"S" on my chest, fuck the vest.

This shit is getting ridiculous. I've got some stuff to tell you. But not tonight.

I'm keeping notes in my cell of things I need to write about though. So they will not be forgotten.

Maybe this weekend.

Who knows.

Are you there god? It's me, Tucker.

Why did you pop my airmattress. I'm sleeping on the floor again.

Fuck you.

Oh shit, Sage Terrace...

Some people think this is going to constitute some ridiculous rant about made for TV movies. True, made for TV movies could be ranted on, but to be honest injun, they're not that bad. Someday maybe Charles Barkley will give up the NBA announcing business and just make made for TV rockumentories about his time spent with whatever deodorant company he was supporting. One can only hope. Not unlike some sort of giant squid eating dog crushing every third residence in my smelly as shit neighborhood I live in. This place sucks worse than a made for TV movie that you catch on Skinemax at like 1AM. Speaking of skinemax, one time I was pretty faced, and I'm watching this movie on skinemax. I don't even remember where I was, as I've probably been involved in roughly 2.5 living residences that ever had the cash flow to have premium cable. But whatever those 2.5 places were, I don't remember them. Might have a rugged Bob Chipeska-esque connection with my status of inebriation during this Skinemax viewing. Shit happens. Big squid eating dog shit happens. Without proper punctuation on that last sentence, I had the mental image of the 40,000 leagues under the sea fuck squid eating a pile of dogshit. And now you have that image too. What the urbancamo-christfuck was I talking about. Hang on, I gotta go back and read it. Holy shit, skinemax. I remember now. So I'm drunk, watching TV, and I flip it onto Cinemax. It was a movie about nuns. Or, at least as far as I could tell it was about nuns. There was this girl and she was like "I'm not sure I want to be a nun because I'm a woman and inherently a slut, therefore it creates a problem, because you can't be a nun and a slut." Which is why I don't believe in nuns. Because nunification is a paradox. Nuns can't have sex, but all women are sluts. Therefore nuns vanish in a puff of logic. Besides my drunkenly open defiance of nunnery in all its shapes and forms, I continued to view this cinematic masterpiece. I use the term cinematic masterpiece very loosely, much like this nun. The loose part that is. But I was enough pints deep that any promise of a 15 second titty extravaganza on premium cable could keep me glued to the couch cushion like that guy in american history x to the curb. Wow. Went a bit far there. But you get the picture. Like a skinemax picture at 1AM. I don't remember what the entire point of this was. Nevermind, yes I do. So the Slutty Nunnerator is all like, "I want to be a nun but I also want to bang (some guy)". For the sake of argument, lets call him Brad. Brad sounds like a name of a guy that would go around banging nuns on Cinemax. So Brad is all like, "Don't be a nun, let's do it in the back of the department store where I work." Pretty classy Brad, you know how to get those nuns out of the habit and into a mannequin storage facility ready to go. So she's like, "Well, I like god a lot, but I also want to bang Brad while the mannequins watch." I don't know what god was thinking at this point but I know what I was thinking, it was something along the lines of "Shut up and take off your shirt so I can stop watching this horrible movie". Probably what god was thinking too. So anyways, finally Brad woos her into the back room, probably with the promise of factory defect Yankee Candles and christmas coupons or something. So they go into the back, and I've had like 3 or 4 more beers at this point. I'm starting to fall asleep, but then they go into the back room and I think god hit me in the face or something and was like "here come the tittys son, pay attention." So my drunk ass musters up and pays attention. And Brad is all like "I like you a lot, you shouldn't be a nun, come work at my department store, and also, let me do you." And I'm thinking, way to be Brad, I've pulled cords on tickle me elmos during the christmas rush season and heard better pickup lines. But the nun, being a female, having a vagina, and obviously a raging slut by the transitive property, is all like "Brad that line was like factory defect yankee candles mixed with charles barkley deoderant, I will definitely do you." And I'm thinking, thanks for waking me up god, here comes the shirt on the floor. And Brad and Supersluttynun start making out. And I'm thinking, alright, I've been watching this shit for like 35 minutes, get on with it. And then all of a sudden her holy whorishness is like. "Brad I changed my mind, I want to be with god." And gets up and leaves Brad in a lurch. God turns to me, now sitting on my couch, and puts his hand up for a high-five. And I look at him and say, "You know what asshole? I sat here for 35 minutes getting all drunk with my bad self waiting for titties and in the end you get the chick and I didn't see any titties? This is horsehockey you asshole." At that point I think I tried to tackle god, but being god he just went away. The corner of my head struck the corner of the wooden futon. I woke up the next day with dried blood on the side of my head.

In summation, nuns are whores, guys named Brad can't be trusted, and god's an asshole.

Peace out, A-town.

