The Farmingdale Trip. Part 2

Okay, when I said I was going to be stopping in the middle of writing said blog I didn't think I was actually going to end it prematurely with "To Be Continued." Therefore, I half-heartedly apologize for it, I can't apologize fully, because no one reads this fucking blog anyway.

So, yes, I finish watching Die Simpsons (German) and I go out with Theresa as she's buying stuff for her party she's having (her birthday was Monday, but she had a party on Saturday) and I went along for the ride. Before we go shopping we go to Marino's Pizza, home of the greatest fucking Bufallo Chicken Pizza known to man, and Theresa demands that she pay, since I paid for Applebees, so I let her. I wasn't too happy about it, because I like paying. I'm one of those types of guys. There's seldom of us left. After we polish off our food, my mouth burns like a whores AIDS ridden vagina.....We arrive at Costco, or Buy-A-Lot, or BJs, I can't really recall (maybe it's because all of these bulk companies look the same) and we wind up buying nothing, because in a stark-realization, Theresa realizes that she doesn't 150 red cups, or 35 potatoes, or 85 hot-dog and hamburger rolls. I concede, because unless they're selling a lifetime supply of BottleCaps (the delicious candy) I do not want any.

After the Bulk-Buying (or lack there of) is done; we shoot to Pathmark, where I run into Chris McCrory, whom I haven't seen in at least five years. Five fucking years. The dude has been living somewhere other than New York (NH...I can't spell) and he's got this baby in the cart. The only thing I can think to say was "Is that yours?" and immediately after saying it, I felt stupid. I felt like a surge of stupidity rose up into my throat and spat out this ridiculousness. He said "Yes" and he said "He's cute" and in all my blunder of stupidity, I forgot to introduce Theresa - and just kind of stared at the kid for a moment, and Chris McCrory, who was buying shit with coupons. I notice, right then, that I am not ready for kids, or coupons.

After Pathmark, we buy stuff, that I can't remember. We have a conversation about the lovely Cookie-Club that Pathmark used to have, and then we leave. After Pathmark, we head to the Sunrise Mall, which is basically the same piece of shit that it was when I lived on Long Island. You're upper-classing a mall that's filled with black people, spanish people, and stupid white people. Blah. Regardless, we go into a few stores, nothing to write home about, and I wind up buying another XM Radio from Wal-Mart. I bought it, mainly because, the price tag was wrong. The price tag read "34.97" when in actuality it was "58.97" or whatever. Customer is always an asshole, therefore, I got my shit for $35 bucks, and not some inflated crazy $60 beans.

After Wal-Mart, I feel bad, because Theresa's taking me all over the World. And to explain it unlike an asshole, I mean, that she's just asking me where I want to go, and not thinking about herself. On a side note, I don't know why people do this to me. I don't understand why I have to be the voice of fucking decision, I can't decide what socks to wear in the fucking morning, let alone where I want to eat lunch. We go to the Comic Store, Serious Comix, where I talk to Chris for a few minutes, before leaving, because it fucking depresses me to go there once, when I used to go every week. Other than the people, I think I miss that place more than anything. Seriously. After that, we go somewhere, Best Buy maybe, where I buy King Kong 2-Disc, Northern Exposure Season 1, Orgazmo, and Dave Chappelle's Block Party. I have the most dis-interested Best Buy cashier pull up my Best Buy Credit Card info, since I forgot it, and she obliges (half-heartedly) and rings me up for my sale.

After Best Buy, I don't even really know what happens, I could be wrong, but I think that Borders came before Best Buy, but my days are skewed, because of my impending sickness, that I'm probably fucked in the head. Anyway, after Best Buy, or after Borders, Theresa drops me off at Marc's house, whereas I am greated with Steak, and burger. Awesome steak and burgers (not like the Dads, but close) and then I drive Marc and myself, somewhere, I don't know, Circuit City, Target, Toy's R Us, Liquor Store, etc. All things happened, not necessarily in that order. Anyway, at the liqour store, I swear that I recognize the dude, I don't know his name, but I swear to fucking God, that I know the kid. So, I whip out the PA License which is such a piece of shit, I'd say it's a fake, and the kid takes a look at the ID, and I tell him that if it was fake, it would have a "Lock" emblem on the ID and not all of the fucking County names. He gives a (half-hearted...seems to be a trend) laugh and sells Marc and I booze.

