Friday, May 23, 2008
Subur-Rude
A few hours ago, I was driving and was slowing down for a redlight when a Suburu Outback pulled up next to me. An older lady was driving. She looked over at me and sneered. What's up with that?
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Life Goes On, and I Didn't Mean To Tear Up Your Painting.
Last night I was sitting up at the bar, doing some thinking. Nobody I really knew was there yet so I was just balancing the checkbook. Eventually, I started thinking about that retard from Life Goes On, the TV series about a family living and dealing with Downs Syndrome, starring Chris Burke as the central figure. The show was on from 1989 til 1993, and I remember being engrossed in it. I don't really know why. I also don't know how I somehow obtained a copy of Chris Burke's autobiography A Special Kind Of Hero but I did. If anyone wants to thumb through it, there's a copy at my parents house in my old bookcase. So anyways, when I got home I ran to the pc to check out Wikipedia, and I was happy to note that Chris Burke is living a normal life in New York. He fronts a folk band, which I have immediately started trying to book at NGT, and looks to be leading a pretty good life. Anyway, I guess I just wanted to share that with you...just in case you wanted to know.
************************************************************
Last night I had a dream, where my whole family was in this mountain town. It was sort of like Las Vegas, so with that in mind maybe northern Nevada. Either way, my dad was driving me and Aimee and my brother and his wife around in a minivan, and eventually we hit this patch of ice and began sliding. It was weird because we weren't really moving very fast and there was no decline in the road, but we were just slowly slipping off the road. Eventually the van hit a sign and we all got out and walked. I saw this house where this huge party was going on, so we all went there to check it out. So my dad and I were walking around being introduced by people we didn't know to other people we didn't know, and we were all just laughing and having this great time. Well, I guess I started getting a little rambunctious, because I started climbing up this wall when nobody was around, and my foot slipped and I tore this painting up. Like, my foot tore the bottom part of the frame off which I was using as my perch to ready for the next step. I don't remember what I was climbing it for, but either way I eventually climbed back down. Then I passed out in a chair.
When I woke up, it was the next morning and the group of people who were at the party (I guess all of my family had left me) were cleaning up. I walked into the kitchen, and they all acted like I was some sort of just vagrant, kind of ignoring me. I was like, whatever, and started walking around to find a way out. As I was leaving I kept picking up pairs of sunglasses sporadically placed throughout the house thinking they were mine. Eventually I found the right pair, and also picked up a few of these strange looking jewels next to them. I was on my way into the next room and a group of them were gathered all looking up at this wall. I thought they were about to bust me for grabbing the jewels so I put them in my pocket. As I neared the group, the father of the family, this middle aged guy (kind of like the dad on Life Goes On) was on a ladder trying to repair the painting I had destroyed the previous night. They all looked at me dissappointed, like I had really let them all down. Then I woke up.
***********************************************************
So I guess last night was pretty eventful. The kid that played Corky is doing alright and I had a nice dream. Bonus. By the way, a really fast sketch of that painting I broke looks like this:
I'm pretty sure it's the bottom part of a tree. It was huge though. And it was like this tri-fold kind of deal.
************************************************************
Last night I had a dream, where my whole family was in this mountain town. It was sort of like Las Vegas, so with that in mind maybe northern Nevada. Either way, my dad was driving me and Aimee and my brother and his wife around in a minivan, and eventually we hit this patch of ice and began sliding. It was weird because we weren't really moving very fast and there was no decline in the road, but we were just slowly slipping off the road. Eventually the van hit a sign and we all got out and walked. I saw this house where this huge party was going on, so we all went there to check it out. So my dad and I were walking around being introduced by people we didn't know to other people we didn't know, and we were all just laughing and having this great time. Well, I guess I started getting a little rambunctious, because I started climbing up this wall when nobody was around, and my foot slipped and I tore this painting up. Like, my foot tore the bottom part of the frame off which I was using as my perch to ready for the next step. I don't remember what I was climbing it for, but either way I eventually climbed back down. Then I passed out in a chair.
