How could you?
How could all of you bastards do this to me?
In what feels like the worst surprise party ever, nobody took the time to warn me that National Coffee day was today. (I'll pause for you to purse your lips solemnly and e-console me). Had I known, had I been forewarned, had one of you people who claims to be my friend reminded me the way you unwelcomely reminded me for weeks when I was turning 300 years old - I would have woken up far earlier than I did this morning. And I'd have packed my shitty laptop in its antique carrying case- rotting strap and all, and headed my brilliant ass over to the place that’s been my pusher and go-to creative consciousness kickstarter since that fateful day when I first asked, “What’s Starbucks, mama?”
And when she poured it into my bottle.
And showed my two year old brain exactly what it was. #goodmom #anachronismisfun
BTW it looks like my neck's broken in this retro-snap; but really I'm just tweak-twitching.)
Now, it’s already almost that time of a day whose hour you have to follow with a “P.M.”, which means I’ve officially missed about six hours of free caffeine I could have been enjoying while typing this.
I’ve missed the whole thing?!
“A free taste: Starbucks is offering a free sample of its Anniversary Blend. But stop by early — the sample is only available until noon.”
All of these ceaseless and beleaguering boring Bieber trends that I hate but write reluctantly about anyway have finally done a worse kind of damage than just infusing our consciousness with hydrochloric I.Q. acid. They’ve successfully spammed out one of the most important trends and updates that I actually do need to know about. The kind that are the only reason I carry on with living in society instead of moving off the grid or planet. Burn my retinas out with fire! Shave my head like Britney in 2007! But, for the love of fluffy soy latte foam, never deny me free coffee. I feel like the only way to avoid tragedy like this from striking again next year, will be via formal appeal to the king.
If you or one of your henchmen happen upon this, please hear me out.
All year long, I get game requests I can’t pre-reject. I’m alerted about the birthdays, marriages, and general milestones of people I hardly know when I honestly don’t really even care about my own. Adorably saccharine puppy pictures and videos are interspersed with stories about microwaved babies. And, somehow, I’ve abided all of this by the tacit compliance of continuing to status post, comment like, and share stuff from Instagram (which, #sorrynotsorry I use way more than your shite site). So, can we please – dear leader, mighty fuhrer, revered ZuckerCzar....
....have free fccking coffee alerts jump to the front of my feed from now on?
I was sorta surprised to see the like-factor on this recent Facebook status I posted.
Married and non-married friends alike seemed to identify with (or at least appreciate) my little exercise of adventuring outside to bask in the moonlight - and bickering cacophony that bellows from beyond the walls of my apartment complex almost on a nightly basis. The only nuisance is that when the cops pay their weekly domestic disturbance call, they end up showing up at my door. Which sucks – because some of them have sexy-potential, which I 100% lack by the time of night they wake me up with what sounds like a battering ram of angry villagers pillaging the beast’s castle.
But apparently, I’m not alone in being alone and alright about it.
Recent studies spotlight how fewer people have been signing their
genitals lives away.
And the stats have been increasing since the 70’s.
Apparently, employment plays a role as a deciding factor, demographically. In fact, one research effort on the topic concluded that black women want a man with a job. My instinct is to call that racist or skewed because most of the black women I know have their own well paying jobs. But I'm too lazy too look up the details of the sample size taken and assessed, so I dunno. Mayhaps it speaks to a larger dispossessed and impoverished portion of the population looking to survive because they either didn’t have an opportunity for higher education (requirement for a decent job in many cases) and/or who have children to support. Who knows.
However you wanna take that stat, there are other - more emotionally based - factors as well. For instance - how the evolution of the gender role has also played a part. Previous studies (in the disco era) on this looked at how men went off to work and brought home the bacon to their kids and Betty Crocker housewife.
Assuming she hadn’t oven-gassed her own skull as he porked Suzy secretary at the office.
Now, however, the scientific ruminations on the matter seem to observe that “love” is the larger factor motivating marriage. This makes sense if you think about the fact that everything started changing around the 70’s – when free love and self-actualization and all that kinda stuff started becoming popular. However, as we’re barraged with the ubiquitous assimilation of how media, movies, and anything but we ourselves define love – that’s an abstract concept that can get everyone confused due to its lack of an apt definition. I’d say it’s like waiting in a desert for your ship to come in, but it’s more like waiting for a ship to come in when you dunno what the shit a ship even is.
