Work: The Final Frontier (NO SHIT DO NOT LET YOUR WIFE READ THIS WITH YOU BRIAN, AND I’M NOT KIDDING, SERIOUSLY WE WOULD BOTH PAY FOR IT IN THE LONG RUN, AND I CANNOT AFFORD TO GET BUSTED OPEN BY ANYONE IN A FIT OF BLIND MISDIRECTED RAGE, SO THANKS FOR DOING ME A SOLID IN ADVANCE)

Yes, the rumors are true, I done gots me a work, Pa!  Actually, I have had the job for about three weeks now, and it really makes me think about how much I despise fucking working.  What a waste of time, you know?  Oh, okay, so it kinda pays the bills.  Big fucking fliff, America should be paying my bills, I’m a fucking veteran, man.  Being a veteran is only worth a piss if you were lucky enough to get somehow maimed or otherwise crippled while on AD.  Sad but true, bro.  You try holding a “Desert Storm II Veteran’ sign up on the corner of Dupri Ave without missing a leg, and see how far you get.  Maybe you could eat the rancid, fetid food novices that kids, who are half your age and twice as good looking, throw at you in disgust/amusement.  Yeah, it wouldn’t have been so funny if I wasn’t such a Fatty Tatty, then I woulda made ‘em pay, hard.

Anyway, I had spent around five months looking for solid work through multiple agencies.  Usajobs.com, hirevetsfirst.com, and myfreepaysite.com.  All are good sites with a whole lot of job openings…if you have an education.  Fucking Christ Inversion, if only I had stuck it out and pressed on through the second grade, I could have avoided a lifetime of manual labor in the ShitFields (more to come on the ShitFields later).  But, for reals thought, if I wanted a beast job, I needed a degree, which is ultimate bullshit.  So, finally I applied to work for a company that has deep ties with the military, AAPES.  Two days later I nailed an interview.  FUCK YES.  I was so hype about that shit I made a list of shit to do after I started;

1) Grind 2)Stack Paper 3)Continue on Hustleing 4) Finally start Balling.

Even the most properly executed plans, when carried out by men, are little more than dust in the plague winds, my friend.

So, I had my interview.  I won’t go into the details, but I fucking MURDERED that shit, son.  The slot I took was a grade 5 slot, which ain’t to shabby, kinda supervisoresque.  I was a Warehouse Worker.  Okay, cool I thought.  I have worked receiving before, and yeah its hard work, but your body gets used to it after a couple/few weeks/years/never.  I got a full tour of the ware house post-interview, and was not at all impressed.  Place was rinky-dinky-doo, IMO.  That shit looked small time, and it is, but the job however, was not.  I was under the impression that as a ware house worker I would be stocking risers, and receiving freight.  No bigs deals, I thoughts.  Yeah, enter Phase One-Day One of that shit.  Fucking brutal.  As a WW5, I am responsible for the following;

1.Receiving Freight 2.Unloading Said Freight 3.Palletizing Freight 4.Moving the Freight into the ware house 5.Loading Freight into the computer system (think CAMS/GO81 for dummies) 6. Customer pick-ups 7. Layaway Pick-ups 8.Maintaining and Managing the Layaway Continuity Book 9. Putting Bikes together, along with anything that needs to go to the floor for display, when someone who isn’t me doesn’t want to do it 10.Stocking the freight onto the risers in the WH 11.Doing a pantload of shit with the forklift 12.maintaining the forklift 13.Assisting fucking shiteater customers with anything that they need lugging out the front door, and into their hatchback escorts 14.Hazmat/hazwaste for the building (labels and disposal).  No shit, I could keep going on for a while, but you get my drift.  Now, after I took the job of course, I noticed that WW5 is a good paygrade, if you are doing one job like the one you thought that you were getting.  If you are doing the jobs of at least five other positions, its barely fucking porno money.