We head back towards Marc's house, it's very possible that Target came after the Liquor store, but I really don't remember. I do remember drinking myself stupid, literally, drinking any liquid (not alcohol) I could get my hands on. If I knew that this was JD getting sick, I would've fucking wrapped myself in a blanket and shivered somewhere in a dark cave. After getting back to Marc's house, we pop open a bottle of this "Zombie" shit, and pour it over ice. Now let me explain what this "Zombie" shit is; it's premixed to a sickening perfection that leaves you wanting more of the blue-water looking murder. It's disgusting, and wildly fantastic. After you drink one glass, the second, third, and fourth go down like...water. The drink is actually topped with a rum (supposedly 151, but no fucking way) that's nearly as strong as 151. I don't have a bottle of the crap in front of, because I don't drink much liquor, but I was feeling pretty good about getting fucking wasted so I ...went for it. Anyway, a short time later, TMK aka The Matthies Kid, calls and tells me an interesting story. A story so interesting, I can't write it here (consider yourselves lucky). I, without hesitation, say that the hot tub needs to be had, so TMK comes over and Marc and I go into the sweltering hot tub two days in a row.

I haven't seen TMK in a while, and I was so fucking bombed that I barely remember seeing him this time. And I think the fact that I was drunk and in a hot tub, made me sicker. I could be wrong, but the next morning/afternoon, I felt even worse. Anyway, some interesting conversation is made in the hot tub, but what's said in the hot tub stays in the hot tub.

To Be Continued (SORRY!)

The Farmingdale Trip; Part I.

Now, I know you're saying to yourself..."There's going to be two parts?" Fuck. I don't know. I don't know how "into" this blog I'm going to be midway through, therefore I might cut it off.

So, Thursday Morning, I work my shift of 9:30-4pm, and blitzkrieg my ass out of RS, and head to the Malibu (which I drove) I am listening to O&A at this point, and find that I sat in the car with the air conditioner on for twenty-minutes listening to these two ..guys talk about random shit with Bob Kelly - while not fucking leaving. So I leave, I go home, I take a quick shower (which took twenty fucking minutes because of course my brother has to take a shower ...in the middle of the fucking day) and get everything ready to go. Luckily I was packed beforehand, I did wind up leaving my pillow behind, but that was pretty much it (other than my Best Buy Credit Card).

Finally I get on the road, it's fucking 5:15pm, and I'm cruising (not literally, I don't speed per say, I just drive quickly) and then its starts raining all types of bat-shit crazy. I mean, it's raining so fucking hard that I can't see out my windshield. So, I'm sitting in this fucking torrential down pour and listening to the entire replay of O&A's Thursday Show. I find the show hilarious, and it actually kept me awake thankfully.

I'm screaming though, at people who are driving around me, because when it rains I believe people just lose their fucking minds. "OH SHIT...OH CHRIST...IT'S FUCKING RAINING OUT...I'VE GOT TO GO THREE HUNDRED MILES AN HOUR TO GET TO WHERE I NEED TO GO!" And to this, I say, fuck you, you fucking dickheads. God. I've never seen such bad driving. Here I am driving normal, abiding the laws, speeding up when necessary, and braking (more than necessary) in order to stay alive. Not only that, but if you've ever driven on I81, you know that there are tractor fucking trailers EVERYWHERE. And as if the rain is not bad enough, the fucking tractor fucking trailers are kicking up what seems to be more water! I really thought I was going to die.

However, I did not, the feeling of death reoccurs later in this lovely diatribe. Anyway, the storm actually passes, and I get to Long Island in fucking RECORD time. Four hours it takes me, even with the bat-shit crazy rain storm. I couldn't believe it myself. Marc calls me from his store and tells me to come by, that someone brought something into his store that he needs to take care of, so I take a little detour and hop on Meadowbrook to Merrick Rd and get to his store in Merrick. Whereas, I have to pee like a fucking homeless person in line to get free food at church. I go inside, and the fucking-bastard won't let me use the bathroom. I legitamately thought he was kidding with me. I had to pee so fucking bad, that I actually left his store to go to a CVS down the street where Golden Boy works, and he let me use their bathroom.

So, finally, Marc finishes his shit up, and we go to his house where I get all my shit in his house. And we go and meet Theresa at Applebees. Applebees was good save for the retard-Met-fan that came over and berate, heckle, or make himself look like an asshole. I don't know what he was actually doing...I was kind of confused with what he said, and still am to this day. I don't
if he was actually being serious. Oh well.

After Applebees I try to con Theresa into coming back to Marc's house to go in the hot tub, but she refuses. I don't know, I love hot tubs, they're relaxing as hell. So we get back to Marc's house, and five minutes later we're in a hot tub that's bordering on 104 degrees. And to be personally honest, I've taken showers hotter than that. The heat, honestly, didn't both me. It was weird. The next day, I felt like total shit, when I woke up at like a 10:45am. I take a shower, and quite a few shits (because of the beer and applebees) and finis h up Jim Norton's Happy Endings. The book was a hilarious diatribe on sex, sex, and comedy, and ridiculousness. After that I actually watch The Simpsons Movie on Marc's computer. Marc's computer which happens to be an HP connected to his massively large (I don't know specifics) television. The quality isn't great, but it's pretty damn good, and watchable.

