Well then, I guess I hope you fuckin' die.
Seriously. I apologize to my reader for not posting recently... I don't have a great excuse. I've been slightly busier than usual, but not burdensomely so. What can I say. Here's what happened recently:
1. I got absolutely raped by the IRS this year. We owe. Oh, Lordy do we fuckin' owe. Not happy about it. So donations are now being accepted here at the ole' Meat factory.
The IRS is the rabbit, in case that wasn't clear.
2. Season 3 of the Wire is going incredibly well. I also started watching 24. I gotta say - it's like a Robert B. Parker novel - not great, but I'll be damned if I can stop watching the fucker. I ripped through Season One in about a week. I'm going to try something dangerous for Season 2. I'm stocking up on booze, snacks and recreational drugs, and I'm going to see if I can watch 24 episodes in 24 hours. What can I say, the wife is out of town, so I'm gonna live like a scumbag. And as my friend Jai once said, "there's only so much time you can waste taking baths and masturbating". And yes, that is a direct quote.
3. Saturday was... interesting. My friend Pax enlisted me to help him move his motorcycle from his old apartment to the new one. The bike doesn't run right now, hence the need for assistance. This entailed driving to his house in East Boston, picking him up, driving to the truck rental place in Cambridge, dropping off my car, driving the truck to his old apartment in Somerville, picking up the bike, driving it to Eastie, dropping it off, driving the truck BACK to Cambridge, dropping it off, picking up my car again, and then taking Pax back to Eastie.
This was exactly as big a pain in the ass as it sounds like. But hey, he's a friend, and there is almost nothing I won't do as a favor to a friend. So we did it. But here's the rub: This works better if you know my friend Pax, but it's still goofy. We get the truck, we're on route to the old apartment, and Pax says:
Oh, I probably should have mentioned this, but the bike is chained to a post. I brought a bunch of keys with me, but I'm not sure which one opens the lock.Right. Awesome. Did I mention that it's 20 degrees outside and the world is covered with ice? Anyway, we park the truck, Pax pulls out a giant handful of keys and is fucking with them as we head to the back of the building. We get there and... and...
wait for it...
wait for it...
IT'S A COMBINATION LOCK. And NO, he does not know the fucking combo.
So we drive to a hardware store, buy a hacksaw, and cut the chain off. Goddamn. It wasn't so funny then, but it is now.
Anyway, after feeding me, Pax got sleepy so I went off to a different friend's house. It was around 4:00. And then he and I proceeded to get completely and utterly annihilated. I mean, RAGING drunk. I don't know where it came from. Surprised the shit out of me. Next thing I knew it was 4 in the morning and we were alternating between playing darts and firing a pellet gun in his basement. Yeah. I didn't drive home.
Sunday we had breakfast, then both Tim and I went to my place so he could hijack my music onto his new iPod. We then skated around on my back yard/ice rink. Much slipping and pain ensued.
So yeah. Nothing terribly exciting. But I felt obligated to post something, so there. More of substance (right) will come later.
5 comments:
it only takes 18 hours to watch a full season of 24, so you are in luck!
Lora - it is, isn't it? How odd. Sometimes, you throw the son of an Irish cop together with a mixed-race immigrants son, and weird shit ensues.
NT - Yeah, but remember, I gotta go to the bathroom periodically, make food, beat off, smoke more grass, get more beers, feed the animals, let the damn dogs out, rinse, repeat, rinse, repeat.
Yanno what's even better than firing that pellet gun in the basement? Finding a rabbit and... well, it does not involve using a coc, err, chicken.
The IRS sucks. So does the AMT.
Well, you DID warn us. I guess I've nobody to blame but myself for reading that. I'll see you in rehab.
I love you.
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