When I woke up, it was the next morning and the group of people who were at the party (I guess all of my family had left me) were cleaning up. I walked into the kitchen, and they all acted like I was some sort of just vagrant, kind of ignoring me. I was like, whatever, and started walking around to find a way out. As I was leaving I kept picking up pairs of sunglasses sporadically placed throughout the house thinking they were mine. Eventually I found the right pair, and also picked up a few of these strange looking jewels next to them. I was on my way into the next room and a group of them were gathered all looking up at this wall. I thought they were about to bust me for grabbing the jewels so I put them in my pocket. As I neared the group, the father of the family, this middle aged guy (kind of like the dad on Life Goes On) was on a ladder trying to repair the painting I had destroyed the previous night. They all looked at me dissappointed, like I had really let them all down. Then I woke up.
***********************************************************
So I guess last night was pretty eventful. The kid that played Corky is doing alright and I had a nice dream. Bonus. By the way, a really fast sketch of that painting I broke looks like this:
I'm pretty sure it's the bottom part of a tree. It was huge though. And it was like this tri-fold kind of deal.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
School Days, School Days, dear old golden rule.. um, uh oh...
In early 1997, I moved out of my parent's house and into an apartment with Mac and Brandon. Legally those were the only people on the lease, but Jon also took up residency in the washer/dryer connections room, and Bubba usually took up residency in the hall bathroom nearly every thursday, friday, and saturday night. Coincidentally, we all attended Southeasten Louisiana University that semester and would usually carpool on the rare occasion all 4 of us went to school. One morning, Mac and I were in the living room about to leave when it slowly became more and more apparent the others wouldn't be arising from their liquor induced comas from the night before. And lo, we set out on the 45 minute trek down Interstate 12.
About halfway there, we drove thru a Burger King or something and got some sort of vile and potent fast food breakfast. That combined with the coffee, nicotine, and beer from the night before eventually proved a little more than even the strongest of stomachs could handle. Naturally, we were blowing it up in the car nonstop. I remembered when Bubba would be in the car, he often would say "Oh my God, it smells like a baby just shit in here.." which would ilicit laughter all around. Either way, this time it was just me and Mac. And good thing too - because I was about to need a co-pilot.
Over and again, we were just ripping it up, left and right. Riding down the interstate doing about 70 miles per hour, I eventually took it a little too far. Tragedy befell me. A wave of dread and dispair washed over me as I immediatley leaned forward, trying to get away from the minor catastrophe I'd just created. "Oh fuck" I said to Mac. "What?" "Um, I think I just crapped in my pants a little". Although I didn't just think it. I KNEW it. That's one of those things you just know.
Of course he started laughing hysterically at my misfortune as I kind of pulled myself off the seat, trying not to sit down. I didn't know what to do. We were almost to school. I wasn't going to turn around and drive another 40 minutes back to Baton Rouge sitting in my own tiny amount of poowater. This was a serious problem that needed to be corrected as soon as humanly possible. I looked over at him and said "We're gonna need to swap seats." I didn't want to pull over and have a cop show up asking questions. "Sorry, Officer. I just crapped in my pants." I was desperate. This isn't a situation you want to be in for very long. I needed to rid myself of this problem. I needed to get out of the makeshift non-diaper I'd just turned my pants into. This situation had to be taken care of. Time for the acrobatic tactics. We were gonna have to do this on the fly.
I set the cruise control of my 1992 Dodge Ramcharger, currently doing about 73 mph. I looked at Mac and said "Take the wheel". He protested such an idiotic manuever for a little while, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Eventually he consented and grabbed the right side of the sterring wheel while I dragged myself over to the center console and into the backseat. He climbed over the console and into the driver's seat. My truck at the time had a large storage area behind the back bench seat, so I climed over the little couch and landed in the very back of the truck between the back seat and the hatchback door like I was a wounded soldier crawling back to a foxhole. Luckilly I remembered I'd left an old white t-shirt in the back. As Mac laughed from the front of the car, I pulled my jeans down and leaning forward onto my knees, wiped myself off. The windows were tinted somewhat, but I'm sure somebody behind the truck could see violent thrashing about.
