nancy pelosi's boredom nightclub- 'dance, dance, dance!'

i never really knew just how much i was missing out on by not going out to one of my 2 forced favorite bars with 7 people in them, until i got into the media. you could send me to cedar point in ohio, whack-a-mole-funland, or kabul.. it doesn't matter, the media is like a box of tampons. not only does it absorb every possible ounce of shit humans exude, and, hand it back to, it also, at the same time, makes you think that riding horses, swimming and playing softball are just perks you get for stuffing their shit in your shit. why would i leave my house when the 'up to the minute drive by media' at one point has my stomach in my throat because north korea is possibly mounting an attack, yet, at the next minute makes me realize that my working hard for so long will only have me end up in a soup line because suits have destroyed my own country.
i like to look at life like this. there the are drama geeks, the alternative kids, the non conformists. some are as cool as fuck, other out to prove the point that only what they feel is right, is right. it goes the same on the other side. that sword edge are the jocks, the blue collar guys, and the lacrosse players named andy who knew where they were going to make their millions from the day they got into day school in westchester county conn.
either or, nerd, non conformist, jock, lacrosse played named andy, we have one thing to thank these people of fortune for, and, one thing for all of us 'jones' to be ashamed of.
they have created a stay at home night club for us. it's like a bad episode of some fucking retarded afterschool special about a debate club cast to us up to the minute. we can't form a thought of our own. the thought is handed to us. i could sit back with a lobster bib on eating an italian sub with a slim fast shake, soak in all the bull shit, go take my lipitor, go to bed, and remeber to rub one out to some blind chick with clubfoot who was 'never left behind', and think i've finally become someone in life.
there are generations of people in the world that have only been swayed by what pdiddy and madonna think. how sad is that. yet, there are media fascets that pray on the intellectual misfortune, and lack of knowledge half our society lacks, and uses their 24hour muse to create a society that is so misinformed, it looks to the created for answers.
sadly, when i was just a chance in my old mans balls, people still had the chance to think. today, you can't think. you're forced to listen. if i re read 1984 right now, i'd probably be in my garage with the doors closed and my engine running. possibly a bottle whisky and 25 nyquil pm's down my gullet.
when i used to build expansion bridges, i worked with a guy named dutch. he used to try to tell me how it used to be. i told him i'd heard it all before. yet, i look back on what dutch told me and realize now, i never built expansion bridges. imagine that.

marco,- polo! marco, -polo!

