Jumpin' jellybeans!
Lately, I've been having the sudden urge to fix things. Maybe it's a inferiority complex and shit, but because of this urge, I've been breaking a bunch of shit just so I can make an attempt to fix it. The list of items I have broken for fixing includes a stapler, a computer mouse, a cardboard box, a mechanical pencil, a rotary telephone, and a 4th place bowling trophy, all of which I found in various dumpsters in dark alleys while searching for prostitutes. I didn't manage to get laid, nor was I able to find duct tape, so all of those items needing fixing will have to wait until a later date.
In a drunken attempt to impersonate this video, I spent hours throwing quarters at a jukebox, failing with every attempt. Needless to say, Michael Jackson is probably the bomb at the Quarters game, being that he got it into a jukebox slot in one shot. 10 whiskey shots and 3 beers later, I was drooling at the bar, complaining in slurred speech about how I did not want to pick up the 15 dollars worth of quarters scattered around the stupid jukebox that wouldn't let me complete my dream of being a smooth criminal. I guess I'll just have to stick with video games for the mean time. Tough boogies for me.
If it ain't broke, fix it anyway.
5.30.2008
5.29.2008
5.22.2008
05.22.08
Ballin'!!!
During my daily treasure hunt for change on the highways, I hit the jackpot and found two dollar coins and a half-dollar. Just call me the modern day "National Treasure." I feel like I got three 7's on the slot machine in the indian reservation casino. I'm going to stay optimistical and believe that things can only be moving on the up. In due time, I should be finding diamonds and salt water pearls covered in pure golden nuggets with 2-dollar bills attached. By then, I should be able to afford a Snickers bar.
The funniest shit happened today. I was talking to this guy, and all he kept complaining about was not having a girlfriend and not having a job. Now I'm no gay, but this guy was definitely looking spectacularly stud-like, with a twinkle in his eye that would make anyone melt. Aside from the piece of snot hanging close to the rim of his nose, he was definitely sexy material. It got me thinking. How did this awesomely good looking guy end up on the streets in a similar situation like my own?! He definitely looked like top model material. After talking with him for close to an hour, I got bored of him and walked away from my reflection. I just hope our lives will cross path once again. In case I wasn't too clear, the funny shit was the booger he had hanging from his nose. I don't know why, but that stuff makes me chuckle within.
I also saw a couple transvestites walking around. Maybe they were just cross dressers, or really manly looking women. Either way, I figured out a way to make money. I'm going to invent high heels for men, each one equipped with footballs, beer, guns, and boobies. This way, men can wear high heels and not feel so womanly. It's going to be the shit. I might have to include a car tool set or some shit like that. Patent office, here I approach.
If a man gets operations to become a woman. Would sex with that person still be gay sex?
During my daily treasure hunt for change on the highways, I hit the jackpot and found two dollar coins and a half-dollar. Just call me the modern day "National Treasure." I feel like I got three 7's on the slot machine in the indian reservation casino. I'm going to stay optimistical and believe that things can only be moving on the up. In due time, I should be finding diamonds and salt water pearls covered in pure golden nuggets with 2-dollar bills attached. By then, I should be able to afford a Snickers bar.
The funniest shit happened today. I was talking to this guy, and all he kept complaining about was not having a girlfriend and not having a job. Now I'm no gay, but this guy was definitely looking spectacularly stud-like, with a twinkle in his eye that would make anyone melt. Aside from the piece of snot hanging close to the rim of his nose, he was definitely sexy material. It got me thinking. How did this awesomely good looking guy end up on the streets in a similar situation like my own?! He definitely looked like top model material. After talking with him for close to an hour, I got bored of him and walked away from my reflection. I just hope our lives will cross path once again. In case I wasn't too clear, the funny shit was the booger he had hanging from his nose. I don't know why, but that stuff makes me chuckle within.
I also saw a couple transvestites walking around. Maybe they were just cross dressers, or really manly looking women. Either way, I figured out a way to make money. I'm going to invent high heels for men, each one equipped with footballs, beer, guns, and boobies. This way, men can wear high heels and not feel so womanly. It's going to be the shit. I might have to include a car tool set or some shit like that. Patent office, here I approach.