I took my underwear off, balled up the shirt with the clean part outside, and just wrapped duct tape all around the soiled linens. After I was about as clean as I thought I'd possibly be, I put the rest of my clothes back on and climbed back into the front of the truck. By this point we were almost to the freshmen parking lot at SLU, so I figured I'd let Mac just take us the rest of the way in. I was too traumatized anyway.
On the way to my first class, we strolled through the Union breezeway and I discreetly tossed the poo-shirt duct tape ball in the first trashcan I saw. I freeballed it the rest of the schoolday. Mac seemed eager to tell everyone of the adventure we just went through, but I begged him not to. Of course, we were at a party that weekend and I was just blabbering it to everyone, but at the time it seemed like quite a sensitive subject. So the moral of the story is: Don't poo in your pants while driving unless you have a passenger willing to risk their own life and a big enough vehicle to throw yourself all over. And leave a t-shirt in the back somewhere. You never know when you might need it.
About halfway there, we drove thru a Burger King or something and got some sort of vile and potent fast food breakfast. That combined with the coffee, nicotine, and beer from the night before eventually proved a little more than even the strongest of stomachs could handle. Naturally, we were blowing it up in the car nonstop. I remembered when Bubba would be in the car, he often would say "Oh my God, it smells like a baby just shit in here.." which would ilicit laughter all around. Either way, this time it was just me and Mac. And good thing too - because I was about to need a co-pilot.
Over and again, we were just ripping it up, left and right. Riding down the interstate doing about 70 miles per hour, I eventually took it a little too far. Tragedy befell me. A wave of dread and dispair washed over me as I immediatley leaned forward, trying to get away from the minor catastrophe I'd just created. "Oh fuck" I said to Mac. "What?" "Um, I think I just crapped in my pants a little". Although I didn't just think it. I KNEW it. That's one of those things you just know.
Of course he started laughing hysterically at my misfortune as I kind of pulled myself off the seat, trying not to sit down. I didn't know what to do. We were almost to school. I wasn't going to turn around and drive another 40 minutes back to Baton Rouge sitting in my own tiny amount of poowater. This was a serious problem that needed to be corrected as soon as humanly possible. I looked over at him and said "We're gonna need to swap seats." I didn't want to pull over and have a cop show up asking questions. "Sorry, Officer. I just crapped in my pants." I was desperate. This isn't a situation you want to be in for very long. I needed to rid myself of this problem. I needed to get out of the makeshift non-diaper I'd just turned my pants into. This situation had to be taken care of. Time for the acrobatic tactics. We were gonna have to do this on the fly.
I set the cruise control of my 1992 Dodge Ramcharger, currently doing about 73 mph. I looked at Mac and said "Take the wheel". He protested such an idiotic manuever for a little while, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Eventually he consented and grabbed the right side of the sterring wheel while I dragged myself over to the center console and into the backseat. He climbed over the console and into the driver's seat. My truck at the time had a large storage area behind the back bench seat, so I climed over the little couch and landed in the very back of the truck between the back seat and the hatchback door like I was a wounded soldier crawling back to a foxhole. Luckilly I remembered I'd left an old white t-shirt in the back. As Mac laughed from the front of the car, I pulled my jeans down and leaning forward onto my knees, wiped myself off. The windows were tinted somewhat, but I'm sure somebody behind the truck could see violent thrashing about.
I took my underwear off, balled up the shirt with the clean part outside, and just wrapped duct tape all around the soiled linens. After I was about as clean as I thought I'd possibly be, I put the rest of my clothes back on and climbed back into the front of the truck. By this point we were almost to the freshmen parking lot at SLU, so I figured I'd let Mac just take us the rest of the way in. I was too traumatized anyway.