Regardless of romance or survival, I still don’t get the point of marriage.
It’s a promise I can’t make beyond a daily basis, so I can't expect anyone else to try. Plus, the contract doesn’t exclude people from mistake-making, cheating, changing into monsters who infuse our consciousness with horrible words and acts that can't be unsaid, or even leaving. In fact, all'a that seems to be more of a catalyst for many married folk - unless they mutually share a spiritual path or principles of some sort from the outset.
That said, I am still a human woman with scarlet life-giving liquid coursing through my veins. And I'm not terribly worried about "what my number" is (dusty thought my coital calculator may bit ATM). Which reminds me - I haven't seen much of Frankie the schmexy-albeit-terrible-with-directions door battering cop. Neighbors are about a week late for interlache violence. Assuming he hasn't killed her yet, maybe I should do an aesthetic prep practice round for the next time I hear the couple in 301 exchanging blows - the Paul Revere style sleep-stealing signifier that I'mma get a house call imminently, too.
(Bit outta practice, but I’ll try my hardest)
‘cause like mama always used to say: handcuff chains beat a ball n’ chain.
Workaholics did a great episode not too long ago about a gamer troll antagonizing them.
Being that it’s “Workaholics” we’re talking about, the hapless potheads all gathered together, impersonated a SWAT unit, and hunted down the house of the man who’d been shiz talking into his headphones at them. What they were going to do once they actually got there was about as planned out as any hash-brained idea would be. But it was alright because ultimately, they find out the dude’s old, has a gay-but-not-gay son who also wants him to stop focusing on video games, and a bunch of other stuff that makes this show such a delightfully random reprieve from the pain of reality. What also is fun about this series is often that “what did we learn here?’ they manage to sneak in like a lesson-peen after a humor-roofie: that whatever assholery trolls are capable of over the sound waves of S.O.F. or the interwebs alike, they’re people too. Who probably hate their jobs and dunno how to connect with their families. So that’s a thing we all hafta remember when people act the fool online.
Why? 'cause if we take one douche’s rights away, the man might take away mine too.
And that’s apparently a real threat we're all facing... for using threatening language.
Thus far, I’m only hearing about this happening in foreign countries, but it’s prettymuch terrifying to think of speech being shackled in this way. For example, England and Wales are trying to pass a bill about it. Per the Guardian:
“The justice secretary has backed an amendment to the criminal justice bill that would target new rules at combating trolls. People convicted of cyber-bullying and text message abuse could face up to two years in prison, under plans backed by the government. The justice secretary, Chris Grayling, has backed an amendment to the criminal justice bill that would target new rules at combating trolls that sexually harass and verbally abuse people on the internet or via mobile phones in England and Wales.”
Sure, bully-halting sounds fantastic in theory, but in application, it’s a bit Orwellian.
Especially when we consider the direction recent similar Indonesian laws are taking it. They’ve already punished posters of such commentary as “The police are corrupt”, “God is rotten,” (what’s next? No Nietzsche in the library? Wait… is Nietzsche banned there already?), and “you’re gay” (for good measure – just to make it look like they’re fulfilling the actual alleged point of the law). Per Vice, it’s been a thing for several years now, but now they’re getting outta hand with the whole troll management thing:
Under the 2008 Law on Information and Electronic Transactions, Indonesian citizens can serve jail time for insulting people online. And while the legislation has the potential to stave off cyber bullies, authorities have been using it lately to target anyone who poses a challenge to the status quo.Take Florence Sihombing, a 26-year-old law student, who recently spent the night in jail for calling the residents of Central Java, “poor, stupid and uncultured.” Or an Indonesian blogger who, several months ago, was sentenced to one year of probation for tweeting about a banking scandal. Or Alexander Aan, an atheist who spent two years in prison for questioning God’s existence on Facebook.