If a man gets operations to become a woman. Would sex with that person still be gay sex?
5.20.2008
05.20.08
Damn, I'm dumb.
Somehow, I made my way to the City of Big Apples. I hopped on a few different trains, making sure I was northward bound, and found the city name to be a bit of a fallacy. I spent a few hours climbing up and down trees, but was unable to find any apples. I did, however, find a few empty soda cans in a couple trees I climbed, which leads me to believe that birds and squirrels do enjoy soft drinks, more specifically Sprite and Diet Pepsi.
The people here are really weird, though. Feeling like I could really eat a pie, I stopped in some pizzeria after taking the train. I thought the hostess inside was really hitting on me because as soon as I entered, she said, "Welcome. Take off your clothes. Make yourself at home." Now, I usually don't take off my clothes at home unless I was going to hop in the shower. And I'd probably take off my clothes if I was to ever get laid, but the moment I pulled off my dungarees, people began to freak out like they never seen a guy walking around with a t-shirt, tighty whiteys, and tube socks on before. I still couldn't figure out why they kicked me out of the place when the fuckin' hostess asked me to undress for her. That stupid bitch. Next time, I'm just going to undress myself without their invitation. In retaliation, I urinated all over the johnny pump in front of the shop, marking their territory as my own.
Walking down a few blocks, I ask a bum where a good place is to get food, only because the walker-bys rudely ignored my call for their attention. Completely disregarding my question, he mentions some hero store with 2-foot heroes for sale. It was my calling. A great superhero always needs a sidekick, and a midget superhero would be the perfect addition to my super team. Following the homeless man's directions, disappointment fell over me when the midget super-hero turned out to be sub shop. The bum had foiled my plans for superhero recruitment. I should have known that superhero sidekicks aren't likely to be sold in stores.
I think I need to get out of this city right away before Spider-man realizes I'm trying to take his job as crime fighter deluxe. I sure as hell don't want him to start spinning tangling webs to trap me in, because even though I'm just that fly, I don't plan to be someone else's dinner. I look to good for that.
How did some bitch offer me a job "under the table" and my junk did not even get touched?!
Somehow, I made my way to the City of Big Apples. I hopped on a few different trains, making sure I was northward bound, and found the city name to be a bit of a fallacy. I spent a few hours climbing up and down trees, but was unable to find any apples. I did, however, find a few empty soda cans in a couple trees I climbed, which leads me to believe that birds and squirrels do enjoy soft drinks, more specifically Sprite and Diet Pepsi.
The people here are really weird, though. Feeling like I could really eat a pie, I stopped in some pizzeria after taking the train. I thought the hostess inside was really hitting on me because as soon as I entered, she said, "Welcome. Take off your clothes. Make yourself at home." Now, I usually don't take off my clothes at home unless I was going to hop in the shower. And I'd probably take off my clothes if I was to ever get laid, but the moment I pulled off my dungarees, people began to freak out like they never seen a guy walking around with a t-shirt, tighty whiteys, and tube socks on before. I still couldn't figure out why they kicked me out of the place when the fuckin' hostess asked me to undress for her. That stupid bitch. Next time, I'm just going to undress myself without their invitation. In retaliation, I urinated all over the johnny pump in front of the shop, marking their territory as my own.
Walking down a few blocks, I ask a bum where a good place is to get food, only because the walker-bys rudely ignored my call for their attention. Completely disregarding my question, he mentions some hero store with 2-foot heroes for sale. It was my calling. A great superhero always needs a sidekick, and a midget superhero would be the perfect addition to my super team. Following the homeless man's directions, disappointment fell over me when the midget super-hero turned out to be sub shop. The bum had foiled my plans for superhero recruitment. I should have known that superhero sidekicks aren't likely to be sold in stores.
I think I need to get out of this city right away before Spider-man realizes I'm trying to take his job as crime fighter deluxe. I sure as hell don't want him to start spinning tangling webs to trap me in, because even though I'm just that fly, I don't plan to be someone else's dinner. I look to good for that.
How did some bitch offer me a job "under the table" and my junk did not even get touched?!
