Resur erection

As the title of this post implies, this post is concerning the plight of the big cats currently stranded in the flatlands of Mount Olympus.

Or not.

I notice the time is 6:21. But I digress. I should be at work right now. Instead I started off with a beer. Then gradually worked myself up to the Waffle House at 3:58AM.

"And in the end, the sweltering halitosis better known as your mom will forever be eradicated by the speed of your pen in comparison to my mind, vis-a-vis thunder to lightning..."
- The Book of Ski, eighth book 11th verse stanza 621

I videotaped a manifesto to be played at my funeral. On tape I get to tell the people close to me what I've really thought about them all my life. It's going to be very uncomfortable for many people and the only thing I wish is that I was there to actually see the look of utter mortification etched across their stupid fat faces. And you know what? What are you going to do about it - I'm dead? Deface my corpse? Who cares? That'll only make me come back and haunt you more than I would have anyway. I'm thinking I should have a practice funeral and bring the tape...

Or not.

"And in one voice in perfect unison, the vestal virgins screamed out 'Christ!' to which there was no response..."
- The Book of Ski, eighth book 11th verse stanza 629

When I first saw the opening scene to Mission Impossible 2, when Tom Cruise was scaling this 11 million foot mountain sans harness, gloves, Sherpa or gymnast hand powder at first I was like, C'mon Tom - who are you kidding here! Then my bemusement turned to anger like "how fucking insulting." Until I did it myself this past weekend. And I got not one hand callous or anything. Tom Cruise seems like he's really a dick. Not Michael Jordan Hall of Fame acceptance speech kinda dick, but...yeah, that's exactly how he seems....and as long as we're on the subject of Brett Favre, there's a reason why he's the most vilified athlete in New York history. Excuse me, what? What did you say A-Rod?

I hate when bartenders measure drinks. It's embarrassing. Do that back in the kitchen or something or bend down low behind the bar so I don't have to see that!

You know the feeling when you wake up not remembering the night before and firstly - you're so happy to wake up in your own bed - then you rummage through your pants pockets to look at receipts to get some sort of semblance of what happened the night before and then you stop when you notice the woman lying next to you in bed with the hearing aid? That's a feeling I could do without.

I used to date this girl in Cambria Heights, Queens when I was like 18. Travelling to her house would take the same time as a flight to New York to Florida, so every time I was on my way to her house I'd tell my friends I'm going to Disney. Her dad was rumored to be this former marine, former CIA hitman or something and he played the part well. Strong silent type. Had an economy of words and hardly ever spoke. One time I get to their house and she was upstairs "getting ready" so I sat in the dark kitchen with her dad who was just sitting at the table staring into the darkness. Then he told me this story: One time, right before we were sent to Vietnam, we were stationed in Mississippi and had to get on this public bus. It was Jim Crow days and those people out there did not play. When we got on, we knew immediately we were supposed to sit in the back and we did. So there's this Puerto Rican kid in our group, Ramos, and he sits in the front. The bus driver yells out, while still looking straight ahead "All niggers in the back of the bus." Total silence. The bus driver repeats again, this time louder "All niggers in the back of the bus!" Still total silence. Then the driver gets up goes to Ramos and stands over him pointing in his face "I said, all niggers in the back of the bus, now!" Ramos responds, "But I'm not a nigger sir, I'm Puerto Rican." The bus driver responds "I didn't ask you what KIND of nigger you were...." And he never finished the sentence. The story ended right there. Oddly, awkwardly and unfinished. Much like this blog post.

As the Book of Ski, eighth chapter 11th verse stanza 653 acknowledges:

"And in the end the beginning seems like a 32 minute manifestation thusly: make proud the mischievous miscreants amongst us; make merry the masturbatory moguls making merry on Madoffs, who made off on the Mets. Cast thy own rod into the murky waters of love's composite mystique. Yes, God's loving kindness seek..."

Or not.