If you feel like you’re being bullied, just sign offline. That’s an option, you know. Don’t read the messages. Don’t send stupid sexts or upload your vagina to icloud. Right? Am I missing something here? Can bullies beam themselves into your kindle, classics, or current novels you should be spending more time reading anyway? Before they all get banned too?
Next thing I know, I’mma get called an enemy of ‘murca for challenging the fact that the people in power are destroying ‘murca. And the rest of the world.
If the gov’ment is gonna interfere with our interactions, I feel like jail’s the wrong answer. It doesn’t contribute anything to the betterment of some person who clearly has an internet based personality disorder. Far better would be to rehab them or ban ‘em from the internet like they did to that kid in "Hackers".
I’d still prefer Adam & Co. come teach me non-lessons next time I’m being douchey online.
Which arguably is happening right now.
So I just watched "Lucy" last night.
(*warning: spoilers and a half coming*)
Honest opinion? It was literally an amalgamation of that one flick she already did (called "Her" opposite an awkward Joaquin Phoenix character, where she plays an evolving computer who ultimately also merges with Alan Watts and the holy Higgs field. I’m pretty sure she even says, “I’m everywhere…” at the end of that too) and another movie Bradley Cooper did called "Limitless".
Both the super-Cooper and “Lucy” movies had that same theme going on – where some wonder drug was made to serve as a shoe in or that mystical chemical "thing our brains naturally make when in heightened states of consciousness." And in both films, they neatly dance around calling it DMT, but that's what's meant. That's what they're actually describing in great detail.
I sat through "Limitless"for more than just the boobs (no offense, Brad; yours are lovely) and that "what's in the baaaax?!” Se7ven style torturous Brad Pitt intrigue – which was the only thing motivating me to carry on watching Johansson’s deadpan quantum psychopath character right up till the end. And that end was such a nuclear disappointment bomb, that I just wish I could do my own super-brain rewind to get the hour or two (seemingly twelve) of my life back.
The aforementioned brain bait was that the whole movie, they do these interjected notifications you’re meant to assume are her at “20%” of brain use, then “30%”, and so on till the conclusion which I’ve already kinda spoiled for you but I’ll do it again now –“100%” – which is when she just dissipates into the ether.
That concept – of “merging with the infinite” – is something they talk about in eastern religions. “Moksha”, I think they call it; liberation from the body. Likewise, this concept of scientific “super-consciousness” would be referred to as “Enlightenment” in some of those same cultures. And while I love a good spiritual-science swirl served up like two delicious scoops of ice cream for my own barely-even-at-10%-consciousness, I wasn’t a fan of the way this recent film did it. That end Michaelangelo-esque scene where she touches fingertips with what we assume is "Lucy" - our earlier ref'd apey-grandmama- was a bit sophomoric.
The reason “Limitless” didn’t feel this way was because they added in all the bells and whistles you like to see and be surprised by in these types of films. The character development of Bradley's protagonist is better (why do I care what you’re like after you turn if I dunno anything other than that you were mistakable for a prozzy prior?). Cooper's change is more multi-tiered and impressive than how much violence a femme fatale can do (a nice touch would have been if she’d spoken to the object of her revenge in his native tongue as she campily brain-read him with her thumbs and hand stabbed him Jesus style – another religious ref).
And finally, there was no side or sub plot (or whatever you guys call it in the field).
Some movies can get away with that, but the whole "Morgan Freeman is doing research on this simultaneously" concept really didn't feel like enough. I mean she had a roommate and a mom, but they served no real purpose aside from giving us more information about how she was was slowly morphing into a socioapathic supercomputer with flesh. That lack made the whole thing fall kinda short so that when the anticlimactic end finally arrives, you get that familiar “saw that coming” feeling wave over you while the crickets chirp.
All that said, I do like the idea movies like these are trying to accomplish. And I don't mind if they're suggesting drugs like DMT can accomplish these higher states. Even so, the fact that our gov'ment wants us nice and dumb without easily expanding our consciousness doesn't make quasi-Lucy-ness an impossibility - and I feel like films could touch on that. Maybe highlight how higher states are possible sans criminal chemicals. Redirect the focus. I'm not sure what kind of camera angles, filters, or soundtracks could make something like meditation seduce an audience to want to go out and enlighten up. But if Danny Boyle could manage to make an action movie out of a man stuck in between the ass crack of a canyon and its giant turd boulder, then surely there's a way. Then again, Franco's easy to watch watching paint dry.
