Bullshit Manifesto

Being a man of mathematical brackground, I understand that X, representing some variable, can be anything. That is what’s meant by variable, it varies.

I keep up on the comments and stats for this site pretty well. If someone found the site from another site, I’ll know. If there were 6 people that visited my site for the first time, I’ll know. Until just now, I hadn’t noticed anybody finding my site as a search in Google, or any other search engine. I was waiting to see what the search entry would be that led to my site, as they are usually odd, misplaced, and humorous.

chico’s angels kay

chico’s angels drag show la

2004 photos wayans

The first two make some sense, as I posted about that show in some detail. The last one bothers me. I had a post that mentioned Marlon Wayans, but when I typed the same thing into google, I wasn’t on the first several pages of links. In fact, I didn’t even find my site. I gave up. One would think that others would have found what they were looking for by the time they got to my page, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

Go figure.

The store I work in used to be owned by the group that we share the building with. They are still customers, one of our biggest, in fact, but they have no direct control or say when it comes to policies and whatnot. The organization we share the building with has a reputation for being very conservative.

My boss went to lunch with 3 of the big wigs several months back, and at that lunch they talked about how the store was going. The store makes nearly twice as much as it did under their control. This wasn’t pointed out. The customers are more pleased with the store’s inventory and staff. This wasn’t brought up. The work that we still do for them is being done, even if our staff is inundated with customers. This wasn’t brought up either. What was brought up is that one of them had a problem with my hair and ear ring.

My hair looks roughly like Gene Wilder’s in Young Frankenstein. Until recently, I rode my bike into work, so my hair was rather frizzy and wild. It has tamed quite a bit, but I do have curly hair none the less. My hair will have some craziness unless I put in some kind of hair gel or pomade, which will make life a living hell, since my hair is also thick. Getting that crap out of thick hair is folly.

I wasn’t told to do anything about it, but was advised that this is how they felt. Since then, my hair has calmed down. Today, the head cheese talked to my manager and asked if my hair “upset” her. She replied no, and pointe out that lately, today especially, my hair has been quite tame and clean cut. He said that he didn’t think it appropriate, and would talk to my manager’s boss if necessary.

Now I’m stressing out. Not so much because I care what this fuckass thinks about my looks, but some of the way he said it was extremely insulting. He said that he didn’t like the impression I was giving customers of their organization. I was a member of said organization. I went through their program to the end, earning recognitions of the highest degree. I continue to volunteer for this organization in several ways. I hold the values of this organization close to my heart, and try to personify them on a day to day basis. To infer, even to the most minor of degrees, that I do not represent this organization makes me sick to my stomach. I’ve known people in this group to be clean cut, but truly ruthless and heartless to the core. Granted, I’m not perfect, and have done things that I’m not proud of that weren’t ideal of someone in said group, but I am leagues beyond some of these people that have a conservative haircut.

I surely hope that someone reads this that knows of whom I speak. Because I still work for an affilliate of said group, and this group has been known for renouncing former participants, I would rather not mention which group it is, and would appreciate it if y’all didn’t say in the comments either.

Be a hippy.

Grow your hair.

Beat your own drum.

Damn the man.

Save the Empire.

Boobies.

My uncle Mike has been a role model as long as I can remember. He has been with the same woman for years, Karen, though they haven’t married. He went to the same high school that I did, and would play the Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom video game. I have never seen this stand up classic, but I’m dying to. Until recently he had a mullet, and still managed to look cool. He constantly makes jokes at my dad’s expense, which is always a crowd pleaser.

All through my childhood he would tell me to get a haircut, and to get a job. Then, when I became a teenager, I remember vividly him telling me the secret to life. “Get a haircut, get a job, get a check, get a girlfriend.” Short, sweet, and simple.

Get a haircut. Stay clean, and keep a good appearance. Granted, this came from a man with a mullet, but he wasn’t a slob. Most of the my uncles have long hair, but it’s well kept.

Get a job. Self explanatory. Be responsible. Do your part.

Get a check. Make sure you are appreciated, and that you have some security. Your deeds shouldn’t go unnoticed, nor should they be unrewarded.

Get a girlfriend. Find love. Once you have taken care of the previous three, this should fall in line.

I haven’t felt happier in my life, and I owe it largely to the fact that I have followed uncle Mike’s advice.

I’d like to close with something else he said to me that has also been integral in who I am now. “Tell your dad, ‘I’ve got your christmas tree hangin””

Hangin’, indeed.