my buddy barry got my into the idea of creating a blog, because that's what thick rimmed glasses guys like him do. he also can't fish, but, i also can't gay. so, here i am, in the world of blog. a world of total anonymity and and complete disrespect for political correctness. so i say, fuck yeah, i'm in!
- so , i guess i blog.
this blog will tell a story of poop.
i had lived in the mountains out in colorado for years. like 7 to be exact, but i like to make it dramatic. i like to make it seem like i was there, stuck in a cabin, living off the land, beard, wool sweater, musket. i did have a beard, but i hung out at a bar called the halfmoon. either way. i left. i moved home to the east coast, and situated myself in a little town on cape cod. tons of pastels, tons of popped collars, tons on pearls, and tons of other great people that get it and wouldn't bring the fore mentioned to a shit fight. within the first few weeks i'm back on east coast soil, i find myself somehow tied into this chick that seemed great for my introduction to small town life, and a life away from my cabin, and beard. very nice girl, pretty, nice rack, funny, knew a ton about sports, ect. live and learn. i was probably the olny unburnt bridge in her long line, yet, i can take a small measure of solace in knowing i never saw it coming- for the first 72 blissful hrs. of claims of tmj, and full town worship. either way, whacko isn't the point here. one night , i had been out with her and a few other random locals, pounding beers, and eating who the fuck knows what that was put in front of us. so, long story short, we head back to her place at like 2am, half cocked, with not a care in the world. this chick smoked butts while she was sleeping, so i went outside and took a hit of a bowl i had in my pocket. post colorado, i still loved my herb. last night i smoked for the first time in for ever and had another panic attack at 4.30 am this morning. that will be another blog, for another time, when i'm bored, stoned. all i remember was being on her outside deck, and feeling what felt like cement drop from my bowels into my shoot. then, then instant panic. i hardly knew this chick, and had only crashed at her place a few time to avoid crashing at my parents house- where i was staying for my first few weeks back home. i talked to myself, talked it down, breathed, waited it out,, thought i might be ok,, let it pass,, ect. i was ok for a bit. i hung outside on the deck for a bit, and she came out, all truck driver, asking if i wanted to get in bed and watch a movie. she looked more like courtney love the afternoon kurt cobain snacked on a shotgun, but i had no interest in crashing at my folks, so i said fuck it. i went into piss while she did whatever she did, and was trying as hard as i can to quietly fart, but the minute i tried, my balloon knot filled with lord knows what, and i knew i was in trouble. the catch was this. the bathroom was attached to her bedroom. i would have been better of inviting her in to give me a blumpkin while i torched her toilet than pretend to let it slip out like nothing ever happened. that would be like throwing a rock at a man with a machine gun, and pointing the finger at the guy that's not next to you. you're fucked. so i had to think quick. my buddy jason had come to visit the week before, and he had met courtney love the week before. i sent him a text message telling him to call me. i just needed the phone to ring. i came out of the bathroom like i was on top of the world. walked right into the room, courtney love, butt in hand, telling lies about who knows what, yapping away ,, and 'bing!" my phone rings. i tell her it's jason, and i answer. on the other end he's like 'what the fuck do you have your self involved in',,ect,, and i tell her i have to go out side. i tell him i'm about 30 seconds from bombing my pants, and need to figure something out. i just needed to call him to get the fuck out of her litter box. i hang up, and start run-walking around her condo complex, and have no clue where i am. is there a bathroom? outdoor shower? ect. nothing. then i remember my car is there. i'm at the point where i have to shit, and i have to shit now. no question. like food poisoning sick. i get to my car, look everywhere,, i just need napkins, something. nothing. i can't hold it. call it nature, call it physics, i was either going to bombay india my pants, or had to find a place to shit. i grabbed my shorts, pulled down one pant leg, held the other, looked around, and all i could see was tomato bushes and a garden. that was my money spot. i half ran walked to the garden, looked around, hide behind a sunflower, and released a fucking science experiment onto that dirt that was so horrific, i still sometime have to stop eating at meals because i think about it. to this day, i don't know if i can name an orgasm that felt as good as that shit did. my nephew being born was pretty unreal, weird sessions with college kate are pretty sick themselves, but that pooh was unreal. i know i got the chill. dudes get the chill. at this point, i'm like post cumming. smile, looking for a smoke,, ect. but then reality kicks in. i just suflackied someones garden, and i'm standing in the middle of it, pants in one had, no toilet paper, no where to go. you want to know what helpless feels like? try that. i have courtney love upstairs, my in a garden, a pile of shit that smell like humas and chum, and i have no where to go. no toilet paper, no boxers to rip up, no t-shirt,, nothing. i'm fucked. i still have my shorts in my had, and i know i need to move from the scene of the slaughter. i start to monkey butt away. i look and the only thing i see is a pool. at the point it's survival mode. i need to somehow get bogwamsally off my a-hole, and i have no other choice. i b-line it to the pool and make silver back gorillas look graceful. there are sprinklers spraying, crickets churping, and me, running across a condo yard with what look like a bad bill cosby fudge-pop commercial running down my legs. i get to the fence, i get the the gate. gate's lock. dear god. i have no other options at this point. courtney love is probably on her 9th butt, i've been gone for close to 10 mins at this point. i say fuck it. i take my shorts, and put them on the top of the fence. i decided that getting poop on my shorts was less of a risk than getting my coin purse caught on the barbs of an old cape cod pool fence. i get over the fence clean, get in the pool, clean off my junk with my hand in the poor pool, and for the first time in a while, finally feel like a free man. i swear the pool was a light tan/brown when i got out. to make a way long story short, this is how the story ends. i get back to courtny loves place, i tell her i got hit by a sprinkler while i was on the phone. she buys it. i think the bottle of wine on the floor next to her bed helped. but i will tell you this. i have never had a laugh like i did the next morning when i woke up to an 80degree july day and i walked outside. i headed to my car, and there was an old lady working in the garden, showing her best 'green thumb' and not 6 feet from her was my steaming pile of who the fuck knows what with flies buzzing above it. i felt horrible, until i looked up, and saw 2 familes of tourist fight for position in the pool while one crew has the time of their lives playing pool volley ball, and the other had a game of 'marco,-polo' going on that no one could beat.