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'm sick of my Chevy Blazer. It's now making a new noise, one I'd never
heard before, and I just know that it's the initial warning sign of
Something Terrible. My original plan was to drive the shitbox until it
was completely paid-off, so we could finally wash away an ancient
Hyundai-based catastrophe we endured in California ("Mr. Kay, are
you aware that that car doesn't have a working engine in it?"), and
are still paying for.
But I'm about ready to jump ship.
Yesterday Toney and I went browsing at several local car lots. They're
closed on Sundays, so it's a good time to check things out without some
smirking hands-rubbing salesman walking up and saying, "Looks like
we might get some rain?" On Sundays you can just look around in
peace, and it's a beautiful thing.
The only problem is, the vehicles I want are, you know, really
expensive. We looked at a whole row of Toyota 4Runners, all fresh from a
2-year lease I'm sure, and the prices made my anus drop. What am I, Bill
Oates?? The Highlander is more reasonably-priced, but kinda small and
only offers a towing-capacity of 3000 lbs. Ha! I require far more balls
than that. Once the rolling box of beds is loaded with the standard
supply of beer and Andy Capp Salsa Fries, a Highlander simply won't do
it.
So, I'm a bit discouraged this morning; I feel like yesterday's exercise
was nothing more than blowing diarrhea in the wind. I know that I should
ride out the final fourteen or fifteen payments on that Chevy
Melancholy, and not go into another massive purchase already at a
deficit. But I don't want to; I really don't.
We'll see which side of my brain finally wins the battle.
-- At one of the car lots we visited yesterday, moths were everywhere.
It was crazy, the place was completely moth-spangled. They kept flying
in my face and touching off a series of wild Skippy Hicks dances near a
high-traffic thoroughfare. Wonder what it's all about? Does it have
anything to do with all the caterpillars in the trees around these
parts? Good God.
It's kinda creepy, like an omen or some
such thing. Maybe it's my grandfathers communicating from beyond the
grave? Don't buy a rice cooker, Jeff! Don't do it!! We're a Chevrolet
family, and if you go against us, we're gonna tell everyone about some
of the things we've seen you do from up here! Shit!
-- We went to see the new Pirates of the Caribbean flick on
Saturday. It was showing on six or seven screens at the big Curvature of
the Earth Metroplex near our house, but we still had to wait a couple of
hours to get in. There were swashbuckling nerdlets milling about in
pirate hats, and waving plastic swords. As well as a crush, a freaking crush,
of people of every age and description. Talk about mass-appeal....
The movie was OK, but not nearly as good as the original. I think the
first one was a phenomenon because of the characters, but this one is
more about the stringing together of one ludicrous action sequence after
another. But whatever. It was an enjoyable way to spend... lots of
hours. As Phil Hendrie's frequent guest Doug Dangger might put it, I
give it five gay thumbs up. Heh.
And it's worth noting that following a rather intense scene in which
Jack Sparrow is apparently killed, there was sobbing heard throughout
the theater, undoubtedly from the pirate hat brigade in deep distress.
What a classic example of douchey douchiness.
-- I received this email on Saturday, from a person with the unfortunate
first
name of Annis:
Why is this web site showing up continuously on unrelated searches? I
find it offensive and totally ridiculous.
-- I rode my bike yesterday (without a helmet, thank you very much),
and returned to the house with my ass seemingly afire. I did OK on the
hills around here, surprisingly enough, but my butt received a thorough
thrashing. It's still hurting, as a matter of fact. I assume this will
improve over time? I feel like I'm suffering a post-Phantom Ass trauma
here, and I can't have that.
-- Here's yet another Smoking Fish sighting, this one featuring a
self-described "extremely drunken person." Thanks for the
effort, dude! I appreciate it. Y'all keep 'em coming, OK? Our logo, man,
he gets around.
-- Last night's episode of Deadwood was fairly
typical as far the fucks went. But the fight sequence... Was
that brutal, or what? Sweet sainted mother of Wade Utay....
-- And finally, this is something new and tasty from lakrfool.
Shake hands with beef!
--
I'm sick of my Chevy Blazer. It's now making a new noise, one I'd never
heard before, and I just know that it's the initial warning sign of
Something Terrible. My original plan was to drive the shitbox until it
was completely paid-off, so we could finally wash away an ancient
Hyundai-based catastrophe we endured in California ("Mr. Kay, are
you aware that that car doesn't have a working engine in it?"), and
are still paying for. 