Funniness Negates Wrongness
Monday, January 05, 2004
The Freakin' Weekend
Another weekend has come and gone. I'd like to be able to say that I did something really exciting this last weekend, like jet off to Aspen for a couple of days on the slopes (but I don't date Asians. Not that I have anything against Asians or the dating thereof, it's just and experience with an Asian chick in college left a bad taste in my mouth. But that might have just been bad hygiene on her part.). Instead, being that it was my first weekend in Valley Ranch in a long time and that I had gone out three nights in a row the previous week, I decided that I'd spend a good chunk of the weekend doing absolutely nothing. Except watch TV.

I thought I'd start my weekend by getting caught up on all the shit that I've been Tivoing lately, which is mostly a lot of Simpsons and Futurama episodes. A curious feature of a Tivo is its "Tivo Suggestions" feature, in which it will automagically record shows that it thinks you might like (based on other stuff you've recorded) for your later perusal. Mine is apparently a little bit insane, as I mostly record animated shows such as the aforementioned Simpsons and Futurama, as well as South Park and Family Guy. To the simplistic mind of the Tivo, there is no difference between these more "mature" cartoons and little kids shows, so most of the suggestions that the Tivo has given me consists of episodes of Clifford and Pokemon. Gag.

I quickly ran through the accumulated Tivo'd shows and found that I'd run out of stuff to watch. And it was only Saturday evening. What to do? Josh IM'd me, wanting to see a flick, but then reneged when he decided that he was too tired. Lazy-assed bastard. I resigned myself to forcing myself to leave the house and rent a movie. Blockbuster, here I come.

I recently got a new Blockbuster membership, after being forced to give up the one I'd enjoyed since my Freshman Year in college. It all started when I decided that I'd spend a quick weekend in the most depressing city in the world--Tbilisi, Republic of Georgia. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to get a visa on a moment's notice, so instead I settled on a suitable substitute right here in the United States--Buffalo, State of New York. Home of the Love Canal, SUNY-Buffalo, Hooker Chemical Superfund Clean Up Site and the especially putrid (6-10) Buffalo Bills. Luckily, I have friends that have chosen to make this place their home and they offered me a place to stay while I was in NY. One night while I was there, we decided to rent a film from a nearby Blockbuster for our viewing pleasure. Jack Nicholson's brilliant About Schmidt was chosen and, as I was the only one with a Blockbuster card without late rentals on it, I proudly placed my card upon the counter when the apathetic clerk asked for proof on membership. Fast forward four weeks later and I'm parking my car at my apartments in Valley Ranch when I think to run by the mail boxes and check for correspondence before going up to my unit. Opening the box, I pull out a stack of mail. Bill. Bill. Flyer. Flyer. Flyer. Flyer. Flyer. Bill. Magazine. Letter from Blockbuster Corporate Headquarters, McKinney, Texas. What the fuh? I asked myself. I pried open the envelope, thinking that perhaps it was a coupon for a free rental or some of that Blockbuster-branded microwave popcorn that comes with its own cardboard bucket. Alas, it wasn't. Instead, it was a bill for $6.98. From Blockbuster, 765 Elmwood Ave, Buffalo, NY 14222. For the late return of Jack Nicholson's brilliant About Schmidt. What the hell? I'd left the DVD in the care of my friends in Buffalo, assuming that they'd promptly return it. Surely they had. I could call them, I thought to myself, but that'd just seem ungrateful. What to do? I didn't want to send a check of money order to this video store in a city 1200 miles away. Aha, I thought to myself, I'll call the store in Buffalo and claim that there must be some kind of mistake, as I live in Texas and (I'd claim that) I'd never been to Buffalo, let alone New York. I mean, how are they going to prove that I'd been to New York several times and that I was in Buffalo no more than four weeks previously? Surely, I thought to myself, that they'll assume that it was a computer error and credit my account appropriately. I pulled out my trusty Nokia and dialed information.

"AT&T Wireless Directory Services," said the voice on the other end. Okay, I thought to myself, you know where you work. Good for you. Now, maybe you could ask me how you can help me. I waited, expecting to hear something along the lines of "How may I help you today?". No dice.

I finally gave up on my little Mexican standoff and said, "Buffalo, New York, please."
"Okay, let me transfer you ." I assume that he was transferring me to the office that handles that region.
"AT&T Wireless Directory Services," again on the other end. Different voice this time, I think. It might, though, have been the same guy disguising his voice. I again waited for this operator to ask how he could be of service. Again, my Mexican standoff was fruitless.
"Yes, Buffalo, please," I said.
"What listing?"
"Blockbuster Video, on Elmwood," I stated, mentally envisioning the crummy little video store right down the street from the crummy little Crane Branch of the Buffalo Public Library.
The operator didn't say anything further. Instead, an automated voice stated the number, then automatically dialed it.

"Blockbuster Elmwood, this is Ted," answered the stoner at the store.
"Hi, yeah," I said, quickly trying to gather my thoughts, "I received a bill from y'all today for a late return and, well, I've never rented that movie and, moreover, I've never even been to New York, as I live in Texas."
"Okay, what's the account number?"
I read him the numbers off the back of my card.
"Yeah, it says About Schmidt was returned two days late. Are you sure you didn't rent it?"
"Pretty damn sure. Like I said, I've never been to New York."
"Are you sure you've never been to New York?"
"Yes," I replied, indignantly.
"Okay, well, looks like someone has one of your cards or something, so to be on the safe side, I'm going to go ahead and cancel your account. Just stop by your nearest neighborhood Blockbuster location and open a new account."
"Uhh...thanks," I replied, then hung up, slightly pissed that he cancelled my account, which meant that I'd have to go through the pain in the ass that is applying for a new membership. Fuck.

Which brings us back to this weekend. Having finally acquired a new Blockbuster membership the previous week, I was ready to rent movies. I walked into my neighborhood Blockbuster, anxious to scan the titles and choose a film.

I don't know what it was--the poster in the window featuring Mandy Moore or that I was wearing silk boxers that were giving me a semi from rubbing me just the right way or maybe the half-bottle of merlot that I'd enjoyed before leaving the house--but I was horny. And when your horny, your brain starts fucking with you. I started looking at the videos and suddenly realized that a lot of them have titles that could be confused for porno movies. Here's a partial list I came up with Saturday night in that Blockbuster:

The Bone Collector
Three Amigos!
The Black Hole
Little Big Man
The Magnificent Seven
The Hudsucker Proxy
An American Tail
The Fox And The Hound
What's Eating Gilbert Grape?
Howard's End
Die Hard
Free Willy
The Last Boy Scout
A Few Good Men
The Little Mermaid
Big Daddy
The Rock
The Italian Job
Dr. Strangelove
The Emperor's New Groove
Three Men & a Little Lady

Actually, never mind. Typing that up just made me realize that just about any movie title sounds perverted, especially if you're dirty-minded. Like I apparently must be. Oh well, I think I'm going to go home tonight and watch "Super Cum-Slurping Sluts Volume 8"--at least I know that that's perverted.