5.16.2008
05.16.08
Holy cookies from hell!
I was walking down some highway, picking up any loose change I could find, when a building happened to cross my path. The building was for a psychic who also gave massages. It was like a psychic massage parlor. I'm usually skeptical when it comes to psychics, but the one I spoke with, in there, totally blew my mind. First, she read my palm, but proved to be incorrect. Perhaps that phone number I scrawled wasn't legible. Or maybe she just didn't know how to read numbers. Either way, she complained that there was too much interference coming from my hand energy, which I'm guessing was her way of saying that I play with myself too much. I wasn't sure if I wanted to believe her just yet so I asked her to tell me something about myself. The first and only thing she told me was, "Today is not your birthday!" And by golly, she was right. It was freakin' amazing. She has to be practicing some kind of devilism or whatever the hell that shit is called. How could she possibly know that today wasn't my birthday?! I didn't have ID to prove her correct, but deep down inside, I knew she knew my future life story. Convinced that she had psychic abilities, I gave her $20 for a back massage to see if she was as multi-talented as the sign in the front of the building had suggested. Lo and behold, she had some strong hands. It was a shame though that there was no happy ending, so I did leave the place a sad man.
I guess things can't always go my way, but at least I almost collected 89¢ on my walk down the busy highway. I was 33¢ short. Oh well. My day of victory shall approach, and on that day, I'll be more victorious than a victor who victorizes shit.
"Someday, and that day may never come, I'll call upon you to do a service for me. But, until that day, accept this justice as a gift..." -Don Corleone
I was walking down some highway, picking up any loose change I could find, when a building happened to cross my path. The building was for a psychic who also gave massages. It was like a psychic massage parlor. I'm usually skeptical when it comes to psychics, but the one I spoke with, in there, totally blew my mind. First, she read my palm, but proved to be incorrect. Perhaps that phone number I scrawled wasn't legible. Or maybe she just didn't know how to read numbers. Either way, she complained that there was too much interference coming from my hand energy, which I'm guessing was her way of saying that I play with myself too much. I wasn't sure if I wanted to believe her just yet so I asked her to tell me something about myself. The first and only thing she told me was, "Today is not your birthday!" And by golly, she was right. It was freakin' amazing. She has to be practicing some kind of devilism or whatever the hell that shit is called. How could she possibly know that today wasn't my birthday?! I didn't have ID to prove her correct, but deep down inside, I knew she knew my future life story. Convinced that she had psychic abilities, I gave her $20 for a back massage to see if she was as multi-talented as the sign in the front of the building had suggested. Lo and behold, she had some strong hands. It was a shame though that there was no happy ending, so I did leave the place a sad man.
I guess things can't always go my way, but at least I almost collected 89¢ on my walk down the busy highway. I was 33¢ short. Oh well. My day of victory shall approach, and on that day, I'll be more victorious than a victor who victorizes shit.
"Someday, and that day may never come, I'll call upon you to do a service for me. But, until that day, accept this justice as a gift..." -Don Corleone
5.14.2008
05.14.08
Brilliant!
After much thinking about how to direct my future in becoming a superhero and after not watching Iron Man, I realized that not having super powers will make my dreams difficult to achieve. Wanting to be like Tony Stark, I decided to make myself the lesser version of him, and since Atomic number 13 is my favorite element, I've decided to make myself Al¹³ Man!!! After wasting close to 80 dollars on rolls of aluminum wrap, I have made the ultimate suit for myself, wrapping myself in layers and layers of aluminum foil. It was a great idea until some teenage skateboarders started making jokes telling me that the comic convention was in NY and that I forgot my silver surfboard in Dorkusville, where ever that is. I'll forgive those hoodlums for now, but if I ever catch them skateboarding in a No Skateboarding zone, I just may have to take the law into my hands and write them a Superhero Summons and send them home to their mommy. Then, we'll see who's really from Dorkusville.