On the way to my first class, we strolled through the Union breezeway and I discreetly tossed the poo-shirt duct tape ball in the first trashcan I saw. I freeballed it the rest of the schoolday. Mac seemed eager to tell everyone of the adventure we just went through, but I begged him not to. Of course, we were at a party that weekend and I was just blabbering it to everyone, but at the time it seemed like quite a sensitive subject. So the moral of the story is: Don't poo in your pants while driving unless you have a passenger willing to risk their own life and a big enough vehicle to throw yourself all over. And leave a t-shirt in the back somewhere. You never know when you might need it.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
1998
About 10 years ago, I decided I was going to write a book all about myself and my theories on life. I recently found it and I have to say I was impressed with how long I stuck with it. It's 60 pages of size 12 font Times New Roman drivel, along with illustrations, comic strips, poems. I'm getting quite a kick out of it because for the most part, it's the most vile and stupidest shit I have ever seen in any type of print. But there were some interesting tidbits. It was called "Sam Terito's 1998", and I personally find it fascinating because of the way I thought back then. Fitting - its on I suppose its 10 year old birthday. Sadly I remember giving this missive to people to read who were in my apartment or somewhere nearby. They thought it was mildly entertaining, but looking back it was probably a guidebook for how angry and misguided of a person I was.
Some tidbits worth re-typing:
********************************
(from Chapter 10)
Sam is a very hairy man. When he gets his hair cut, the haircutters always laugh at the overgrowth of hair on the back of Sam's neck. Sam is VERY ANGRY about this behavior.
(from Chapter 12)
-When I was only 4 years old, I was small and hairless.
-Everyone who was mean to me in middle school will burn in hell.
-The waitress at a nearby breakfast place bit my head.
(from Chapter 13)
-The other day I was walking around school and I started to think. Wouldn't it be cool if simple things could make me happy? So I went into this building, walked to a coke machine, and purchased a soft drink. Then I walked around campus, lightly sipping it. I started looking at leaves and trees. I stopped. Looked at all that was around me... and smiled. I was so fucking happy because I had a cold soft drink and I didn't have to do anything.
(from Chapter 18)
A COMMERCIAL FOR EGGS
A man walks into a room where his family is consuming breakfast. He looks at a horse in the corner and vomits on it. The end.
A COMMERCIAL FOR SHAMPOO
Two people are walking down the street. An armed criminal walks into the street in front of them and mutters something in Japanese. Then a safe falls on an old woman off in the distance. The end.
A COMMERCIAL FOR COLA
An old man is vomiting on a trashcan in an unfurnished apartment. The end.
(from Chapter 19)
(May 15 1999 12:19pm)
These are good days. There will be other good days, but these are the best. At this point I have lived for 21 years, 1 month, 13 days, 23 hours, and 17 minutes. I have seen a lot but I will see more. Better days? Of course. Maybe. Perhaps. I hope so. Probably not. Who knows? That is the question. That is the quest. Maximize pleasure and minimize pain. That is the formula for better days.
(from Chapter 22)
you know the term "who gives a rat's ass"? well it doesn't really make any sense. how could you give a rat's ass? is there an understood 'to you' on the end of it? because i could understand giving a rat's ass to someone, but without that clarification there... i just don't know what to make of it. in ancient times, maybe a rat's ass was some type of gift, some type of commodity... hmmm.
**********************************
There's more, but I don't really feel like typing it out. Maybe every now and again, I'll throw out some of "Sam Terito's 1998" to you if you're bored and you want to see the ramblings of a 20-21 year old idiot.
Now I guess it's time to start "Sam Terito's 2008". Or have I already being doing that?
Some tidbits worth re-typing:
********************************
(from Chapter 10)
Sam is a very hairy man. When he gets his hair cut, the haircutters always laugh at the overgrowth of hair on the back of Sam's neck. Sam is VERY ANGRY about this behavior.
(from Chapter 12)
-When I was only 4 years old, I was small and hairless.
-Everyone who was mean to me in middle school will burn in hell.
-The waitress at a nearby breakfast place bit my head.