Here‘s the site where I’ll be reviewing movies. I’m going to try and get a review for everything I get from Netflix up there, as well as other films I have seen or will see. I’m trying to steer clear of spoilers, but I’m not perfect.

At any rate, if you are interested in being one of those that can post on that site, lemme know via email.

Penis

This weekend kicked my ass. Friday night, after having come home from work, I had to come back to work around 9pm to close the building as a favor to one of the big wigs and my mom. Then Saturday, at 6am, I come into work to get work done early so I can help my mom with a training she was running.

The training class had 37 people in it, with 4 trainers, including myself. My mom, also one of the four, was organizing the entire even, so she didn’t really have any large sections to cover herself. Granted, she did organize the event, and was 5 times busier than anyone else that day, but the training was done primarily by myself and two other people. This had me talking for about 2 hours, broken up into a few sections. My voice was almost nonexistent when I left at 5:30pm. I had gone over my video portions, and my notes, but still wasn’t as prepared as I should have been. At any rate, I was able to cover my sections effectively, and received many compliments on my preparedness. Go figure.

After I left work, I went to pick up the pie for my boy Justin’s birthday bash at his girl’s house. I had written down directions, but left them at work. I remembered them, though, so thought I was in the clear. I got the pie, had some dinner, and left at 7:45 for the shindig. I got there at 9:15. The directions I wrote down were exactly as they were given on mapquest. Mapquest, however, will tell you to take the freeway regardless of the fact that the sidestreets will be faster and a shorter distance. I stopped at a McDonalds, a Carl’s Jr., a Little Caeser’s, and 3 gas stations to find out where this place was. I was looking for Primrose Ave. in Alhambra. Nobody knew where it was, but 3 people tried to tell me anyhow. None of the gas stations had maps for the areas that they were in, only one had any maps at all. The closest I got to a map was at Little Caeser’s, but it wasn’t much help. I ended up at a Chevron station, where a little man that and sounded looked like a Mexican Peter Lorre told me where the street was. I found it, and the party. God bless that little man.

The party was fun. I saw some peeps that I hadn’t seen in quite some time. The invites to the party said “punch and pie” at the bottom, so I went ahead and brought some. That, and my presence, late or no, went over well.

The next morning I taught 4 boys how to use a compass and plot a one mile orienteering course. In a car, or even on a bike, you realize lose sight of how far a mile really is. I split the boys into two groups of 2, so one of the mothers and I could go with either group and have them complete the course. These boys had a 2 ft pace, that is every step they took covered 2 feet. A mile has 5280 feet. You do the math. Luckily, I chose a location that had a wide open field for us to work in. This meant that they could go clear across the field for 700 feet at a time. I got there at 8 and left a little after noon.

I got home, swam, and chilled the fuck out. Now I’m counting down the days until my next day off.

Oh, and boobies.

My first job was at the store I work in now. At the time I was only a clerk, and the store’s scope was smaller, being under different management. It’s the equivalent of going from being a franchise to a chain. Cost goes down, perks go up, rules are more strict. The head of accounting from back then is still in the same building, and we still work with him to a point, but he’s not as closely involved in the nitty gritty of the workings of the store as he was back then. His name is Buzz, and he is the coolest man I know.

First I think that I should make it clear exactly what cool is. John Wayne was cool. Marlon Wayans is not. Jack Palance is cool. Billy Crystal is not. Buzz is the head of accounting for a fairly large organization. He handles many moneys (yes, you can pluralize it that way), has every right to be stressed out to the point of several heart attacks, but is always calm. Nothing seems to get him upset or frustrated.

He has white hair, blue eyes, stands about 6 feet tall, smokes, drives the same car he was driving in 98, and is a decent human being. He jokes around like none of the other big wigs do here, and seems to get it. You know, the proverbial “it.”

Not to mention the guy’s name is Buzz. I mean, come on. Buzz, for crying out loud. His last name only seals the deal, but I’ll omit that for legal reasons and whatnot. Just let it be known that this guy is the man.

Buzz, you da man.

Vote Quimby Buzz

There’s been a pressing question on my mind, and I’m sure it’s been on all 12 of your minds as well. What ever happened to that kid in Kindergarten Cop that told Richard Kimble that boys have penises, and girls have vaginas? My friends, I have some answers.