Getting side-tracked, I hired my first employee today. After much thinking about how much I despise washing dishes that I may never use, I picked up some random customer and got her to do my job for five dollars. I feel almost power-drunk by the little bit of control I had for about 5 minutes. She did my job, which allowed me to take a 20-minute break of which I spent making foul gestures to the security cameras around the building. It just may have been one of the best breaks I ever had. If only I could see the faces of the rent-a-cop watching those videos when he/she sees me slapping my bare butt and grabbing my crotch while doing Michael Jackson spins and shit. It's fucking great.
On a more lovelier note, I have found an awesome place to sleep for the next few days. Apparently, some people moved out of this arson-struck home. They must've known I was coming because they left a bed their for me to rest on and it was just right. I'm guessing that the people that lived there were sort of not right in the head because the majority of the house was painted black, even the bed on which I slept on. And they must've painted it recently because a lot of the paint was rubbing off on my brand old clothes. Oh well. What can you do? I'll just have to get to a laundro-mart sometime this weekend.
It's yesterday's leftovers! It's a baked potato!! It's Aluminum Man!!!
After much thinking about how to direct my future in becoming a superhero and after not watching Iron Man, I realized that not having super powers will make my dreams difficult to achieve. Wanting to be like Tony Stark, I decided to make myself the lesser version of him, and since Atomic number 13 is my favorite element, I've decided to make myself Al¹³ Man!!! After wasting close to 80 dollars on rolls of aluminum wrap, I have made the ultimate suit for myself, wrapping myself in layers and layers of aluminum foil. It was a great idea until some teenage skateboarders started making jokes telling me that the comic convention was in NY and that I forgot my silver surfboard in Dorkusville, where ever that is. I'll forgive those hoodlums for now, but if I ever catch them skateboarding in a No Skateboarding zone, I just may have to take the law into my hands and write them a Superhero Summons and send them home to their mommy. Then, we'll see who's really from Dorkusville.
Getting side-tracked, I hired my first employee today. After much thinking about how much I despise washing dishes that I may never use, I picked up some random customer and got her to do my job for five dollars. I feel almost power-drunk by the little bit of control I had for about 5 minutes. She did my job, which allowed me to take a 20-minute break of which I spent making foul gestures to the security cameras around the building. It just may have been one of the best breaks I ever had. If only I could see the faces of the rent-a-cop watching those videos when he/she sees me slapping my bare butt and grabbing my crotch while doing Michael Jackson spins and shit. It's fucking great.
On a more lovelier note, I have found an awesome place to sleep for the next few days. Apparently, some people moved out of this arson-struck home. They must've known I was coming because they left a bed their for me to rest on and it was just right. I'm guessing that the people that lived there were sort of not right in the head because the majority of the house was painted black, even the bed on which I slept on. And they must've painted it recently because a lot of the paint was rubbing off on my brand old clothes. Oh well. What can you do? I'll just have to get to a laundro-mart sometime this weekend.
It's yesterday's leftovers! It's a baked potato!! It's Aluminum Man!!!
5.13.2008
05.13.08
Gadzooks!
I'm not too sure what kind of toilet paper I used today, but I think I paper-cutted my butthole. A little after dropping a huge load off at the Johnny, I wet-farted, and discovered a spray of blood on my tighty-whiteys. It wasn't a lovely site, but it was funny nevertheless. If I didn't paper-cut my a-nole, there must've been glass shards or something in my previous meal, which would definitely not be cool unless the glass shards were really bits of ice cream topped with nonpareils. That would've been sweet. Oh well. It'll eventually heal because that's what a-nole's do.
On the lighter side, I found a part-time job that pays under the table, and though I only plan to work 56 hours for one week and never show face again, I can say that I helped to heal the world. As I write, I am gathering pieces of paper and recycling them into paper airplanes that I plan to fly around the world with secret love notes hidden within. So, if you happen to unfold a paper airplane with a sexually harassing message written inside, know that it came from my heart and involved much scientifical and perpetual thinking.
As for the lost wallet situation, I have decided to make my name Chief Champion of the Brussel Sprout Brigade. And to prevent another lost wallet casualty, I will start carrying a man-purse to ensure that such a travesty never happen again. If anyone has ever lost their wallet, I would highly recommend man-purses, especially ones with secret compartments to hold FOOTBALLS and BEERS, because you never know when one might put to test your testosterone levels.