Then again-again, so is Bradley.
Then again to the third power times four carry the one... so is ScarJo.
She can touch Sistine fingertips with me any day. All fifteen of 'em.
*I suppose as half second foreshadowing goes, that above scene wasn’t bad.
'cause when she ends up going back and touching our hominid ancestor, “Lucy”, the suggestion is she imbues it with consciousness. And since time is all an illusion, I suppose we just keep going back and reigniting consciousness forever and ever from a Dr. Moreau looking rolly chair. So the self-double-hand thing is like a metaphor for touching her “self” along with the rest of humanity.
A video of sex happening? On youtube? Inside a body scanner?
I dunno what I was expecting from this “how life looks like inside an MRI machine”.
In my mind’s eye, I suppose, it was meant to be something like this:
Because anytime I imagine coitus plus anything technology, Bjork’s sex bots mechanically fondling one another is going to be the first thing that bubbles to the surface from my subconscious well of every related topic and trend to which I’ve been exposed over the past three decades. Obviously. And why wouldn’t it? If you watched Beavis and Butthead at all during the 90’s, you can’t tell me that music video doesn’t win the blue ribbon of brain race connections when you hear “sex robot”. Every damned time.
In application, however, it’s a lot... more...
It's not the same.
Aside from the hairlessness and human body shapes, there's no comparison when you're missing the robotic and mechanical component of the non-sentient fornicators above. All the awkwardness of human micromovements and involuntary bodily reactions remain the same as they are when you add flesh – and look far worse when we can see these functions uncovered in all their glory.
There’s the human tongue - moving spastically during speech like a slug after a salt shower.
A heart - racing during a kiss, as the partner's cardiac rhythm sadly remains unchanged.
Then, the one you've been waiting for:
A scanned phallus.
Stabbing tirelessly away into the cavity of a female.
With all the grace of Scream's Ghostface blindly waving his knife through a door at Sydney.
(Hah! Bastards. I told you I'd get away with porn on here before I died!)
That last one looked far more violent and painful at the mechanical level than I recall it ever consensually feeling during my former years of avid research in the field. Why? Is it because without all the blanketing layers of meat cushion, it looks super sensitive? Yeah. I’m going with that. For now.
So, I’ve saved the rest of the video for the end of my assessment.
Because I feel like you should not take watching this minute and a half piece lightly. Some say pornography or snuff films will ruin you forever – but I say this will be worse. Because we only have sex or murder people sometimes – but we do things like talk and play the French horn all day long. All’s I’m saying is that it’s a good damned thing I can’t see what’s going on inside the bodies of people I interact with on a daily basis. Imagine knowing your lover’s so bored with you that their heart doesn’t quicken at your kiss? Or they’re fake laughing at my hilarious jokes? (#farworse) Or how ugly people really are on the inside when you’re trying your hardest to be normal and fall in love with one of them?
"Don’t touch me with that hairless caterpillar living inside of your mouth hole!"
And without further blabbing, here’s 82 seconds of your life you’ll never get back:
I seriously figured this had to be a hoax when I saw it:
This mother effer looks like the lost aqueous cousin from Puppet Master’s horror collection.
And the diving scientists who were submerged for research (not really them, but their Nautilus Live expedition ROV) were about as surprised as I was to see this swimming machete meandering along through the watery depths too, according to the video (below). I remember thinking that one enchanting see-through tunicate that was found by a fisherman and photographed last winter, was pretty much the tits of fish news. Part its wonder (aside from being all jelly-like and invisible until it wiggles around and catches your eye) was this thing that it did: it has the capacity to communicate with other members of its own species by merely holding hands with one another as they collectively navigate the oceans together. (Also, I think they can change sexes halfway through their lives which makes me super jelly #badpuninteded).
Similarly, this guy recently captured on film does the synch-link action as well.
“Wow. Okay, that’s awesome,” one ROV operator says (on the video you’re about to watch if you’ll just be patient. Or scroll to the end. Who cares.) adding, “I can’t believe that’s a living thing!”
