Random Fucking Thoughts In Progress

Random Fucking Thoughts In Progress

Basketball
Every so often I forget that I care more about the annual rainfall of Bhutan than the NBA, and accidentally listen to some random basketball report. Then the anchors make comments like the following and remind me:

"After the break we'll have Jim The High School Basketball Player, in the studio to discuss his multi-million dollar contract with Adidas."

YES. That's exactly what we want to hear for the next ten minutes. Some high school boy with a single-digit IQ talking about how Adidas pays him millions of dollars to wear shoes he would have worn anyway. Speaking of which, the NBA Draft is coming up. Coming from a former employee, let me tell you what I hate the most about the NBA Draft. What I hate the most is having to listen to a bunch of barely post-adolescent young boys thanking God "for their good fortune." You fucking idiot. God is not up in Heaven, pooling all his celestial resources to ensure that you get millions of dollars for dribbling a ball up a court for 3 minutes at a time. The people you have to thank are the idiot fans, whose adulation of your idiot sport enables greedy team owners to pay you top dollar so they can continue to lure people into a place where beer is $8 a cup and eight tortilla chips covered with cheese costs $9. That's who you should thank. God is not paying attention to you. God is watching over sick people and trying to figure out how to convince man that food should be a right, not a privilege. God is trying to help people not lose faith while surrounded by ugliness and despair. God is not sitting on a cloud and watching Sportscenter, in a concerted effort to help you make millions for sitting on a bench and banging random sluts.

Paintballing
My friend Paul invited me paintballing with his crew next next weekend. I was toying with the idea of going except for the fact that I don't have that much confidence in my body's ability to dodge and weave a barrage of paint bullets right now. It's been 9 months but my c-section scar is still sore when I move a lot. Call me a wuss if you want but see how fast YOU recover when they cut your stomach open and pull two people from it. Then again maybe the invitation was a ploy. Maybe they're really trying to lure women out with them so they can make them run naked through a forest while they "hunt" them. That company that was supposedly doing that in Vegas was a hoax but you know people with psychopathic tendencies read that shit and went "Damn, that's a good idea!!"

Next time they go, if I'm fully healed I'm in. I'll pick up cammies somewhere, smear green face paint on and try some trench warfare moves I learned in college while hiding from the police because I was high and convinced they were after me.

Fishy
Speaking of warfare, anyone else read this article on some guy's alleged abuse by soldiers and figure it sounded like a crock of shit. First of all, even if you're not a terrorist you're doing SOMETHING illegal. Otherwise why the hell would you be carrying around $119,000 in cash while on a "peace mission" in Iraq. They shouldn't beat him they should just chain him to a wall and lock me in a room with him for a few days. "Please I'll tell you what you want to know, just shut her the fuck up." *Insert terrorist crying here* Yeah I know what peaceniks are thinking right now. "What if it was your brother??" Well it would never be my brother. Because I don't have a brother. And if I did, and he was carrying around 120K in a briefcase, I would beat the shit out of him first for not sharing. The American soldiers would have to nurse him back to health first if they wanted to beat the shit out of him too.

Hiatus
Sorry for me brief hiatus. In my defense, I had nothing to say. Wait. That's a load. When was the last time I had nothing to say. I was just being computer lazy. I do have kids to raise and all you know. I figure you guys want me to actually parent them rather than fuck around on the internet. So they don't rob you in fifteen years.

And in the immortal words of Dave Chapelle.... "Good Evening Bitches."