There's nothing wrong with carrying a man-purse because I enjoy watching LESBIAN ACTIVITIES!!!
I'm not too sure what kind of toilet paper I used today, but I think I paper-cutted my butthole. A little after dropping a huge load off at the Johnny, I wet-farted, and discovered a spray of blood on my tighty-whiteys. It wasn't a lovely site, but it was funny nevertheless. If I didn't paper-cut my a-nole, there must've been glass shards or something in my previous meal, which would definitely not be cool unless the glass shards were really bits of ice cream topped with nonpareils. That would've been sweet. Oh well. It'll eventually heal because that's what a-nole's do.
On the lighter side, I found a part-time job that pays under the table, and though I only plan to work 56 hours for one week and never show face again, I can say that I helped to heal the world. As I write, I am gathering pieces of paper and recycling them into paper airplanes that I plan to fly around the world with secret love notes hidden within. So, if you happen to unfold a paper airplane with a sexually harassing message written inside, know that it came from my heart and involved much scientifical and perpetual thinking.
As for the lost wallet situation, I have decided to make my name Chief Champion of the Brussel Sprout Brigade. And to prevent another lost wallet casualty, I will start carrying a man-purse to ensure that such a travesty never happen again. If anyone has ever lost their wallet, I would highly recommend man-purses, especially ones with secret compartments to hold FOOTBALLS and BEERS, because you never know when one might put to test your testosterone levels.
There's nothing wrong with carrying a man-purse because I enjoy watching LESBIAN ACTIVITIES!!!
5.07.2008
05.07.08
I hate losing things.
The other day, I happened to misplace my wallet. I could have left it on the counter at the fast food joint. It might be on one of the many tables I sat on. It could even be on a train ride cross country. The point is that I have lost the very last bit of evidence that can prove who I am. I never even bothered to remember my social security number. It's such a terrible occurrence, but at the same time, I can start anew, which just may be a good thing. The worst part of the situation is that I lost the business card containing the phone numbers of the lady I sat with at the coffee shop. I always hear stories about fate and how things happen for a reason, but me losing my wallet couldn't have happened for a reason, unless fate wanted me to find a look-a-like to eliminate and assume his identity. The only thing that is seeming to keep me together is this cell phone and my shoe laces, and neither of which seems to be able to hold a condom securely. I doubt anyone ever reads this, but if you're out there and you've found my wallet, please e-mail me at jamal dot pirruth at gmail. Oh well.
However, I can think of one thing I can't hate losing. And if I ever do lose it, I'd probably find a way to keep myself satisfied, losing it over and over and over again. Whether it's on a roof, in a house, out at a park, or at the beach, I'm sure I can find newer and better ways to improve the experience, making each time more exciting than the last. With so many different ways to make it happen. With different directions and fancy moves to make my penis quiver. The options seem so endless. Though I'm still waiting for that special day in my life, my self-made paper airplanes will always be the same until it's gone. When that day happens, I'll let you know what happened with it and where it got stuck.
If you ever fly a paper airplane off of the roof of a high-rise apartment building, the chances of getting a ticket for littering is highly unlikely.
The other day, I happened to misplace my wallet. I could have left it on the counter at the fast food joint. It might be on one of the many tables I sat on. It could even be on a train ride cross country. The point is that I have lost the very last bit of evidence that can prove who I am. I never even bothered to remember my social security number. It's such a terrible occurrence, but at the same time, I can start anew, which just may be a good thing. The worst part of the situation is that I lost the business card containing the phone numbers of the lady I sat with at the coffee shop. I always hear stories about fate and how things happen for a reason, but me losing my wallet couldn't have happened for a reason, unless fate wanted me to find a look-a-like to eliminate and assume his identity. The only thing that is seeming to keep me together is this cell phone and my shoe laces, and neither of which seems to be able to hold a condom securely. I doubt anyone ever reads this, but if you're out there and you've found my wallet, please e-mail me at jamal dot pirruth at gmail. Oh well.