And that's right.
Because it’s not just one living thing.
It’s a ton of them, all joined together until they form that ladder you see – imparting the illusion of one long knife-nosed fish just scurrying along the ocean floor, daring any predators to approach its daunting blade of a proboscis – which is actually just a troll prop of multitudinous micro creatures. People who are smarter than I am about oceanic matters (marine biologists, I think they’re called), refer to this sort of phenomenon as a “roving colony”. And the reason we all mistake it for a single creature is because it’s comprised of thousands of individuals they call “zooids”.
Each plays their part.
And in so doing we get this amazing and mystical looking purple seaweed eater.
(Wait – they found this while exploring the Titanic? What if those are a buncha reincarnated lost souls of the sunken ship? Still holding hands – like Jack and Rose?)
You can now return to living your lives.
Which don't include Nemo waiting to Leatherface you on your next diving excursion.
It’s adorable seeing animals anthropomorphized on the interwebz.
Sometimes it’s even useful.
Especially if you're issuing grim life updates:
And I get sick of seeing the peanut gallery and their buzz killery via shaming owners for the adorable media being shared: “Waaah... You must be abusing your dog if they’re sitting in that swing... or walking on two legs... or on fire…” You know the deal. You've seen the comments. You’ve read these annoying presumptuous posts before.
That said, I feel like there’s a monumental difference between spontaneous and harmless human-like behaviors that domesticated pets do – and wild ones. Like, say, elephants. That’s why when I see a video like this one, the beginnings of a turbulent darkness stir deep down in my anal chakra - alerting me that something’s not quite right.
(Yeah. She knows whatchyu “got in that hand”. An elephant’s ass never forgets a bullhook.)
Maybe my suspicion is due to the fact that I watched “Water For Elephants” once.
Or maybe it’s the fact that Sir Twilight and Legally Blonde weren’t confirmation enough for me, and I opted to watch a documentary about it afterward as well – confirming that it’s been and still is just as bad as the fictional Hollywood work for ages, and maybe worse. Baby elephants get ripped from their mothers early on, tied up, and terrorized into doing tricks until they become habitual and second nature. The fear association of getting a pointy hook in the tender parts of their ear or stabbed in the rear is enough to get them to sit on too-small stools, stand on their front legs, parade around in unison, and dance to music.
All shit none of them would ever do in their natural habitat.
All shit none of them would ever do without being bloodily bullied into it with a bullhook.
So it’s been said.
Now, some trainers will claim that they train their elephants using a “reward system” sans pain issuing or punishment for not doing tricks. Sites like PETA will counter that that’s not true because it's hard to love an animal into doing painful things it wouldn't dream of doing to carry on surviving in the world. But I dunno, because I’m not a trainer. Or an elephant (though I’ve been eating like one today).
But people who have been trainers, have documented “how it’s done” in most places.
It’s hard for me to tell if Mr. Franks was among the nice-guy types of trainers (if that’s even a thing) in the 70’s, but as most of the literature and leaked photos of gigs like Ring-a-ling seem to convey, that’s generally a bold faced lie the clowns tell to keep you laughing and clapping at creatures doing ridiculous things for your entertainment. It just seems shitty to me, either way. From riding a horse to riding an elephant (both of which I’ve done in my formative years so my parents could take pictures), it’s always seemed some strange unspoken agreement I couldn't quite articulate – like that scene I'd see later on in life from SOA where the guards make Gemma and Clay sex eachother up in a cell. Neither participant is really down with it even though they respect eachother, but they reluctantly comply for reasons that never seem good enough retrospectively.
Seriously – reward or not – if I’m an animal, I don’t wanna spend my life with a “job"
I’m just here to enjoy life and survive it as long as I can, asshole.
So let’s let these poor fat asses back into the wild.
Or somewhere they can just do whatever the hell it is they do when we aren't watching.
I fucking knew it.
Ever woken up to the birds chirping?
Sunlight streaming through the window slates?
A fleshy morel tipped cattle prod sleepily molesting the small of your back?
