I spend an hour or two on the Internet. I check my emails. I read the news. I read my brilliant bloggers' comments. Then I start a new post which flows from my fingertips. Then I workout at a gymnasium and have one of those workouts where your body never fatigues. You feel superhuman, like Spiderman or that Thing fella. What's his name again? Oh yeah. The Thing.
Then I take the wife out to lunch at our favorite restaurant, On the Border. Today's salsa is a perfectly proportioned concoction of vegetables. And as luck would have it, we arrive just as a fresh batch of homemade chips leaves the oven. We devour our food, converse, nurse several margaritas, and then head home for an afternoon delight.
From there the day descends into a gluttony of more fattening foods, intoxicating liquors, music and SOCOM 3. I kill 3-to-1 with my silenced 552 assault rifle and 4x scope.
After that, things get a little sketchy. Some take-out, a sunset, a still, balmy evening aglow in celestial brilliance, perchance a hand-job under the stars. At some point I learn from the evening news that we've abolished the IRS and that Jon Stewart's show and MTV have both been canceled. Then I read from a fascinating book and sink into a 10-hour slumber. Thus ends my Perfect Day.
Call Me Maniac suggested I discuss the really stupid things you notice people are always saying, mostly to sound cool or more educated than they are, for example: "We protect our own."
Great suggestion, Maniac. First, when did guys start calling each other “Dog?” That's so gay. Why stop there? If we are indeed dogs, how about I come around and dry hump you? Does this mean we can stop walking all the way to the restroom at work? Can I plop one out right on the office floor?
I'd like few things more than seeing guys who call each other “dog” rounded up, neutered and kenneled.
Here's one I hate. You usually hear this one from a middle-aged woman driving a minivan and drinking Starbucks: “You can't put a price on human life.” The hell you can't, lady. I'll gladly choke you for your decaf latte, valued at $4.75, give or take a bitch-slap. The truth is, we put a price on human life every day in every way. Consider life insurance, warfare, dangerous vocations, safety equipment. It all begins with guys in suits sitting around a power point projector, combing over spreadsheets and calculating death rates versus dollar signs.
“You get what you pay for,” is another piece of garbage cliché. No you don't. Our taxes pay for the best, brightest and most honest government employees the country has to offer. How's the return on that investment? We pay a fortune for education (public and private). Kids are dumber than ever. We pay a premium for European cars that break down twice as often. Those poor Englishmen paid like, 70 pounds for Amy Winehouse tickets and all they got was puked on. Evidently, love is a losing game, particularly when you're in the front row without an umbrella or a plastic barrier. If you're going to an Amy Winehouse concert and are seated within puke-shot, wear a raincoat like those poeple who go to Gallagher concerts.
Sometimes you get MORE than you pay for. That's always a nice surprise. I pay for a 9-dollar entree at On the Border and eat that much in freshly fried chips and salsa. Then, for the aforementioned entree, I “build-my-own-combo.” The fools don't know who they're dealing with. I calculate my food items to do maximum financial damage. I go with the two enchiladas (a roasted pork and a chicken, each of which are big enough to make a meal in themselves) a shredded beef taco and a chicken flauta. It's a ton of food for 9 bucks. Itemize these selections and you'll spend well over 20 dollars. Nincompoops! It's the best value in town. Plus, I drink about 19 diet sodas. I gave my waitress carpal tunnel syndrome just from the task of keeping my soda glass full. My secret is, I keep a piss-jug under the table. I'm working them over from both ends: food and beverage.
Someday, On the Border executives will get wise and they'll withdraw the 4-item combo from the menu. Until then, I'll enjoy sticking it to El Hombre.
Ari asked me to compare/contrast Star Trek versus Star Wars.
One featured a fat, bloated, disgusting creature with a darting tongue, bulging eyes and oozing flesh and who lounged around with a slave girl chained to his side. The other featured Jabba the Hut. (My apologies to William Shatner and that hot black lady who played Uhura. You know I love you both!)
Ari also asked me about any role-playing experience, a la Dungeons & Dragons. As I explained in my last post, Ari, I'm not at liberty to post the details of my sex life. But I appreciate your interest.
Midas asked about my favorite recipe. Here's my favorite recipe for the Perfect Blog:
- 3 parts sarcasm
- 2 parts irreverence
- A dash of sexual innuendo
- Several bunches of political commentary
- 4 ounces of your favorite liquor (let simmer inside author)
- A dozen entries from your old high school creative writing notebook
- 8 or 9 large anecdotes about your crappy day at work and your jerkoff of a boss
- A shoutout to your blogger buddies
- Photos of your pets looking their cutest
- An open letter to an ex who fucked you over
- A pinch of potty humor (use “cunt” sparingly for best effect)
- An essay on why Mac is better than PC -- or vice versa
- A vignette on a childhood trauma that made you a stronger person