However, I can think of one thing I can't hate losing. And if I ever do lose it, I'd probably find a way to keep myself satisfied, losing it over and over and over again. Whether it's on a roof, in a house, out at a park, or at the beach, I'm sure I can find newer and better ways to improve the experience, making each time more exciting than the last. With so many different ways to make it happen. With different directions and fancy moves to make my penis quiver. The options seem so endless. Though I'm still waiting for that special day in my life, my self-made paper airplanes will always be the same until it's gone. When that day happens, I'll let you know what happened with it and where it got stuck.
If you ever fly a paper airplane off of the roof of a high-rise apartment building, the chances of getting a ticket for littering is highly unlikely.
5.03.2008
05.02.08
Un-fucking-believable!
Here I sit, in a Starbucks (never thought I'd ever visit one of these places), checking the latest bocce scores on the internet, when one of the most gorgeous ladies I've ever seen walks into my life. With every seat taken, except the outdoor ones and the seat on the other side of the two person table I sat at, she asks me if she could take the seat. Giving her permission with thoughts that she'd drag the seat away, she sits down in front of me and makes small talk about how tiring and stressful her job is. I eventually tell her about my work situation, and somehow we got to a point where she's offering me a job. Apparently, she's the boss lady of a big-named website which specializes in research and writing. I lied to her and told her, "...I'm a successful writer with 3 books in publication, 2 of which I co-authored, and I have tons of experience with writing and shit." She was totally digging me, giving me her business card to contact later. I'm pretty sure she just wants to have some office-type affairs with me, but I can't blame her for that, since I am the stud of all studs. So far, things are looking on the up. Whether it's hand or blow, I'll be getting some type of job in the very near future.
Right now, there's this girl sitting a couple tables away who I'd definitely want to give an STD to. Too bad I'm pretty clean. Or maybe that's a good thing. Oh, well. I guess we all can't be sensual deviants.
Oh yeah. Just to update you on my whereabouts, I finally made it to "New Joisey," and I have no idea where the hell I am. I downed a half-pint of Hennessy on the train and jumped off some stop because I noticed this blind guy with his guard dog getting off the train. Since I had no idea where I was going, I just followed this guy who most likely didn't know where he was going. Hopefully, I can run into some cool mafiosos and become part of the Sopranos and shit. Aside from becoming a superhero/villain, my goal is to get drunk with strippers and own a tommy gun. It's going to be the shit.
"I'm not lost. I'm exploring!" -comedian P. Rodriguez
Here I sit, in a Starbucks (never thought I'd ever visit one of these places), checking the latest bocce scores on the internet, when one of the most gorgeous ladies I've ever seen walks into my life. With every seat taken, except the outdoor ones and the seat on the other side of the two person table I sat at, she asks me if she could take the seat. Giving her permission with thoughts that she'd drag the seat away, she sits down in front of me and makes small talk about how tiring and stressful her job is. I eventually tell her about my work situation, and somehow we got to a point where she's offering me a job. Apparently, she's the boss lady of a big-named website which specializes in research and writing. I lied to her and told her, "...I'm a successful writer with 3 books in publication, 2 of which I co-authored, and I have tons of experience with writing and shit." She was totally digging me, giving me her business card to contact later. I'm pretty sure she just wants to have some office-type affairs with me, but I can't blame her for that, since I am the stud of all studs. So far, things are looking on the up. Whether it's hand or blow, I'll be getting some type of job in the very near future.
Right now, there's this girl sitting a couple tables away who I'd definitely want to give an STD to. Too bad I'm pretty clean. Or maybe that's a good thing. Oh, well. I guess we all can't be sensual deviants.
Oh yeah. Just to update you on my whereabouts, I finally made it to "New Joisey," and I have no idea where the hell I am. I downed a half-pint of Hennessy on the train and jumped off some stop because I noticed this blind guy with his guard dog getting off the train. Since I had no idea where I was going, I just followed this guy who most likely didn't know where he was going. Hopefully, I can run into some cool mafiosos and become part of the Sopranos and shit. Aside from becoming a superhero/villain, my goal is to get drunk with strippers and own a tommy gun. It's going to be the shit.
"I'm not lost. I'm exploring!" -comedian P. Rodriguez
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