(from Chapter 13)
-The other day I was walking around school and I started to think. Wouldn't it be cool if simple things could make me happy? So I went into this building, walked to a coke machine, and purchased a soft drink. Then I walked around campus, lightly sipping it. I started looking at leaves and trees. I stopped. Looked at all that was around me... and smiled. I was so fucking happy because I had a cold soft drink and I didn't have to do anything.
(from Chapter 18)
A COMMERCIAL FOR EGGS
A man walks into a room where his family is consuming breakfast. He looks at a horse in the corner and vomits on it. The end.
A COMMERCIAL FOR SHAMPOO
Two people are walking down the street. An armed criminal walks into the street in front of them and mutters something in Japanese. Then a safe falls on an old woman off in the distance. The end.
A COMMERCIAL FOR COLA
An old man is vomiting on a trashcan in an unfurnished apartment. The end.
(from Chapter 19)
(May 15 1999 12:19pm)
These are good days. There will be other good days, but these are the best. At this point I have lived for 21 years, 1 month, 13 days, 23 hours, and 17 minutes. I have seen a lot but I will see more. Better days? Of course. Maybe. Perhaps. I hope so. Probably not. Who knows? That is the question. That is the quest. Maximize pleasure and minimize pain. That is the formula for better days.
(from Chapter 22)
you know the term "who gives a rat's ass"? well it doesn't really make any sense. how could you give a rat's ass? is there an understood 'to you' on the end of it? because i could understand giving a rat's ass to someone, but without that clarification there... i just don't know what to make of it. in ancient times, maybe a rat's ass was some type of gift, some type of commodity... hmmm.
**********************************
There's more, but I don't really feel like typing it out. Maybe every now and again, I'll throw out some of "Sam Terito's 1998" to you if you're bored and you want to see the ramblings of a 20-21 year old idiot.
Now I guess it's time to start "Sam Terito's 2008". Or have I already being doing that?
Monday, April 28, 2008
Come on, pick it up. Waiting and my popcorn adventures
You could do better. I'm just saying... You could do a lot better than that. I think you set the bar kind of low on this deal, if you get my drift. You need to pick it up a little here. Come on. Seriously. Just... come on.
*************************************************
How many of you out there saw the film "Waiting" starring Ryan Reynolds, Dane Cook, and the girl that looks like Ashlee Simpson. Oh, and the guy from the Apple commercials. And possibly Chris Klein and Mandy Moore, I can't quite remember. Did you see that? Well, if you did, how many people told you "Man, you really needed to work in the service industry to get it" after they saw it, before you did? Well, after I saw it, there was nothing in this film that you would have needed to work in a restaurant to get. I saw "Knocked Up" and "Juno", and I didn't tell people they needed to impregnate someone to get it. Because that wasn't true. So stop telling people that. In fact, if there was any part of Waiting you didn't get, you're probably retarded.
You know, when I saw "Glory" starring Matthew Broderick and Denzel Washington, I wasn't running up to people saying, "You know, you really have to be a black Civil War-era Union infantry endentured soldier to get it." The sheer number of people that told me you had to work in a restaurant to get "Waiting" was alarming to me. Was there something after the credits that said to go out and tell people this? Did I miss it?
Hey, you want to know what you should do? Go rent "My Life" starring Michael Keaton. You will cry like a bitch, but... well. Nevermind. You have to be dead to get it. Wait till after your dead to see that film. That way, you know... you'll get it. Just letting you know.
************************************************
Speaking of movies, I was at the theater the other day and I noticed something. I never eat all the popcorn I buy, and in fact I have never eaten all the popcorn I've bought ever. So I don't know if I'm a popcorn glutton here, but man. I get popcorn all over myself when I'm in a movie theater. I'm like taking these huge handfulls of popcorn and shoving it into my mouth. I look like a gerbil. I'm trying to form my mouth around the small globule of popcorn, and with every handful probably 40% ends up on the floor and my lap. Popcorn to me is a volumized type of consumable. It's like sushi. Every piece of a roll is usually larger than a regular bite of anything else for me. It's just akin to taking big bites of stuff. It's like taking whole dinner rolls and shoving them into your mouths at a family function. Imagine everyone doing that. It would look like a contest or something.