Miko Hughes was born February 22, 1986 in Apple Valley, CA. He has been in several films, including Pet Semetary, Mercury Rising, Apollo 13, Spawn, and Wes Craven’s New Nightmare. He is of Native American descent, as is his name, which means “Chief.” He has 3 sibiling, 2 brothers and a sister, and he is a beekeper. He counts his 30,000 bees as his pets. Lately he’s done a few episodes of Boston Public, but that’s about it.

And you thought he was going to turn into some opium addict in rehab or something.

When I was a wee little lad on a road trip to Seattle, my Uncle Steve, Aunt Terre, and cousin Svea stayed with one of Steve’s friends who owned a computer. Knowing my dork tendencies, even back in 93, my uncle got his friend to let me play some games on the computer. There was one cool one that involved castles shooting at each other, then repairing your castle’s walls with available wall pieces. It was puzzles and blowing shit up, two of my favorite things. The game I played after that added another thing to my favorites list, and changed my life forever. Wolfenstein 3D.

Since then, I have taken a certain joy in playing any 1st/3rd person shooter and using the shotgun. Whether it’s a pump, double barreled, automatic, or futuristically enhanced, I’m on the mother fucker. “We should have shotguns for this.” Truer words have never been spoken. Had they had shotguns, there wouldn’t have been chunks of brain and skull in the backseat. Back on topic.

This morning, I was awoken by the hideous noise of a hedge trimmer 3 feet from my window. I live in an apartment building. There are some hedges outside my window. They get trimmed every Friday. Every other Friday is a day off for me, but even those days that I work I still come in later than I would be going to school, so sleeping in is something I look forward to every Friday. Fucking hedge trimmers.

What I really wanted was any of those shotguns from my videogames. Preferably the double barreled from Doom2, or even the automatic from Goldeneye so I could pump 8 rounds into his bitch ass. Why don’t gardeners work in the afternoon, while everyone is at work already?

I just helped a mother who was likely suffering from mild retardation. Her son is going on a hike this weekend. She wants her son to be prepared, and for him to fit in as well. These are reasonable desires for a parent to have, and I applaude her on this. She wanted to know what he’ll need for a say hike. Being an avid hiker myself, I said, “Comfortable shoes, comfortable clothes, and water.” She thought he might need a walking stick, a compass, a knife, and a jacket. I agreed to a degree with the walking stick, but told her that above and beyond the general usefulness of the compass and knife, he likely owon’t need either for this particular hike. Then there was the jacket, which I told her was completely up to her. The group her son is in does not require the jacket. I told her the uses (beyond the obvious) for the jacket. I left the decision up to her. This was likely my downfall, as she didn’t seem capable of making her own decisions. Actually, the only thing she seemed able to do was ask me the same 4 questions over and over again, giving me the opportunity to test not only my mental abilities to answer the question in another way that gave her more information, but also my patience.

If I see her again, I’m running in the opposite direction.

My favorite is that her son, when asked whether he wanted the jacket, was indifferent and said it was up to her. Either he didn’t care, or he wanted her to make a decision on her own, too. I hope it was the latter. It would give me hope that he will turn out better than his birthgiver.

Venting complete.

Vote Quimby.

The Dante’s Inferno Test has banished you to the Eigth Level of Hell – the Malebolge!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 – Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Very Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	High
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Moderate
Level 6 – The City of Dis (Heretics)	Very Low
Level 7 (Violent)	High
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Very High
Level 9 – Cocytus (Treacherous)	High

Take the Dante’s Inferno Hell Test

“Eigth Level of Hell – the Malebolge

“Many and varied sinners suffer eternally in the multi-leveled Malebolge, an ampitheatre-shapped pit of despair Wholly of stone and of an iron colour: Those guilty of fraudulence and malice; the seducers and pimps, who are whipped by horned demons; the hypocrites, who struggle to walk in lead-lined cloaks; the barraters, who are ducked in boiling pitch by demons known as the Malebranche. The simonists, wedged into stone holes, and whose feet are licked by flames, kick and writhe desperately. The magicians, diviners, fortune tellers, and panderers are all here, as are the thieves. Some wallow in human excrement. Serpents writhe and wrap around men, sometimes fusing into each other. Bodies are torn apart. When you arrive, you will want to put your hands over your ears because of the lamentations of the sinners here, who are afflicted with scabs like leprosy, and lay sick on the ground, furiously scratching their skin off with their nails. Indeed, justice divine doth smite them with its hammer.”

I knew I was a sinner, but fuck me sideways, I’m one unholy sum-bitch!!