I have a total of three supervisors; the store manager and two assistant managers.  One is a female named Lanna (she did my interview), the other is Bill.  Lanna is kind of a stock woman.  Sure, she has some good qualities, but over all she is average cunt mold.  Blond hair, crystal blue eyes, average/sub-par tits, normal ass, and a face that isn’t unpleasant to look at, but it doesn’t make we wanna give her the dick, either (unless I am already horny).  And the store manager, his name is Wade.  At a glance one could easily make the judgement that Wade was either sexual molested in an extremely degrading way by a male figure late in his life, or he just got the ever living shit beat out of him while attending private school.  Wade is also very passive-aggressive, in a really passive way.  Now Bill on the other hand, is every young girl’s dream.  He stands at about 6 feet of height, and can’t weigh over 150 lbs.  His eyes are grey soul-shredders, and he has the end-all of goatees.  His voice isn’t strong, but Lord does it carry (with me anyway).  A pretty quiet dude, all in all, but his sense of humor is what entices me.  He is very sarcastic, and witty, as well as dry and somber.  People think I am a cocksucker for laughing at all of his jokes…I guess thats better than them thinking that because of me sucking actual cocks, I guess.

Anywho, I work fulltime, 800am to 430pm with a 30 minute lunch and a couple of breaks in there as well.  I also think that it is worth mentioning that there are never more than two WWs on shift at once, which makes for a lot of multitasking, not a real big deal until the things you have to do at the same time are at different parts of the store.  My two counterparts are Jay, who is a negroid of some sort, and Brett, who is some kind of not white and half white mixed together in an abomination of sorts.  Oddly enough, these are the only two people that I get aling with/bullshit with in the store.  We talk about everything together; from drinking breast milk to how good my wife is in (not my) bed, we are all for one and one for all. 

However, there is a dark, chubby underbelly in this place.  And it comes in the form of cashiers.  There are normally about three or four tricks on the register at any given time, and all but one (that I know of) crave big, thick, veiny Arkansas Black Snake deep in their guts.  The worst one is Cortnee, though.  Whenever she needs some shit, either a customer assist, or her hair ripped out in clumps, she calls Jay.  This cunt even calls him to front when he isn’t working, and whenever I have to go tell her he ain’t here, what do you need?  She tells me to just forget it and seems to get all flustered.  This girl is a chunk, as well.  Now, let me get something straight before I continue.  A woman who is overweight is not necessarily disgusting, in fact there are a lot of ladies out there who are chunkified and still look good, even hot.  It all kinda depends on how the package is wrapped, you know?  Makeup, clothes, and a bubbly persona can go a long way (not with me, but maybe with some weirdos/coondogs).  Now, when a fatty is lazy, or stupid (usually both) they say fuck looking nice, or classy; I am gonna dress like trash, and dip my face and all four of my chins in liquid makeup foundation to cover my crippling acne, and do everything in my power to attract a negro.  This is Cortnee in a nutshell.

Cortnee is a stereotypical cashier in my workplace; heavy, dumb, ugly, not smart, like totally anti-funny, and a slut for some Alabama Blue Gums.  Of course, there are exceptions…well, one that I know of but we can speak on that later.  Well, fuck it, I can’t really put it off any longer…enter Jillian.

Lets talk some real shit.  Here is some real shit about me; when I look at a woman, I don’t see a person.  Shit, I don’t even see a piece of meat. I see an ocean of possibilities for me, thus I ask myself one simple question; How Can I Turn This Bitch Out?  -Btw, if you aren’t taking notes, you might want to start now.  (Also, I do not mean literally putting a bitch on the street and turning her out, as in her selling cunt for cheap, and shaking her down for it in her dogshit abode in front of her kids who stare at you in horror as you viciously beat her with the very belt that you bought with the money you took from her the night before, as opposed to doing it on the street which would be perfectly acceptable and the preferred method of collection.) 

That is what a woman is; an opportunity, aside from being a golddigging, witless, blathering filthpig.  Once you actually figure this out life gets considerably easier, because you no longer have to worry about making good impressions with members of the opposite sex.  Hmm, but if one does nothing to impress a ‘woman’, how the heck do you get them to become an opportunity?  Thats the fucking beauty of this, you don’t have to do jack shit.