After the film is over, imagine the guy walking around picking up all the bags of popcorn. Most bags are probably about 1/2 full, shared between couples and families of small children. When he gets to wherever I was sitting, he's probably like "What a fucking pig. What was this guy? A hamster?" It's not funny, movie man. I have always had an affinity for large wheels I could run on in place, but can't find one big enough to fit me. Maybe I am part hamster. What are you going to do about it?
*************************************************
How many of you out there saw the film "Waiting" starring Ryan Reynolds, Dane Cook, and the girl that looks like Ashlee Simpson. Oh, and the guy from the Apple commercials. And possibly Chris Klein and Mandy Moore, I can't quite remember. Did you see that? Well, if you did, how many people told you "Man, you really needed to work in the service industry to get it" after they saw it, before you did? Well, after I saw it, there was nothing in this film that you would have needed to work in a restaurant to get. I saw "Knocked Up" and "Juno", and I didn't tell people they needed to impregnate someone to get it. Because that wasn't true. So stop telling people that. In fact, if there was any part of Waiting you didn't get, you're probably retarded.
You know, when I saw "Glory" starring Matthew Broderick and Denzel Washington, I wasn't running up to people saying, "You know, you really have to be a black Civil War-era Union infantry endentured soldier to get it." The sheer number of people that told me you had to work in a restaurant to get "Waiting" was alarming to me. Was there something after the credits that said to go out and tell people this? Did I miss it?
Hey, you want to know what you should do? Go rent "My Life" starring Michael Keaton. You will cry like a bitch, but... well. Nevermind. You have to be dead to get it. Wait till after your dead to see that film. That way, you know... you'll get it. Just letting you know.
************************************************
Speaking of movies, I was at the theater the other day and I noticed something. I never eat all the popcorn I buy, and in fact I have never eaten all the popcorn I've bought ever. So I don't know if I'm a popcorn glutton here, but man. I get popcorn all over myself when I'm in a movie theater. I'm like taking these huge handfulls of popcorn and shoving it into my mouth. I look like a gerbil. I'm trying to form my mouth around the small globule of popcorn, and with every handful probably 40% ends up on the floor and my lap. Popcorn to me is a volumized type of consumable. It's like sushi. Every piece of a roll is usually larger than a regular bite of anything else for me. It's just akin to taking big bites of stuff. It's like taking whole dinner rolls and shoving them into your mouths at a family function. Imagine everyone doing that. It would look like a contest or something.
After the film is over, imagine the guy walking around picking up all the bags of popcorn. Most bags are probably about 1/2 full, shared between couples and families of small children. When he gets to wherever I was sitting, he's probably like "What a fucking pig. What was this guy? A hamster?" It's not funny, movie man. I have always had an affinity for large wheels I could run on in place, but can't find one big enough to fit me. Maybe I am part hamster. What are you going to do about it?
Friday, April 25, 2008
Hey, come see me. Be my friend.
I don't know if anyone really ever reads the crap I put on this thing, but if you do and you want to literally do anything you want me to (like dance, sing, fall down), you can come see me and my super new sell-out feature SUPERVILLAIN perform at the North Gate Tavern on Saturday, April 26.
That was a VERY long sentence up there.
Anyways, no cover so come out and drink up your little hearts content.
Hope to see all you dudes and dudettes.
That was a VERY long sentence up there.
Anyways, no cover so come out and drink up your little hearts content.
Hope to see all you dudes and dudettes.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
You Can't Leave. You're breaking the LAW!!
One time, we went to this bar called Glen’s Bombay Club. It was in the Esplanade Shopping Ctr, where Hooters, Clicks, Melting Pot, and Sullivan’s is. Well, it was this total fucked up little joint where all the ragged bitches in thier 30’s-40’s would roll up, and the dudes were all either old or they shaved their arms and had tribal armband tattoos. I don’t know why we went there. I think it was because the line to get into Southdowns was too long. See, every now and then to keep yourself in check, you just have to suck it up and have a "Go Look At People With An IQ of 30 In Bars" night.
