Holy
crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of
amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be
clever, I
have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and I’m an
Ugly American living
on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And I’m here to
serve, baby.
The
State of My Fat Ass A journal of
sorts, updated every once in a while.
--
I think I made a big mistake this past weekend. I went into a
convenience store, a place called, coincidentally enough, Convenience
Store, to purchase my weekly three dollar allotment of lottery tickets.
Because, as you may be aware, you can't win if you ain't in.
In line was a middle-aged man with his t-shirt tucked into his shorts (wotta
douche), an old lady, and me. My sphincter automatically seals off
whenever there's a senior citizen there, because they're generally in no
hurry, buy lots of scratch-offs (which they invariably scratch right
there), and request specific numbers for the Powerball drawings,
and whatnot. Usually they have some sort of heavy plastic "lottery
pouch" with them, in which they store loads of mysterious
paperwork. Oh, they're serious about that shit, and it makes me insane.
But it wasn't the oldster causing the problem this time, it was Mr.
McTuck. He was tapping his finger on his lips trying to decide which
scratch-off games to play, and asking the cashier for advice as if he
were seated at a four-star restaurant. When I arrived he already had
dozens of cards spread out across the counter, like a game of solitaire,
and he had absolutely no concern for anyone other than himself.
I fantasized about lifting the nearby rack of NY Posts high in the air,
and bringing it down hard on the top of his head. But I decided that
might not be a good idea, and sighed repeatedly and with exaggerated
volume instead.
When he finally finished with his scratch-off games, and removed a long
list of specific lottery numbers from his neatly-pressed shorts with
belt, something inside me snapped. I said, "Oh, you've got to be
shitting me!" and made a big show of storming out of the store. In
the parking lot I was nearly struck by a Ford Explorer, and I yelled at
the driver like a crazy homeless person.
And as I made my way to an alternative
lottery establishment, I realized that I'd probably just blown millions
of dollars.
I have a feeling that it was
pre-ordained that I'd hit the jackpot that day. All I needed to do was
buy my tickets at that particular Convenience Store, at that particular
time of day, with three particular dollar bills. And if I met those
simple requirements, the planets would align in my favor.
I'd been so close, but had blown it by losing my cool!
Indeed, the tickets that I bought at the other store didn't do a damn
thing for me. And that proves it, doesn't it? ...How could I have
been so stupid?!
-- Tonight's the big season finale of LOST, and I'm excited. It's
a super-sized two-hour episode, which should translate into about one
hour of actual show. Is it just me, or are there more commercials in
that deal than any other TV program in history? Regardless, I'll be
there with adult beverage in hand, sitting way out on the edge of my
seat and smiling like a retard. I'm completely under the spell of that
show. And I still maintain: Locke is the key.
-- We were told yesterday that we can leave work on Friday at one
o'clock. I don't usually take them up on such offers, but I will this
time. I'm gonna rocket out of there like a breakfast burrito from a beer
drinker, and start the long weekend early.
Believe it or not, I'm all fired up to work in the yard. I'm itching to
whip this place into shape, lay in some mulch, engage in much
weed-whacking and sidewalk edging, and top things off with a good
soak-down of harsh chemicals.
Yes, that's what Saturday's going to be all about, working like a
freakin' Amish, followed in the evening by thick steaks on the grill and
some genuine Latrobe-brewed Rolling Rock.
And by the way, I'm gonna close-up shop here for a few days. I really
need some downtime, and the bunker is going to go dark from Friday
through Monday. So, tomorrow's update will be the last until next
Tuesday. You know, in case you should give a tiny crap...
-- Here's yet another Smoking
Fish sighting, this time at a place that was previously christened Further
Evidence. Keep 'em coming, folks!
-- And this is something new and
hilarious from lakrfool -- one of his best efforts to date, in my
opinion. Don't miss it.
-- Finally, the question of the day.... This sounds like a Clive
Bull topic, but isn't; I made this one up all by myself, using my
own beleaguered brain. What accent irritates you the most? It can be a
regional American accent, or one from a foreign country.
I have a strong opinion on this (my whole body is tensing up just
thinking about it), but am going to keep it to myself for now. I want to
hear your opinions first. Use the comments link below.
-- Oh, and before I forget... the fingernails sank.
Have a great day, boys and girls. I'll see ya tomorrow.
--
I think I made a big mistake this past weekend. I went into a
convenience store, a place called, coincidentally enough, Convenience
Store, to purchase my weekly three dollar allotment of lottery tickets.
Because, as you may be aware, you can't win if you ain't in.