What do all women crave?  Yeah, but KFC is a given.  Bitches crave attention, they are starving for it.  Women hate to fuck, but they do it to hold the attention of a man for between 4 and 18 minutes.  Shit, a woman would rather cry than have sex, because the attention ration (or AR, for short) is considerably higher for crying, and they will get other cunts to feel sorry for them, and possibly set off a massive chain reaction of other pigs crying, and they would all just feed off of one another’s psuedopity.  But I digress.  Remember back when I said that you don’t have to do jack shit to turn a bitch out?  Well, you do.  Kinda misleading, I know, but we have gotten this far so stick with me here.  How do you get a gangrenous sterile mule to do something for you in a late 1950s cartoon?  You grab a fishing pole, put a turnip on the end, and dangle it in that bitches face, and simply walk them wherever you want.  Treat women the same way with attention, and you will be up to your ears with, well whatever it is you want from a woman, be it money, ass, cunt, mouth, or…well thats about all they have to offer, isn’t it?  lolz.

Okay, so I think that I have given you at least a vague idea of how I view women, and the way that I treat them.  While I am on this diatribe, I will tell you that I am 5’5, suffering from early male pattern baldness, morbidly obese, and my crotch smells bad, but not rotten bad, the sweet kind of bad.  I also dip Copenhaggen Snuff by the can, and rarely bath.  I will also say that I have never had a problem getting pussy, not since I got married at least (and not my wife’s).  Women are so fucking shallow that they don’t even give a fuck what you look like.  As long as you treat them the way they deserve to be treated (which is really, really badly), and put that turnip in their face they could care less about how you look/smell.  Shit, man, I knew this one cat who could charm/tame a trick just by waving the potential of a turnip around.  I can’t do that kind of shit.  Women are really simple animals, but hard to deal with due to the fact that they are so fucking hopelessly stupid that they run on a kind of cunt autopilot all the time, just annoying to be around.  But once you put a bitch down, keep her there.  The idea is to break a woman down and NOT build her back up, kinda like BMT, but on opposite day.  Now, I’m not saying go hit a woman in the face as hard as you can while wearing one of those rings that cover all four of your fingers and says ‘YEAH’.  Not because violence against women is wrong, but because it just won’t work.  You can beat a dog senseless, but if you leave the trash out at night, there will still be a mess in the morning.   Anyway, you shouldn’t even have to hit a woman, they have shit for willpower, so its easy to bend them till they fucking snap.

I have been dancing around mentioning anything else about Jillian up until this point, because, quite frankly I feel slightly ashamed of myself for my actions.  I really want to put that shit out here so I can get it off my chest, but I disgust even myself.  My wife is, in a nutshell, everything that I could want right now.  Pretty face, nice hair, big firm tits, nice high ass, curvey legs, white skin, all that shit.  And to tip it all off, she is a fucking Grade A mother.  I firmly believe that every man, and a few women, are actually meant to do something with their lives, and for Wife it is being a mother to my sons.  No joke, I am getting worked up over this shit, so thats all for now.

Here Goes

Alright, its been like around six months since my last post.  I really wanted to do the whole ‘cataloge my daily activites’ shit, but lets face it; I have neither the drive or desire.  As for the military stories and whathave you, that shit won’t be happening anytime soon.  Every time I sit down for the purpose of writing a solid story I get sick block and can’t perform, just like during sex with women. 

So, that being said, I will only be posting on here every week or so, maybe more (probably less).  I see no real reson to post my daily grinding because even I think its fucking drab.  But, as of late, there have been some intense goings on in the World of Walter.  One being the fact that I am close to fucking broke, getting my new job, and shit that is happening during and after the work is done at said job. 

So here goes nothing.

Depravity, Complacant, and Tired

I have been away from this outlet for far to long now, and much has transpired since I last stood near this foul podium.  Over the past few nights I have been at a loss for words as far as any military stories go, but they will come to me in time, like other things.

As for the update, I am still without a job that provides any substantial amount of income, but I refuse to allow anything to hinder the intesive task of spending all of the money which my wife has recieved from the ‘government’ due to her socially crippling ‘disability’.  God bless the USA, or the Treasury at least.

