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My dear friend Red Jesus owes me a rather sizable sum of money and when I bought pizza tonight, it bumped up the tab ten bucks. “That’s $83 you owe me now,” I reminded him.
Being the kind of person who doesn’t like having debt hanging over his head, Red Jesus reached for his wallet. He didn’t have the $83 on him–but he had some cash and wanted to make a dent in his outstanding debt. “Here ya go,” he said and handed me some cash.
“Three bucks?” I said to him.
“You’ll get your money,” he said, tying to justify the smallest good-faith payment the world has ever seen. With deadbeats like that, who needs enemies?
Let’s dive into a quickie about the health care industry. Since Dr. Zaius and Sacred Heart Hospital tried killing me (which is another story I’d like to tell–but we’ll save that for different day), I wanna see a different doctor regarding my deviated septum. I don’t know why it took me two months to contact the insurance (maybe it’s because deep-down, I knew it’d be a pain in the ass). I called the insurance and explained my situation. Dr. Zaius said I had . . . . .
I can’t think of a bigger waste of space in California than carpool lanes (well, maybe golf courses). Carpool lanes are put on freeways to encourage commuters to rideshare. In theory, carpoolers are rewarded with a lane that has less traffic and shortens their commute. It sounds like a lovely idea and the intentions are honorable. Less cars on the road means a cleaner environment, decrease in freeway congestion, lowering of gas prices, and a more productive and happy workforce.
But it’s all a load of crap.
First of all, NO ONE in California carpools–at least not in SoCal. The Girlfriend and I both have the same employer. We both live in the same complex. Yet we each take separate cars to work because our shifts don’t start or end at the same time. Carpooling isn’t feasible because I’d end up sitting around with nothing to do for 90 minutes in the morning; she’d do the same in the afternoon. And we’re lucky enough to identical starting points and destinations.
The idea of strangers commuting together every morning is utterly ridiculous. Rush hour traffic is impossible–on and off the freeways. If I had to go two miles out of my . . . . .
I had a couple incidents today on the road that made me realize the world is full of idiots (okay, maybe I didn’t learn that today–but I needed something to open this topic). I went to a gas station for a fill up. The gas station was pretty busy and most terminals were full. Two spots opened on the same side of one island. I was behind a woman who pulled into the first spot…and stopped her car. Because she didn’t pull all the way up to the first pump, I had to drive all the way around the station and attempt to back into the spot. This whole thing coulda been avoided if she just pulled all the way up.
I know she had to see me behind her–she had to…otherwise she was completely clueless to her surroundings. Either she saw me or she forgot the whole looking-in-rearview-mirrors-thing they teach in driver’s ed. If she didn’t see me, I don’t wanna be anywhere near this dame when she makes a lane change.
I’m leaning towards she did see me–which means one of two things.
1) She saw me and didn’t think to pull up to the first pump.2) She . . . . .
I was at Disneyland with The Girlfriend trying to recuperate from the 451 degree temperature outside. We noticed a kid run by us, screaming with tears in his eyes. He was a tiny lad–The Girlfriend said he looked to be about three-years old but I’m never good at that sorta assessment. What I am good at is recognizing other people’s misery. The kid was bawling hysterically and my immediate assumption was the kid was lost. But then I saw a pack of 12-year old girls flock to his aid and figured one of them had to be his sister. The girls’ behavior struck me a particular. They kept their distance from the boy; trying to engage in conversation but were intentionally avoiding contact. A sister would pick up or hug her crying little brother. Something seemed amiss and that’s when I intervened.
“Is he lost,” I asked the girls.
They said yes and he started screaming “I want my mommy!”
“Where did you last see her?” He pointed in the direction he came from–completely far from where we were.
“We need to find a cast member.” With Disneyland routinely welcoming more than 40,000 guests a day, a lost child . . . . .
I want to start an activist campaign to abolish and outlaw all activist groups. I’m so sick of organizations grandstanding for their cause–no matter how ridiculous their demands may be. I’m tired of PETA feuding with KFC. I’m fed up with watching Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton protest the imprisonment of obviously guilty black men. I know I can be the only one. Enough is enough.
The latest is some autism group protesting “Big Brother.” I don’t watch the show so I can’t tellya what happened firsthand, but supposedly one contestant called someone else retarded. Immediately on the show he was lambasted for his insensitivity by other housemates and I would imagine the show didn’t paint him in a positive light.
Nevertheless, Autism United has decided to exploit this situation for its own benefit (and raise more money in the process). They’re demanding that CBS cancel the show immediately. Autism United is also encouraging advertisers to withdraw from sponsoring the show.
And to that, I say fat chance.
Like CBS is gonna cancel a highly-rated program at a time when few networks have original content. “Big Brother” has been on for eight years–and CBS is gonna pull it now because . . . . .
