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.
--
Toney recently purchased a big ass bucket of butter. Or margarine, or
whatever. The thing is so large it takes two hands to hoist it off the
counter, and she must've bought it at a supply house that caters to
restaurant chains and/or the armed forces. Every time I see it, I laugh.
But the thing is... I can never find it inside the refrigerator, despite
the fact that it's comically oversized.
I know it seems improbable, but I think there's something spooky about
that butter bucket. It has special powers, I'm telling you, and can
blend into its surroundings. Again and again I find myself bent at the
waist, peering into the fridge, trying to locate that giant tub of
ridiculousness. And I experience a full-body shiver.
How could it be possible? I'm serious, how?? It's just one big
butter-substitute optical illusion mind-fuck, man. And I don't like
that.
-- Do you ever smell something that transports you, like a scene from Star
Trek, to another place and time? I was mowing the grass on Sunday,
and there was a section of the backyard that smelled exactly like a
brand-new freshly-printed Sgt. Rock comic book. It's true. Suddenly I
was standing inside Bowen's pharmacy in 1976 -- an ugly thirteen year
old checking out the new comics on the spinner rack. It was amazing.
Also, my office is located deep inside a massive, sprawling
manufacturing plant, and there's all sorts of chemicals and solvents
being used there at any given time (I try not to think about it). As I
hoof it to the cafeteria every day, I sometimes encounter
"familiar" smells. There's one particular spot that smells just
like the Dunbar Bowling Alley: a thick stew of floor wax, french fry
grease, cigarette smoke, and ass. Sometimes I pause, close my eyes, and
just breathe it in. And I'm sent hurtling, end over end, back in time.
...Which might be part of the reason that people tend to keep their
distance from me at work.
A few days ago I also passed through a very distinct Lincoln Log pocket.
I quite enjoyed that as well, resulting cancers be damned.
-- I watched three Netflix movies last
weekend: The Family Stone, Capote, and Cinderella Man.
In that order. It is my opinion that the first was bad, the second was
good (despite the Hannah-Barbera novelty voice), and the third was
great.
I'd been resisting Cinderella Man, because I figured it would be
some long drawn-out "epic," calculated to bring Opie a few
more awards from insufferable Hollywood pricks. But I finally gave in,
after I noticed that folks were starting to make references to it in
casual conversation, like with Full Metal Jacket and that sort of
thing. I don't much enjoy being out of the popular culture loop (even
though I am), so I bit the bullet. And I was shocked at how good it was.
Yeah, it was too long, but I didn't really notice. Great flick.
But I am a little pissed at Netflix right now (I'm Netpissed), because I
suspect they're milking the holiday on Monday, and using it as an excuse
to drag their collective ass. I mailed back two discs on Saturday, and
another on Monday. The two weren't received until yesterday, Thursday!,
and the one still hasn't arrived. I call bullshit on that bullshit.
They're starting to act like our garbage men, who seem to jump at any
opportunity to cast away their regular schedule, and unleash full-on
trash collection anarchy. Know what I'm saying?
In any case, seen any good movies lately?
-- Our mailman was just kind enough to deliver me a crisp new copy of this CD.
Andy wasn't very happy about it, but I am. The dude's the shit, as they
say. And I'm not talking about the mailman, although I'm sure he's a
perfectly nice fellow as well.
-- Yesterday I was listening to AC/DC on my way home from work, and
Toney called my cell phone and asked if I could pick up the oldest
Secret at swimming practice. I said no problem, and recalibrated my
inner compass.
I swung by the pool in time to watch the last few minutes of practice,
and saw some high school kid strutting around in one of those tiny
Canadian-style bikini briefs. Yeah, it appeared that the doctor did a
fine job with the circumcision, back in the day.... Wotta douche.
After that display was mercifully over, we hit the road and my CD was
still playing. Without really noticing it, "Big Balls" came
on, and I was afraid the Secret was going to go into a full-on convulsion
of laughter. He thought that shit was the absolute pinnacle of comedy,
and was still talking about it hours later.
I didn't really enjoy it as much, if you want the truth. All that
chanting about swinging balls and whatnot... It was giving me horrible
flashbacks of fifteen minutes before, and I almost crashed my car into a
culvert.
-- I'm off from work today, which is why this update is a bit late. I
took a vacation day, just because I can. And I'm starting to feel the
pull of the deck already....
What follows is part of an actual real-life conversation that Toney and
I had at the front-end of a very similar three-day weekend, a few years
back. I've mentioned it before, but I like it and it's my website, so
there.
Toney: You know what we should make this weekend?
Me: Love? Sweet sweet love?
Toney: No, deviled eggs.
--
Toney recently purchased a big ass bucket of butter. Or margarine, or
whatever. The thing is so large it takes two hands to hoist it off the
counter, and she must've bought it at a supply house that caters to
restaurant chains and/or the armed forces. Every time I see it, I laugh.
But the thing is... I can never find it inside the refrigerator, despite
the fact that it's comically oversized.
.
Andy wasn't very happy about it, but I am. The dude's the shit, as they
say. And I'm not talking about the mailman, although I'm sure he's a
perfectly nice fellow as well.