This past month has been little more than a watery downward spiral into my own psyche.  Not a night has passed during which I have not partaken in the consumption of massive amounts of alchohal and/or marijuana.  Normally, my evening starts out simple enough, with me curled up reading a novel or a periodical of some sort, reflecting quietly on the days events and misgivings.  Then things begin to get a bit shady, as I relocate to my study to gaze haplessly at a computer screen in a futile atempt to lul myself out of the deep introspective depression that I fell into during the previous part of my night.  Lo and behold, my eyes drift over to the closet, whose doors I have removed to accomodate my extensive wardrobe and music hearing machines, only to rest upon the bottle of hard liquor I placed there during the day in preperation for this very moment.  This leads to me ‘getting stoned’, but only if my doctor has filled my prescription, in exchange for a pair of Jordans, or a fistful of dollars.  By the time 3am comes, I am gone, totaly and utterly lost to the world in a pool of self loathing and emotions that I don’t quite enjoy, and the only way to keep myself from performing is to make unimaginably gregarious purchases on multiple websites, such as amazon.com.

By day of course, I am an upstanding citizen, great father, and half descent husband.

USAF Bullshittin’ 101

For those of you who don’t know, I was in the USAF up until 21 Jan of this year.  I spent my first three years at Elmendorf AFB in Anchorage, AK.  I finished my enlistment out at Little Rock AFB, in Jacksonville, AR, where I now reside.  In my time, I have met a shtiload of people, some cool and some not, and had some killer/horrid times.  I am going to start posting all of the stories that have stuck in my mind, and struck me as either amusing or devestating.  The posting will begin soon.  Also, I will alter some of the names and such as not to incriminate anyone.  Kids will be up early in the am, so its off to bed. 

My Xbox and Bear Grylls

As I sit here on my laptop, I can’t help but look over at the Xbox 360 that has been collecting dust for the past few months, and feel pangs of regret.  I have had it just as long as my comp, but I just can’t seem to get into it as of late.  Actually, the same goes for WoW, too.  I just can’t get into a good gaming groove for some odd reason.  I am going to really set aside some time soon for some serious grinding, though.  Got to get back in it, bro.  Gaming has been a real stress deterant for me in the past.

I also wanted to say that Bear Grylls is the fucking man, and Man vs. Wild is one of the most watchable programs on television.  It rates right up there with Deadliest Catch, and The Shield.

Breakfast is a Lie and a Huge Puddle

I couldn’t sleep worth a piss last night, finally passed out at about 430, and was shocked into existence at 8.  Everyone was up, and it was kind of a lazy morning.  But, I had a powerful lust to cook something, so I told Cheryl that I was going to get some breakfast shit, and I would be back shortly.  I threw on some Dickies stuff (my new favorite brand) and headed to Walmart (I must be a glutton for punishment).  I put Down 3 in the CD player and was off to provide a hearty meal for my family.

As I pulled into the parking lot of Walmart, I couldn’t help but notice how unusually congested it was for a saturday morning.  Whatever, I thought.  I just got to grab some foodstuff and I will be off.  As it turns out, every car in the parking lot had around 7 people in them, and they were all in the food section.  Fuck me, was the thing that came to mind as I entered the store.  Totally packed all the way through.  Okay, no biggie, what do I need exactly?  Some potatoes would be good, sausage, and maybe some wildcard items that I had not planned on getting.  Two hours in that place getting food…two fucking hours of life that I would have rather been dead for.  I pulled into my carport, and began unloading items.

1) A Peperidge Farm cake 2) Jones Green Apple Soda(I fucked up and grabbed the sugar free shit) 3)Ortega Hashbrown tates 4) One pound of butterfly shrimp 5) Pork sausage 6) Pilsbury Cinnamon Rolls 7) A fleece blanket.

Thats what happens when you go to Walmart without a fucking list.  Cheryl and the kids were playing, so I began to set up shop.  I was in rare form, rushing to and fro’ in the kitchen.  After about a half hour, I was done and set the table up. and served the food.  Cheryl came in and told me that she had already fed the kids when I hit the one hour mark of being gone, because they were hungry.  Buddy the Dog had a breakfast fit for a king that morning.