Well, we went in and drank a bunch and then got really scared by the fuckjobs hanging around in the joint, so it was time to roll out. I had to pee really bad, and I didn’t feel like going back in so I went by the side of the truck. All of a sudden, this snaggletoothed yokle walks around the vehicle. I kind of turned towards the truck so he couldn’t see me pissing all over the tires of someone’s tricked out Hyundai. He walked past, then walked back and said:
"Whudder you dooooowen?"
I looked around and kind of turned around and said "Nothing. You know. Just waiting for my friends, so we can get in the car and uh you know err (trailing off)." He says "Well, I saw whud you werr doin, you werr pissin’ all over the ground. Well guess whud? I’m a cop. And you’re in some big trouble." I was like "Oh come on, you’re not a cop." "Oh yessir I AM! And yer breaking the LAW!"
He stepped back and kind of motioned over to a group of people. I’d finished peeing long after his initial threat. "Hey!" he was screaming. "This guy over herrrre is BREAKING THE LAW!" I was like "Dude, come on. Knock it off. I wasn’t breaking the law." He said "No, you was breaking it. I seen you." As he’s doing this, I’m trying to open my truck door, but I couldn’t get it open. My pushbutton remote unlock had opened the other doors so everyone had began to pile in, but my door wouldn’t open. He saw me struggling with it and said "Oh, you caint leave! You’re breaking the law."
My door finally unlocked, and I was getting into the truck and he was still frustratingly yelling "YOU CAINNNNT LEAVE!" I then realized he was wearing blue jean cuttoffs and had earrings. The car he was next to had a 6" exhaust tip. I jumped in the truck and started it up. He runs up to the window, and makes one final attempt to tell me that I couldn’t leave and that I was apparantly in fact breaking the law. I mouthed to him "I’m leaving" and drove away hastilly.
So one of two things are certain. He actually wan’t a cop, or the Gonzales Police Dept uniform consists of cutoffs, a buzzcut, tennis shoes, bad teeth, and earings in both ears.
Well, we went in and drank a bunch and then got really scared by the fuckjobs hanging around in the joint, so it was time to roll out. I had to pee really bad, and I didn’t feel like going back in so I went by the side of the truck. All of a sudden, this snaggletoothed yokle walks around the vehicle. I kind of turned towards the truck so he couldn’t see me pissing all over the tires of someone’s tricked out Hyundai. He walked past, then walked back and said:
"Whudder you dooooowen?"
I looked around and kind of turned around and said "Nothing. You know. Just waiting for my friends, so we can get in the car and uh you know err (trailing off)." He says "Well, I saw whud you werr doin, you werr pissin’ all over the ground. Well guess whud? I’m a cop. And you’re in some big trouble." I was like "Oh come on, you’re not a cop." "Oh yessir I AM! And yer breaking the LAW!"
He stepped back and kind of motioned over to a group of people. I’d finished peeing long after his initial threat. "Hey!" he was screaming. "This guy over herrrre is BREAKING THE LAW!" I was like "Dude, come on. Knock it off. I wasn’t breaking the law." He said "No, you was breaking it. I seen you." As he’s doing this, I’m trying to open my truck door, but I couldn’t get it open. My pushbutton remote unlock had opened the other doors so everyone had began to pile in, but my door wouldn’t open. He saw me struggling with it and said "Oh, you caint leave! You’re breaking the law."
My door finally unlocked, and I was getting into the truck and he was still frustratingly yelling "YOU CAINNNNT LEAVE!" I then realized he was wearing blue jean cuttoffs and had earrings. The car he was next to had a 6" exhaust tip. I jumped in the truck and started it up. He runs up to the window, and makes one final attempt to tell me that I couldn’t leave and that I was apparantly in fact breaking the law. I mouthed to him "I’m leaving" and drove away hastilly.
So one of two things are certain. He actually wan’t a cop, or the Gonzales Police Dept uniform consists of cutoffs, a buzzcut, tennis shoes, bad teeth, and earings in both ears.
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