Castor Oil...sickeningly good

Friday, November 26, 2004

Gastric Intensity and Drawstring Pants

Man…I feel fat as a fucking house with a gland problem.

I went to Sports Authority at 7:00 this morning to buy a treadmill that’s on the super “only till noon” sale. It’s a pretty wang feeling walking into the mall at 7:00, like…I am so fucking consumerly pathetic that I completely buy into this “biggest shopping day of the year” garbage and drag my slightly hungover and well stuffed ass out of my comfortable bed so I can be the first in line to get ripped off. I want to punch myself in the penis for my actions on one hand but on the other I’m glad I did it cuz I got the last one at half-price. HA-HA, take that Mister, “I’m going to stay in bed and have sex instead of going to the mall at a ridiculous hour of the morning” blog-reading bastard!

With my super new treadmill I’m going to have a six pack and well developed shoulders in no time and then the small percentage of people out there who don’t already find me devastatingly attractive will have no choice but to want to get all up on my toned and firm-calved ass. That will be sweet! Of course in reality I will probably never go near the damn thing but treadmills make dandy laundry hanging devices for the 99% of people who buy them and never use them for their intended purpose so either way I figure I’m ahead of where I was at 6:45.

I also bought a new pair of Sambas for the super good (these days anyways) price of 29 bucks. During my travels with Philito the other night I deduced that Sambas have somehow become a hip shoe amongst the nerf-headed girl pant wearing walking baskets of heartbreak set. Can’t ya stick to Pumas and Roos or whatever the hell else you’re wearing and leave the classics to the old people that have trod in them all these years? You’ve already bastardized my beloved Iron Maiden concert shirts for your soulless purpose; do you have to take my shoes as well? I have basically worn Sambas and Chucks as my primary footwear for the past twenty years; all of a sudden I’m part of a trend? I don’t get it…


Turkey Day was chill, tons of food and watching football with the family. I think I was buzzed as a result of my dad’s predilection for making sure everyone is drinking at all times while in his home. I didn’t particularly feel banged up but when I dunked the top of the sugar bowl into a cup of coffee…twice….pretty much destroying the tablecloth it was a strong indication that I was getting housed. Just to make sure Trey and I went to a bar after the family festivities and drank beers into the night. We met a cool bartender named E.J. that used to work at the Grog and Tankard and now is pouring booze in good ole Virginny. It’s always fun telling stories about how atrocious the owners of the Grog are and what a flaming shithole it is. I gave E.J. a copy of the CD to put in the juke so I can go in to the bar at my leisure and ego-trip to my hearts delight for two plays to the dollar. Lovely…lovely lovely.

Trey is still asleep on my couch that lazy fucker. Texans, you can’t do a thing with em’.

I gotta go, there’s leftovers calling me like a siren calls a sailor.


  • I didn;t think I'd be feeling so grotesquely large and unsightly a week before the show....

    By Blogger Phil Rossi, at 11:36 AM  

  • I feel the same way about my Chucks.

    By Blogger kat, at 4:30 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home