We put the boys down for a nap at about noonthirty, and I wanted to get a nap in as well.  My first mistake was getting on the comp.  I logged into my WoW account, and ran around a bit with no objective in mind.  Its been awhile since I have actually sat down and played Warcraft for a solid amount of time, but I have kind of gotten past the withdrawls, and I am thinking about closing my account, so I get a good foothold in Mass Effect.  Anyway, I decided to pay a visit to menarebetterthanwomen (check out the links on the right), to see what advances Man has made in past few months that I have not been over there.  As it turns out Dick Masterson has a blog, and a pretty great one at that.  I ordered a copy of Men Are Better Than Women: the Book on amazon.com.  Good times.  Come to find out, Dick was on the Dr. Phil show a while back, and you can check out the segment on youtube (hit the treadmill).

Naptime was now over, and I was fucked as usual.  We did lunch and spent most of the day playing around with the boys.  Now it is in the late afternoon, and Cheryl wants us all to go out and buy the kids a tent to put up in the living room to use as a fort.  Sounds good to me, came my prompt response.  Now, when I am tired I don’t talk a lot, and Cheryl takes my silence and deduces that I am in a bad mood due to something she did, or didn’t, do.  That, in turn, makes me mad and puts me into a bad mood.  That being said, the first stop was Sonic, to get the boys some icecream.  Needless to say, it was terrible for all involved.  Mike was smearing it all over the car and himself.  Gabe was crying because he wanted to hold the treat, so he could throw it on the floor.  After about an hour we said fuck this, and went home.

Cheryl decided that she wanted to take the kids to the park.  Cool, but I asked if she would drop me off at home first.  I love taking the kids out to play, but I really have to be in a certain mood to go to the park here.  Its utter pandemonium there, no child is ever there with it’s parents, and so Cheryl and I have to keep a very close eye on our kids, all while kids that aren’t ours bother us.  The park can also get pretty rough once the older kids come over after school, unsupervised of course, due to their fathers being in jail and their mothers whoreing for crack.  I decided to take a cat nap, but about a half hour into it, Cheryl came in the house crying.  Nothing new, whatever.  The boys came in and they were soaked head to toe in mud.  From what I could gather, they thought it would be cool with us if they jumped in a huge mudhole while Cheryl was telling them not to do it.  Yeah, we put them to bed early last night.

Hard Times: Part 2

As it turned out, getting ganked by a level ?? asshole at Walmart was only the start of my shit week.  I had noticed that ye old laptop had been running kinda slow as of late, so I did deep scans of everything with my anit-virus and anti-spywear progs.  The results were normal, if there is such a thing, so I closed everything and went about my routine.  Later that night I went to pornorip.net to download some lesbian porn, and my internet explorer would not work.  Shortly thereafter, I was bombarded with pop-ups.  Okay, I’m fucked.  What else is new.  I thought back to the last time I had gotten my comp fucked up and what I had to do for it, which was wipe everything clean.  If I did that, I would lose all the porn/music/everything else that I have, and that is around 80 gigs worth of shit, and all of it would have to be re-downloaded.  Brutal.  Hmm, I got me an idea.

I figured that I could move all my shit to one folder, scan it to make sure it was clean, and move it to an external hard drive while I wipe the comp.  Problem fucking solved.  Oh wait, I don’t have an external hard drive yet.  Fuck it, I can just buy one at Best Buy.  Yeah, I spent $103 that I can’t afford on a drive with 320 gigs of space for me to fill with shit I don’t even need.  Great fucking idea, bro. 

Anyway, I gave those geek fucks at Best Buy a call because I had forgotten what keys I need to hold down while the comp is booting up to wipe it.  Suprise, dude on the phone somehow can’t tell me how, and gives me the number to HP.  I call those clowns up and spend, no shit, about 45 minutes setting up an account with them.  ‘Uh, sir?  You know that your warrenty expired about two months ago?’  Yeah, and what of it, you condesending tech nerd?  Because I don’t have a warrenty anymore, it will cost me $50 a job for HP to help me out at all.  No thanks, I think I will google it, asshole. 