Among the things I miss least about past relationships are the half-awake propositions for sex when I’ve still got crusted eye snot gluing my lower and upper lashes together on one eye, while the other awkwardly darts around trying to remember those upon-waking details that are helpful in a situation like this: (“Whose penis is that? Where am I? Who am I?”) In my experience, there’s very little that’s sexy or memorable about halitosis scented quasi-conscious copulation while both of our faces and hair look like we shared the simultaneous experience sometime before sunrise of a bad shellfish reaction coupled with electrocution.
But I’m told this phenomenon gets worse than morning wood or nocturnal emissions.
Like, for instance, ever woken up in the middle of the night being humped by your partner? And then they pretend not to know that they were just night porking you? Science says, they may not just be pretending. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t typing this without a smirk on my face the whole time. However, an unconscious rogering proclivity is indeed dubbed a “parasomnia” – a sleep disorder.
“I warned you it turns at night! Now it’s too late!” #PeenWolf
Past relaches of mine admittedly were characterized by thinking “welp, if it’s not violent, it’s not really rape.” But then again, I’ve never let anyone take up a semi-permanent residence in my life or home or vagina unless every time I looked at them out of the context (of my life or home or vagina), I thought, “I could have sex with you. Even when my heart’s not in it.” So a bit o’ surprise night nookie wouldn’t be a problem. Startling, but not a problem. (Note – I don’t speak for all women. No one can speak for all women. Just like no one man can speak for all men. Or race. Or demographic.) That’s my experience. That said, I’ve slowly become unwilling to share my life or bed with another person.
My standards are too high and I covet my solitude.
Could I ever see someone in such a “you can ball my flower if you waaant to” light again?
Especially bedtime Bundy style?
(Seeing as George Clooney’s off the menu and Franco’s arguably already married to himself.)
Thus, research on “sexsomnia” was in order.
In case Mr. Future Whoev-I-Settle-For tries to pull this shiz.
To my non-surprise, the deets were disappointing and a half:
“Sleep sex or sexsomnia is a form of non-rapid eye movement (NREM) parasomnia, similar to sleepwalking, that causes people to engage in sexual acts such as masturbation, fondling, intercourse, and sometimes rape while they are asleep,” says Robert Oexman, DC, director of the Sleep to Live Institute in Joplin, Mo. “This is similar to sleepwalking in that it occurs during NREM sleep, but medically it is a separate condition.” Since the sexsomniac is experiencing a deep sleep phenomenon, he usually won’t even remember it the following day. “Most cases involve no recall and even a denial that the event occurred,” says Russell Rosenberg, PhD, vice chairman of the National Sleep Foundation in Atlanta.
Convenient. No REM and no recollection.
However, they have f’real proven this “confusional arousal” is legit during actual Z catching.
“Most episodes of sexsomnia are reported after the fact. There is, however, a case of sexsomnia with intercourse that was documented with nocturnal polysomnography. Interestingly, review of the video of the study showed that the patient's wife initiated foreplay while her husband was asleep and this lead to sexual intercourse without his waking up. (During polysomnography it is possible to verify that the person was sleeping based on EEG and other data).”
"But can you dream into a sock from now on?"
Even so, I think the most fun part of this study is how a bunch of the sites outline the disorder and potential management of it. Generally, they’ll say that certain medications – like alcohol, sleeping pills, and sedatives can make it worse. Then two paragraphs later – under the proposed solution heading – do you wanna know what they suggest to help mitigate symptoms?
Sedatives and pills.
Right. Why didn't I think about the problem being a solution?
In sum, if you’re shacked up with someone you suspect is a sexsomniac, try these things:
1. Put ‘em through a sleep study.
2. Put ‘em on the couch till the sleep study happens.
3. Leave. Forever.
4. Apply this - along with your night creams:
As for the above image I had to MSpaint censor pre posting, it’s comforting to know that advertising has always fccked with us: “Here’s my naked titties and seductive pose, boys… but you CAN’T HAVE IT! NONE OF YOU CAN HAVE IT! ONLY THE BELT!! OooOoooh... how stimulating is is! That's why I stand like this. But, no! Sex IS NOT NATURAL BUT DIRTY!!!1”
No wonder we’re so goddamned perverted that we rape people in our sleep.
Ever get fed up with food servers fccking up your order?