To Be Continued. . .

Apparently I'm not allowed to just hate people anymore.

I've been told I need reasons. So here it is ladies and gentlemen, a list of 20 specific people or types of people that I hate:

1. Lindsay Lohan - Coked up whore
2. Paris Hilton - Coked up skank
3. Nicole Richie - Skinny, bulimic whore
4. Britney Spears - crazy fucking bitch
   
5. Hilary Clinton - For ruining NY State
6. People who don't speak english - They don't speak english. This goes for all languages too, not just spanish people.
7. People who listen to country music - I'd rather listen to Lance sing Chocolate Rain than lsiten to country music.
8. Jennifer Lopez - She can't act or sing, but yet she gets paid to do both because apparently she has a fantastic ass.
   
9. Penelope Cruz - she's not hot. She's been in ONE good movie, and yet people still talk about her. WHAT THE FUCK.
   
10. People who talk during movies - Hey asshole, shut the fuck up. I didn't pay to hear you.
    
11. People who are constantly on their cellphones, especially those who have the bluetooth headsets on like constant like they can't ever stop talking to someone for like 2 seconds and even though there must be tons of DEAD AIR, they still don't hang up - I think that person is pretty specific.
    
12. People who are obsessed with their pets - Hey, asshole, you don't have to bring them everywhere. They aren't children.
    
13. People who play World of Warcraft - Yeah, fuck you.
    
14. Guidos - www.getoffourisland.com
15. People who wear socks with sandals - Asshole, just wear shoes.
    
16. People who eat popcorn at a baseball game - Asshole, eat some crackerjacks. Popcorn is for MOVIES.
    
17. The following bands and or/singers and the people involved in/with them - POD, Missy Elliot, Sean Paul, R. Kelly, Lifehouse, 50 Cent, James Blunt, Nickleback, Insane Clown Posse, Slipknot, Creed!
18. Old people - They slow everything down and don't understand anything ever. Especially old women. And old men who drive with hats on. They are the worst drivers in the world.
19. People who ride motorcycles - Hey asshole, get off my road.
    
20. People who take forever to order food from a fast food establishment - I'm pretty sure you know the menu, fuckface. It doesn't change much.
    

Who do YOU hate? Leave me a comment. And make it good, because anyone who writes, "YOU" as in referring to me is either dumb or retarded.

Paolo Nutini's Last Request (Things that are Awesome)

I don't know what it is about music. Something just happens to me, and I'm taken over. I love music. I always have. From Barry Manilow to the Beach Boys to the Arctic Monkeys, I just love music. Paolo Nutini is no exception. He incorporates an amount of soul and acoustic sound that's almost too good for words. His song "Last Request" had me mesmerized for a moment while I watched the video on VH1 the other night. I don't know why it too me so long to write, but regardless said song is fantastic. I will definitely attempt to buy the album too, because yes, I do buy albums occasionally.



JD

COOLEST. SHOES. EVAR.

That's right. I said evar.

Motherfucker, I want 2 pairs of these.

http://www.votemoojj.com/stuff/shoes/index.html

Tennis still sucks.

So, today at work I'm marveled by a sport I don't often watch: Tennis. John Isner vs. Tommy Haas. Isner is the pure-bred looking American Pretty Boy who I would've probably heckled in highschool, whilst Haas looks like he could beat me to death with something very large.

Now, yes, I'm at work, and no, I won't tell you where I work, but I don't do much stuff. Especially if it's not asked of me, so while my Manager is interviewing someone (to no-doubt replace the bumbling idiot watching television constantly) I watch tennis. I don't know why, but I was really getting into it. I found myself rooting for Isner, despite the fact that I loathe the ground he walks on, and I don't know why. Maybe it has something to do with the Nazis, and the German, but fuck if I wasn't cheering on this Isner guy.

The match went like this Isner taking the first set 6-4, Haas taking the second 6-7, and Isner winning the match after a grueling tie-breaker in the third set 7-6 after a 6-6 tie.

Maybe why I was so enthused by this is because of the tie break. It went on for a good ten minutes or so, going back and forth, continually matching points, until Isner finally got his second wind and finished off the German in the third set 7-6. Something, however, that I would suggest is that they change what these players wear. I'm kind of against watching a 20-plus American dude sweating through his white shirt. There's no need to see nipples on ESPN....unless of course they're attached to a swimsuit model.

JD

Teixeira is an Atlanta Brave - and I have proof!

Baseball. I know you all hate it, but fuck you. I'm excited!