Oddly enough, the comp now works perfectly fine, and I have a really cool hard drive that I don’t even need anymore.  I know that the virus is on this thing somewhere, I guess it must be chilling out for a while, taking it easy, you know?  Fuck life, I will start posting on a regular basis tonight.

Hard Times

When I started this blog up, I really wanted to record the events of my days in all their boring splendor, while interjecting some stories, and backgrounds on them.  That is still my intent, but I doubt that I will be posting every night, unless something of interest happens to me every night of the week (and that doesn’t even happen in WoW).

Well, to start this off, I got robbed in the Walmart in Jacksonville, AR (where I reside) on this past Sunday.  I fucking hate Walmart with a passion, and this put the icing on the cake for me.  I avoid going to Walmart durring peak buisiness hours, which are roughly 730am-1am.  I usually make my trek over there at around 3am, when the only people there are employees.  That was just not the case on Sunday.  I was making my way over to electronics to take a look at Xbox games, and grab a WoW card for the next two months.  On the way back I was going to pick out some flowers for my wife (I fucked something up that day), and head home to grab a power nap before the kids got up.  DENIED.

I was almost to Warcraft bliss, when a black guy came jogging up to me, and asked if I could help him out real fast.  ‘Well, shit,’ I thought.  ‘May as well.’  Instinctively I turned around and started heading to the back of the store, with him next to me.  He told me that his car had run out of gas on 67/167 heading toward NLR, and needed some help, because his daughter was in the car.  No prob, bro.  As we hastily approched the exit, a few things occured to me;

1)  Why would anyone have their kid out with them at 3am?  2) This guy is wearing Sean John jeans, Ecko kicks, a nice watch, and had three teardrops inked on the left side of his face (no good)  3) I noticed finally that he smelled of beer.

By now we had come to the exit of the store and I stopped dead.  ‘What exactly to you need me to do, man?’ I asked.  ‘I need a ride out to my car, so we can gas it up.’  Hmm.  ‘How are we going to do that if your car won’t run?’, I retorted.  ‘I got a gass can I can use,’ perplexing.  ‘Then why didn’t you go to the gas station down the street, its a lot closer than Walmart is, and they have gas there, also.’  ‘You gonna help me or not, man?’

‘Look man, I don’t really give rides in my car out to anyone in a situation like this, and what about your daughter?  I thought she was in the car with you,  is she by herself on the highway right now?’  At this point there was nothing in the world that would get me outside and into/near my car with this fucker.  At this point he stepped up real close to me and said, ‘If you ain’t gonna let me in your car, how you gonna help me, nigga?’  There was more than a little venom in his voice.  What to do, what to do.  As far as store workers go, there was one cashier on duty, who was a black woman.  No use going to her for some help.  No security in the place to be seen either.  Well, maybe I should go outside with this shithead and curbstomp his ass, AHX style.  I used to be one bad motherfucker, once upon a time.  I looked down, and around, and noticed that he had reached around to the back of his pants, and lifted his shirt up a bit, yet his hand remained back there, almost as if he was holding onto something, but not letting me see it.  Okay, maybe he has a gun, knife, or a pack of starbursts, all I know is that I don’t want to find out.  Curbstomp is out of the picture, he’d probably kill me and take my car, which has my addy in it, and rob my house on the way to his nigga’s crib.  Now he leans in real close and says ‘Lets go out to your car right now, nigga.’  By this point I have come to the realization that I am either being robbed, or am about to be.  No way I can let this nigger get my address, or my fucking car, so I can’t go outside with him, no fucking chance.  ‘We ain’t going outside, so you can steal my car, I can’t walk into that.’  I was a bit suprised with the steadfastness of my response, but I don’t fuck around when my family could even possibly become involved in something like this.  ‘I guess we have a problem, because we are not going out to my car, and I’m not going anywhere with you.’

