SomethingSoWrong

Friday night I went out with my friend Linz, her boyfriend and his roommate. Typical evening at the Flying Saucer in Addison, for the most part. Nice to get out of a rut and whatnot, making for a weak intro to the story from college I’m about to tell. At any rate, a happening at the Saucer reminded me of the following:

Way back in the day, when I was still in college and the calendar still had a “19″ at the beginning of the year part, I used to hang out at a bar in College Station called Fitzwilly’s (which also sounds like some of the girls I met there, as in “She fits willies in there all night long”¹). I was usually there with my roommate, who was an alcoholic, annoying womanizer who only really had the one redeeming quality that he paid his rent/bills on time. We’d go up there Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights, sit in the corner “mafia” booth and hold court. He, being a former member of the Corps of Cadets, knew a great deal of people, while I was chock full o’ witty repartee. Also, he was a rich fucker, so most of the massive amounts of alcohol we consumed was ultimately paid for by his parents via the magic of MasterCard. We’d stay there until the bar closed, hitting on women, talking to people, being assholes, that kind of thing.

One evening, we’d gone up there and had gotten fairly sloshed when it was decided that it was time to move on elsewhere. Perhaps we were going home or maybe going to another bar for change of scenery…the Chicken or Hole in the Wall or the Dry Bean or something like that. We went to the bar to pay and as we stood there waiting for a bartender to close out our tab, I noticed a fairly hot, but definitely skanky, blonde girl wearing tight jeans and a bikini top that was straining to keep her giant, unnatural breasts restrained.

We couldn’t help but stare.

And stare some more.

And that’s when the grizzled (aren’t they all?) old biker she was with noticed us looking at her chest.

I thought we were about to get our asses kicked. Or stabbed. Or something.

Instead, the old biker guy asked, “You like her titties?”

I didn’t know what to say…I’d been caught. My roommate, on the other hand, said “Sure…they’re nice.”

This caused me to get really nervous…my roommate had just admitted straight up to checking out this girl’s rack, whereas I was hoping that we could somehow play off that we weren’t really looking at them.

“Go ahead,” said the biker, “feel them…I bought ‘em for her.”

WTF?

And, so, my roommate did feel them. Right there.

“Hey, Rifleman, you gotta feel these…they feel really natural,” he said.

She giggled and said “Thanks” then encouraged me to have a feel. So I did. Both of them.

And, wow, they did feel natural.

And I didn’t get stabbed or shot or beaten with a pool cue.

¹Wow, that was so fucking lame. I can’t believe I wrote that. Then didn’t edit it out.

Okay, so SCoD isn’t really a regular feature, but this one on a story at the Consumerist really stood out as inane:

@Ash78: Too bad BMW is a British Car, not German…. B-British… M-Motor….W-… im not sure what the w stands for but its probably Works?

You’re going to have to trust me on this one, but this is some delicious horsemeat-flavored ice cream.

This week’s douchiness comes from the king of it himself, Spencer Pratt. Recently, a mini-feud between him and Mary-Kate Olsen has been going on since MK said some slammy-kinda things on Letterman the other night, video of which is here.

But the douchey part came when Spencer said the following:

”I don’t really get why she’d use my name to get press for her little indie film that no one’s going to see…I know I’ve made it in Hollywood when a famous troll is talking about me on Letterman…I forgive her, though. She’s had to go through life as the less cute twin, which must be tough.”

Made it in Hollywood?  You’ve been on two shitty “reality” shows.  Get the fuck over yourself.  Oh, and let me bang Heidi.

(I will give him a tiny smidgen of credit for that “troll” comment)

This has been bothering me for a few days now…a few weeks back, I posted this picture on my photoblog

along with the caption “Emo Feet”, because, you know, it’s obviously the feet of some emo chick, right?  Well, apparently “emo” and “feet” are two things that when put together become some kind of freakish sex fetish, because I’ve been getting hundreds of hits from people using the search term “emo feet”.  I never understood the whole “foot fetish” thing anyway…personally, I think my feet (and feet in general) are kind of gross and would be repelled if anyone wanted to get off with them.  But adding emo into the mix, which I really don’t understand, well, that’s fucking weird.  Really.  Fucking.  Weird.

A little something for Saturday afternoon:

You can read the story behind the giant penis showing up at the Saratoga Springs High School graduation ceremony in NY right here.

My favorite quote from the story is “He appeared to have some difficulty eluding officers, however, due to the cumbersome layers of his costume, which covered him from head to foot”.  Though, if you ask me, “cumbersome layers” sounds more like it’s describing labia (here’s an NSFW site, too).

Apparently, and not being gay, I didn’t know this, but this week has been Gay Pride Week.  Which, based on my limited experience involving vaguely-recalled news stories, is pretty much an excuse for gay people to have parades that just serve to reinforce stereotypes.  It’s like if black people had a parade every February (Black History Month) featuring floats shaped like watermelons while they threw menthol cigarettes and fried chicken into the crowds lining the parade route.  Incidentally, this parade would be sponsored by some maker of “Orange Drank”.

But, reinforcement of age-old stereotypes or not (leather chaps, flaming demeanors and cocksucking), California did recently make gay marriage legal.  And now you can get an appropriate wedding cake:

What is up with me and ‘Shank getting bad service? It never fails…95% of the times we go out to eat anywhere, we get bad service.  Wednesday night was no exception, except we worked it to our advantage.

We’d been out to Fry’s and Central Market and were feelin’ a bit peckish, so we decided we’d stop by Posado’s in Frisco for some Mexican eating. It was maybe a bit of an omen when we arrived and the Frisco FD was there putting out a dumpster fire, but we soldiered on. A second bad omen was when there wasn’t a hostess to greet us and we waited like five minutes for a table.

She seated us in a section that had no other customers, which immediately meant we’d be forgotten about. And sure enough, no waiter appeared. And when two finally did wander into our section, they stood around bullshitting and ignoring us. WTF?

“You wanna go elsewhere?” I finally asked.

“Sure,” replied ‘Shank.

So we got up and I decided to find the manager. After another waiter hunted him down, I explained that we’d waited for like ten minutes to be helped while a couple of waiters just ignored us and we’d be leaving.

“Sorry about that, guys,” he replied, “we’ve had a bit of excitement out back.”

Which didn’t explain why the waiters up front ignored us.

“Sit back down and we’ll take care of your meals,” he offered.

We couldn’t refuse. Free food = awesomeness.

Our waiter, aware that we were angered, actually gave us decent service.

So, in this case, our bad service experience was rectified. Maybe that Buffalo Wild Wings manager that offered us a free dessert on the next visit should take note. Or just go to hell.

‘Shank sent over this video earlier…Lily Allen singing “Smile” in “Simlish”, the weird language from The Sims series of games.  Also, the video is “shot” using the game’s engine.