike back to the beach on the lakeshore drive bike path, and when i'm almost to our courts, this middle aged man i'm about to pass suddenly decides that he needs to do a u-turn right into oncoming traffic without looking.  i actually reasoned in my head that i had zero time to avoid this and just braced for impact, t-boning him, knocking us both off our bikes.  he kept asking if i was okay, and i told him i was - but only to get away from him without swearing at him.  then he asked if my bike was all right, and i saw the chain hanging off and the front tire knocked flat.  still, i said i was fine and locked the thing up to get a few games in before fixing it at the boathouse up the road.

because the back tire still had air, i just flipped it upright and literally ran to the bike shop barefoot.  on my way i heard a squak and felt a shot to the back of my head and immediately knew it was that asshole bird who dive-bombs the back of people's heads.  i wrote a post about him years ago, but i'm too lazy to provide you with a link.  the point is that this was just not a good day for me.  then the bike guy tells me that the wheel is all screwed up and it cost me around 70 bucks.  guess i should have taken the idiot who hit me straight to the shop instead of jumping right into a few rounds of v-ball, but i was sort of in shock and very pissed.

when i got into the shower that night i found some very gnarly bruises and then found a few more scrubbing up before surgery this morning.  i had to tell the doctors where all t he damage was so no one could think or claim that  some whacky stuff went down during the operation. 

this stupid injury is very annoying to me because i'm an extremely active person, and there are very few types of exercise i can do.  also, at my summer job i need to handle things quickly and efficiently (like dealing with each customer for around 12 seconds), which i love, but it's going to be a pisser with this thing on me.  however, the way i see it, there are people in the world with afflictions far worse than this, and many of them had much more critical surgeries down the hall from me this very morning.  as for work, i remember a girl i worked with years ago doing the same job with very little use of one hand, and that was permanent.

it has just been a bad couple of days so i wanted to get it down onto the page, even if i have it more in perspective now.  thanks for listening if you have made it this far into this whopper-long post.  and here's a pic of edward .44 magnum hand, and yeah, i have eyes.  that's just my trademark here at the the gancer:

have gun, will travel - and write corny captions.

out for a while

i'm having surgery tomorrow to repair my screwed up finger from a kickball injury.  yeah.  kickball. 

i'll be back soon to tell you all about my wacky adventures.

if i knew how to do stuff, i would post a pic of this ugly deformed finger.