‘Aight then, we gonna walk over to the ATM and you are gonna get me some money.’  You have got to be fucking kidding me.  I started to go over an alternate chain of events in my head, one that did not involve giving this nigger any money.  I could just walk away, and possibly get a knife in my back, because he is already on the security cam.  Or he could split, and wait around for me outside, and wind up with my car anyway.  The logical choice for me would be to go over to the atm, take out some money, and then hang around for a while to make sure he left before going home.  So, I turned and walked over to the atm, with him following, took out my card and gave the nigger $25.  He took it, looked at it, and said ‘Thanks a lot, nigga.’  He then left quickly, I hung around about a half hour, grabbed some flowers, and left. 

Thats just the start of my week, but I’m tired and don’t feel like typing anymore.

Evaluation, Termites, and the Third Battle of Walmart

Well, rather than make the mistake of going to sleep last night I decieded to say fuck it and stay up.  Tried to play some WoW for a bit, but couldn’t really get anything going.  Hit the auction house up and logged off shortly thereafter.  At around 0645 I got the kids up, turned some Playhouse Disney on and began the toils that are associated with parenting.  I made a healthy, well rounded breakfast for the boys; wheat toast with butter (the real shit), sliced peaches and pears, scrambled eggs with cheese, and some ceral (fruitloops).  Of course, they wanted nothing to do with the meal, and everything to do with Ritz fucking crackers.  Thus, my work was reduced to dogfood, which I still need to buy today. 

I threw on a pot of coffee, and quietly told Gabe to go wake his Mom up so I wouldn’t look like an asshole by doing it myself.  She deserved to sleep in, but I enjoy ‘guilting her up in the morn’.  Nothing gets a mother out of bed like guilt, let me tell you.  Being a husband is easy if you can manage to balance consistantly making you wife feel guilty, and afraid.  Never one more than the other, though, she might leave you.  Just make sure she feels guilty all the time for wanting to leave you, and to scared to actually do it.  Thats how you can be a part of the percentile of cats that don’t lose your marrige.  Anyway…

Cheryl got up (guilt rules) and the day began.  We take the kids to preschool at around 0800, and we had an appointment with the school to talk about Michael’s progress at 0830.  We were out the door by about 0755, and in place for the meeting by a quarter after.  They were late, of course, so we got to hang out till about 0900 by the time they were finally ready for the sit down that hey had set up with us.  Shock and Awe is what ensued.  As it turns out, Mike is a lot farther behind developementally than we had originally thought, and will need to attend the school for anther six months at a minimum, and that is not even due to the problems he has with his herniation or legs, which is another can of fucking worms alltogether. 

We got out of that shithole at about 1015, and went to Hastings (the local Barnes and Noble/Mediaplay knock off) to take our minds off of things.  Cheryl decieded that she wanted to rent The Brave One, starring that fucking ugly cunt Jody Foster.  I just ground my teeth into dust and went along with whatever she wanted to do.  Next it was off to Walgreens to ‘look around’, meaning buy a ton of fucking blankets that are so soft that you can’t sleep on them becuase you can’t stop thinking about how fucking soft and perfect they are.  $35 later, we went on to the house, where I promptly passed out in my bed…only to be roused from my slumber after what seemed like ten minutes (but was really four hours).  i do not remember what happened when I woke up, but Cheryl was freaking out and the kids were home, so I knew it was post 1500.  Why, whatever is the matter?  Termites, that what is the fucking matter.  A fucking army of those yids, marching on my kitchen floor like its Second Platea, with an invisible Commander marshalling them into my living room.  Not on your best fucking day will you take my living room, I thought ruefully.  So, I went to fucking Walmart, the Scourge of the South. 

If one was to take the worst patrons of a city, put them all in one place, surrounded by always low prices…always, you get any given period of time in Walmart.  I despise Walmart with a passion that my marriage lacks, it is a primordial ethnic sewer and I fucking hate it…but the prices compel me, oh yes.  I purchased two large garbage cans, two containers of boric acid, a bottle of Raid (deeep respect), a mini accoustic guitar for my eldest son, a gallon of milk, and frozen pizza.  All this took nearly two and a half hours, mind you.  I think there is some kind of mongrel-dar that alerts every peice of shit in Jacksonville that I, a good and decent man, am going to sell my soul at Walmart.  Anyway, I got back to the house and fun ensued.