I do. When my local baristas get it wrong (and six times out of seven days a week, they do), the worst I ever do is pitch the scalding drink at her face like a baseball for her oversight. I’d never, however, dream of shooting up the window of the drive-through like this one Californian couple did after their visor donning meal technician failed to add ketchup to their bag of pink sludge between buns. Ask nicely again? Pssh. Ain't nobody got time fa dat. After pelting the window (and a couple parked cars on the way out, for good measure), the two fled the scene with their order and absconded all the way to their super sneaky hideout at …
…the Walmart parking lot.
Just down the street.
Where they were apprehended a bit before 2 A.M. in the morning.
Cue surprised face.
I mean, why not go to a brightly lit pit of communal white trash consumerism after committing a white trash crime – in the white trash car you just committed the crime in? *Sigh* I feel like the more I champion not being a criminal unless you’re smart enough to be one, the more my country’s inhabitants keep defying me with tales like these. Then again, maybe they’re like the Natural Born Killers couple and just so blinded by their mutual love for one another and simultaneous hate for other people, that it reduced their collective IQ numbers down from pink to potato. I suppose that under the influence of infatuation (and meth from the looks of their mugshots), you might start to think that you’re too superhuman for inconvenient matters (like the fact that you’re already on probation) to have any worse of an effect on you when you BB gun drive-by a drive through. So things like good hideouts are immaterial at best.
And what was in their car – apart from a counterfeit Benjamin – when the fuzz found ‘em?
“A search of their vehicle turned up three ‘gas-charged, semi-automatic’ BB guns, as well as McDonald's wrappers and a receipt from around the time the window was shot out.”
Seems like the biggest apology they owe was underestimating McD’s naked burger allure.
‘cause it must not have tasted too bad sans ketchup if all they left were the wrappers.
Fair enough. Now you can waste emotion and time both in jail.
And work on your food-server patience, too.
Lest the chef add your sanguine ketchup to tonight's special.
On the heels of the Meth-ican Taco truck, we now swing our cultural interrogation lamp...
Down for a side of “nod” with your noms, kids? Why not try Zhang’s opium-MSG special?
Just kidding. You can’t.
Firstly because the culinary chemical secret santa had his place o’ bizz in Shaanxi Province, China (you’re probably not hanging out over there, are you? Most of you?) And secondly because, well, Mr. Lo Mein got nabbed by le man and shut the puff down. Ya know, I kinda feel for the guy. He bought all these seeds last month and spent painstaking hours crushing them into a fine powder, just to pepper your Peking duck with dope, and you all ungratefully come back to point your sweaty fingers at him the second a cop pulls you over for driving funny and throws you for two weeks into jail for inadvertent junkie-ism? (I imagine Chinese jails looking like something out of the Count of Monte Cristo). F'real though - those poor unassuming dining dipshits. I mean, can you imagine, just driving along after a nice belly filling meal, and suddenly feeling very euphoric and simultaneously ill?
Then the colors of all the stoplights suddenly start to look very vibrant?
And then – so do the flashing blue ones in your rearview?
Because you’re driving on the sidewalk?
Ultimately, when a lot of not-your-regular-fiend sorta people started getting tossed in the clink for driving high, police had to do a little research. That’s when they traced the trail of dirty urine all the way back to Zhang’s special laced seasoning.
You know, it took me a good long time to quit foods like Chinese as it is.
I’m in good company too, ‘cause these kinds of food already have addictive qualities. Back in my formative years, there was almost never such a thing as “leftover Chinese” when I ordered it. Why? Because I’d destroy the entire thing with my face hole, only to wake up at midnight and morph into a bile geyser…. Only to order it again in a day and a half, when I’d “recovered” and blamed the sickness on “something else”. I feel like that fits into addiction about as good as anything - and it did so well enough without adding bits o’ Buddha to the mix. #amiright?
Really, my dude.
How bad a chef are you that MSG isn’t enough too hook ‘em?
Gotta wonder what the touristy fams visiting WolfZhang Junk thought was happening...
“See, Billy? This is what REAL Chinese food tastes like.
And we’re not leaving till you finish your egg drop poppy soup!”