I got a phone call from a number I didn’t recognize last month. I answered the phone to a person who asked me if I speak Spanish.
“No,” I told him.
He asked me again. I’m not sure why (I’m pretty sure the Spanish translation of ‘no’ is ‘no’). Perhaps he though my answer might’ve change in the past two second.
“Why would I speak Spanish,” I asked him. “This is America–we speak English in America.”
“Hablas espanol?”
“Who is this,” I demanded. The guy must not’ve understood the question because he stuttered. I didn’t wait for him to respond. “Why are you calling me and asking me if I speak Spanish? I’m an American in America and I speak English–I don’t appreciate strangers calling me up and asking me if I speak Spanish.”
After a long pause (probably because he was using his pocket dictionary to translate what I said), he hung up the phone, ending the most unwanted phone conversation in the history of the world (no, I don’t think I’m overstating it).
My take on this isn’t exactly unique, but that won’t stop me from complaining. It really makes me mad how many people I come across . . . . .
I’d love to open and own my own Hooters restaurant. Breasts and hot chiks have nothing to do with it–I think the they’re just pure moneymakers. A few years ago, I had some friends who were obsessed with Hooters–they would go two or three times a week. Occasionally, I would go with them…only to be appalled by the ‘restaurant.’ The food was extremely overpriced; nothing came with French fries. A hot dog was like six bucks–and that was just the wiener. Sodas were like three bucks. Fries, cheese, or any additional toppings would cost you even more. Plus, the restaurant had a shady tactic to squeeze even more money out of you. If you ordered a plate of wings, the waitress would ask you “Would you like ranch, blue cheese, or barbeque sauce with that?” What she didn’t tell you is that dipping sauces cost 75 cents each.
Not even factoring busy crowds or big drinkers, the restaurant made significant money based on the food alone. Everything was ungawdly expensive yet no better in quality than anything you’d find at Denny’s (even the infamous wings are fatty and tough). The cost of food was a fraction of the price Hooters . . . . .
Nothing pisses me off more than walking out to my car after a long day of work only to find an advertisement tucked under my windshield wiper (‘cept maybe Kevin Costner movies and the Sprint corporation). I hate those flyer for about a million reasons. I think they should be illegal because they bring more harm than good. When I was a kid, my folks used to make me pass out flyers for their failing restaurant, but that has nothing to do with it.
I’m not a tree-hugging hippie–I like to shower and don’t smoke pot. But I despise waste. And to me, windshield wiper flyers are nothing but waste. They’re unsolicited ads that can’t possibly be efficient. How many windshield wiper flyers have influence your shopping habits? Suppose one in a hundred actually get customers into a store, it’s still terribly ineffective–and I don’t even think that many actually work.
Even more distressing, most folks who find an ad placed on their car don’t have trash cans with them. You can always tell when someone was placing ads on cars because the parking lot is littered with discarded flyers. Most folks simply take the unwanted ad off their car . . . . .
I lent The Girlfriend my credit card and she lost it. Well, technically, it was in my possession last. But because I gave it to her and she handed it back to me a day later, my rhythm was disrupted and I didn’t put the card where it belongs in my wallet. So you see, it’s all her fault: if I never gave her the card, I wouldn’tve lost it (or would that make it my fault for giving it to her?).
Anywhos, a lost credit card can be a bit of a pain because of all the things I have set up on autopay. I had to change the credit card on file with my landlord and other various companies that automatically bill me every month. A drag–but not impossible.
Unfortunately, the transition didn’t go as smoothly as I hoped. Even after I changed the credit card on file, T-Mobile kept sending me text messages, insisting that my bill couldn’t be processed. After logging on to T-Mobile’s website and confirming the card number had been changed, I had no choice but to call them up.
I’ve had very little complaints about T-Mobile. They’re not as bad as Sprint–but T-Mobile . . . . .
I saw a commercial the other day for pharmaceutical school. What sorta education is required to be a pharmacist? You gotta be able to find the medicine prescribed by the doctor–on your shelf–and you gotta be able to count out the number of pills he prescribes. As far as I can tell, all you need is basic reading and counting skills. Your average sixth grader oughta be able to do that. Pharmaceutical college? Yeah, it’s called grade school.
On November 7, 1991 Magic Johnson announced to the world he was HIV positive and retiring from the NBA. I remember that date (for some reason, I’m really good at remember the dates of bad things) and I’ll never forget the day. I was in school when rumors started running wild. I didn’t believe it until I got home and saw the news. Like every kid of that age, I idolized Magic and Bird–the two greatest basketball players to live (of course, that was before Jordan got good and started winning rings–but that’s neither here nor there).
November 7, 1991–more than 15 years ago. While it seemed like a death since back then, Magic certainly appears to be alive and well today. . . . . .
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