Cheryl was outside putting the boys in a double stroller, while talking to our old exterminator on the phone.  i gave her the car and told her to come back in half hour or so, and my fell deed would be done.  I poured a heavy concentration of bleach (not the hit anime show) all over the outside of the house were the enemy had breached my fortifications.  After that came the boric acid, which was a perturbing blow to their morale.  Finally, I dealt the coup de grace with the can of Raid by spraying everything I had coated with bleach, and bombing the small storage space where I think they set up a forward camp at.  Death was everywhere, bruh.  I got Raid in my eyes while I was spraying everything down, and all it did was give me an erection from the killing.  I finally got my Landlord on the phone, and he told me to stop and he would send a dude from Terminex out to take a look.  Of course, he never did, but the first wave of shock troops has been crushed, and we can only wait to see what the morning brings.

It was now after 1830, and much to my suprise Cheryl had already gotten the boys dinner from some resturant/dumpster.  We all went back into the house, I did some spot killing, and it was buisiness as usual.  We put the kids to bed early, and got everything ready for the morning grind.  I turned on Discovery, and a show was on that was not Man vs. Wild or Deadliest Catch, so I turned the christ box off, and went to the spare bedroom to play some WoW, while Cheryl played some new MySims game I got her for her DS.

I have had Mass Effect for about a month now, and have yet to play it.  I am constantly on the lookout for the next ‘big game’ that I can really bury myself in, and I have come to realize that I already have that in WoW, which I fucking love to play.  I logged on to my shaman, and shit went down hill pretty fast.  I got ganked near Tarren Mill (big suprise) by a fucking hunter that I out leveled by at least eight.  He had some fucking pet that kept getting behind me and putting me into a stunlock, pissin’ me off.  Finally finished my shaman quest only to be told that I need to go to the Sunken Temple to finish it off.  Thats great, man.  I fucking hate running instances with peeps outside of my guild (and I am currently without one) because I can’t fully depend on them, and this was no different.  I was the backup tank, and third rate healer of the group, and I spoke to the boss and told him needed some fucking Voodoo Feathers for my quest, and didn’t give a shit about any gear that dropped as long as I got the quest shit I needed.  Yeah about 14 undead trolls later, the tank needs to log and go to bed…fucking cocksucker, man.  You don’t make a commitment to a group unless you can follow it through to the end.  From there it was just a downward spiral, and I fucking bounced the dungeon as well.  Headed over to the W. Plaguelands to grind for awhile on some bears and shit.  Needless to say, I was ganked by a fucking ‘lock and a cunt pally.  The pally didn’t even need to be there, really.  The ‘lock was speccing affliction, and just DoTed me to death, literally.  As an shaman speccing enhancement, I don’t stand a chance against any one who knows how to play their class well.  I can hold my own against a rouge (as long as I don’t get stunlocked), warrior, druid, or preist, but aside from that I am toast.  As a shaman, I gots to be ready for some shit at any given moment, to keep cats from getting the jump on me.  Thus, I have to have totems up all the time to intercept Fear, and hinder movement to fuck stealthed rouges.  Its not an easy life to lead, and it gets lonely sometimes. 

Well, I’m off to the auction house, and back to bed.

Whats Happening to Meh?

Well, I had started out using myspace as my blogging outlet, but our relationship ended about a week ago, much to my dismay.  My goal here is simply to record my days events, and also use this as a creative outlet for short stories and whatnot.  I thought about getting a journal, but give me a break, writting on paper is so ’97.  I would also like to throw a general disclaimer out there for everyone; my thoughts and views on this country, the world, and many of it’s inhabitants may very well be offensive to a reader.  Know that my intent here is not to offend anyone outright, but for me to vent and spew forth what I feel, as quickly as I can get to my computer and write.  I am 25 years old, and I only have around 35 years tops to live on this plane of existance.  Life is to short to not say what you mean, thus I mean everything that I say. 

Now, I am going to bed.