But I don't all the time.

No time for the foul play.

It's raining out. One might even say 'fucking' raining out. Yeah, that much. The following may contain excessive profanity, it may not. You never really know. I've been up since 6AM, it's now 2AM. Or maybe it's 1AM. Or maybe it's inbetween. Like the licks and the tootsie pop, the world may never know. Not that you could take a bite out of the early morning hours and skip the licks. Once again my computer exists on the floor, and I'm laying on a mattress on the floor, using my computer on the floor. It's like shitty deja vu. Deja shitty. Shitty vu. Whatever floats your boat. Can't complain all that much though, since I've lived the past month or so with not even a fucking abbacus. Did I mention it's fucking raining out. This state basically sucks. It rains probably once a month or some shit. And then when it does rain, you're outside and it rains on you. And then you realize the only reason why the heat here is anywhere near being manageable, minus your charles barkley endorsed deoderant, is because there's less humidity than middle aged pillow-biters at any given time on the escalator that goes up to the second floor of JC Penny, where for the longest time I was thinking, "what the fuck do they even sell up there." Never really felt like going up there though, even an escalator requires a significant amount of effort. It's bad enough when you're in JC Penny reguardless, and then there's a whole 'nother floor. Fuck that, imo. But then I went up there once. And it's all pots and pans and shit. And rediculous toaster things and also overpriced bed things. I guess it was better as a mystery. At least then theres the posibility of the second floor being full of... I dunno... Free liters of beer and go-karts with chainsaw wheels. That'd be pretty cool. Basically it sucks here when it rains. That's what I was plodding towards. Like a shitty donkey in some sort of northern region of Russia. I'm too tired to drink and too bored to go to sleep. That's a predicament of epic proportions. Homeless people in Las Vegas are like YouTube, an endless source of free entertainment. Except when they start talking about fighting in Korea and start crying. And you're like, excuse me 80 year old crying homeless man at the bus stop. I didn't sign up for this. And then he talks about how his brother died, and he got hit by a car and his brother died but he didn't. I don't really remember. And then he was like "I didn't die cause god loves me, god lives me and I know it." Yeah, god definitely loves you. You live at the bus stop. You're coked out of your gourd, have roughly half a dozen teeth left, and wont stop telling me your body is made out of iron. I had an iron deficiency for a while, but I don't think the iron I wasn't getting was going to the guy at the 202 stop on Maryland Blvd. Also there's a guy who I see at the stop sometimes in the morning on my way to work. It's roughly 7AM when I get there, and he's usually halfway through a 40 already. Vocal eloquence isn't his finer quality. His grunts are especially unnerrving and he growls a lot. People hide children from him when he walks by. The thing that boggles the mind is that he waits until the bus gets there every morning, and then when it gets there, he reels down towards the Arby's at Mach 6 point homelessness waving his 40 oz. at passing cars. Maybe he gets some sort of rush out of waiting for the bus. Maybe waiting for the bus is the single most important thing anyone could ever do. Having waited for the bus every morning for the past month, I'm skeptical at best. I haven't seen him for about a week now, could be he's gone on to the big ol' soup kitchen in the sky. But aparently homeless people are like netflix, cause you lose one but you get another one in 1-2 business days. Because there's a guy living behind the landscaping at Best Buy now. I only have one request for him, I wish he'd stop shitting in the bushes, because it smells really bad when I walk to the bus stop in the morning. I swear to god if it smells like crap monday morning, I'm gonna take his cardboard bed and set it on fire or something. And then push his shopping cart full of what the fuck ever into traffic. That came out a bit more hostile than necessary. But seriously, stop crapping behind best buy, dude. Do eveyone a favor that has to walk to the bus stop in the morning. I went to a movie last weekend, two homeless guys kicked the crap out of eachother at a bus stop. I think one of them was Irish because he kept screaming "I'm Irish, don't fuck with me!" As if heredity has anything to do with your ability to inflict Jackie Chan damage upon another shopping cart extrordinaire. This post has spiraled downwards into Las Vegas tales of the poor and homeless. Lightning wont stop. Still raining out. This is probably more rain than this place has seen since the last chinese dynasty. Whenever the fuck that was.

Eh, it happens.

Son of a bitch.

From Dean Lister's Myspace:

"Myself and many other UFC fighters will be signing autographs next week at the UFC 64 Weigh-In on Friday at Mandalay Bay at 3pm. Make sure you stop by and get as many autographs as possible from all your favorite UFC fighters.

Dean Lister"

3PM? UNACCEPTABLE, DEAN!
SOME PEOPLE HAVE FUCKING JOBS.

God dammit.

It's official.

If I ever move to Japan, I'll be watching TV 24-7. How can you not, with shit like this gracing the airwaves constantly?