Fightseses

Heading out to it now. Should be a raging good time.

Variety Bag

Billy's homework assignment is to think of a true story with a moral so he goes home and thinks about it all night and finally has one.

The following day, Suzy raises her hand first and says, "My dad owns a farm and every Sunday we load the chicken eggs on the truck and drive into town to sell them at the market. Well, one Sunday we hit a big bump and all the eggs flew out of the basket and onto the road."

The teacher asks for the moral to the story. Suzy replies, "Don't put all your eggs in one basket."

Next is Lucy. "Well, my dad owns a farm, too, and every weekend we take the chicken eggs and put them in the incubator. Last weekend only 8 of the 12 eggs hatched. The moral is, don't count your chicks before they are hatched.''

Billy is last to speak. He says, ''My uncle Ted fought in the Vietnam War. His plane was shot down over enemy territory. He jumped out before it crashed, with only a parachute, a bottle of bourbon, a machine gun, and a machete. As he floated down he drank the bottle of bourbon. Unfortunately, he landed right in the middle of 100 North Vietnamese soldiers. He shot 70 with his machine gun, but ran out of bullets so he pulled out his machete and killed 20 more. The blade broke on his machete, so he killed the last 10 with his bare hands.''

The teacher looks in shock at Billy and asks if there is possibly any moral to his story.

Billy replies, "Don't fuck with my Uncle Ted when he's been drinking.''

Daddy needs a new pair of shoes...

The sole purpose of this post is to put off me having to inevitably take my clothes out of the dryer and fold them. I'm not sure how I feel about folding laundry. On one hand, I'm sitting here typing so I don't have to fold it. But on the other hand, now that I think about it, it wouldn't be all that bad to go fold it. You could say I'm at a major crossroads in my life, and you'd be wrong. It's only laundry. In the end it all probably relates to Shania Twain somehow. Not unlike a passenger sprinting from one terminal to the other, I'm not sure if I'll ever make the connection. But it's always fun to hope. Anna Nicole Smith died today. Someone at my office was crying about it. Ok... ... ... ok. I think I might've seen a porn once that she was in. I doubt it. It was probably one of those body double deals. Like Britney Shears or something. That'd be a good idea for a name of a hair cut place. Except shears kind of remind me of hedge trimmers. Haha, hedge trimmers. Bzzzzz. I went to the UFC last weekend. It was a good time, as was to be expected. Minus the fact that everyone that was sitting around me knew five billion times more than I did about MMA. Did I say five billion? I meant six billion. No wait, seven trabillion quadrillion. Did I say a number over one? Because I meant everyone that sat next to me was fucking retarded. I can't count how many times some jacked up clubber behind me in a 2 buttons open collared shirt with his little sisters jeans on yelled "KICK HIM IN THE BALLS!" This is roughly the equivalent of someone yelling "SLASH HIM IN THE NECK" at a hockey game, or... I guess... "KICK HIM IN THE BALLS" in any other sport that you could do that in. I hope they had a good time getting drunk and talking about their popped pink polo collection they've got running at home. It kind of makes me want to go to a tennis match, or maybe a curling... thing, and yell "KICK HIM IN THE BALLS". I think this needs to be pictoralizationed. One second.



That's basically what it would be like. With me killing myself. Well, that might've happened anyways had I attended a curling event. Oh well, just would've happened quicker.

That's all you get for now. I may return this weekend with the drunken shenanigans the weekends usually bring. I make no promises though.