You're right, I am not a doctor... But I'm good at puzzles -- I'm gonna take a crack at it.
And it's true, I am good at puzzles.
You ever goes years without talking to someone you don't like? Or maybe go a long time without eating a certain food, or going to a certain place? After a while, you can't remember what it is you don't like about that person/place/thing. Then you come in contact with the thing you don't like and remember why you stayed away. Well, I hadn't been to a doctor in a real long time.
And now I remember why I don't like them. Besides the fact they prescribe "rest" for everything wrong with you, there's other things. For instance, my doctor told me I needed to come in at 7:30 this morning, when the lab opened, to get my blood test done. Otherwise, I would wind up waiting forever to get it done when I got there later in the day. I don't know if I have made this clear, but there is absolutely nothing I wake up early for. So a blood test where I have to wake up at 7 a.m. just wasn't happening. I got there at 11:30, and was out of there by 11:40. My doctor wanted me to roll out of the rack at 7 for nothing. I get there, fill out some shit, get a needle in my arm, get some blood drained. Peace out, assholes.
But wait, they want my pee, too.
Anyone who knows me is well aware of my ability to do two things on command -- pee and get an erection. Amazingly, a cool breeze can cause either of those things to happen. Whatever. I was only here for some blood work, but I'll squeeze out a few drops of my golden liquid just for you. I pee, give it to her, and I'm ready to leave. But wait! One final test! "OK, when you get home, you need to take these and smear your feces on these boxes and bring it back in three days."
"Ummmm, what?"
"These" were little wooden sticks that look like the chopsticks you get in a restaurant where you have to break them apart to use them. She told me that I needed to stick them in my poop and "smear" them on this card. What the fuck, man? I wish you could have seen me walking home from the doctor with this plastic bag filled with a poop smear card and some chopsticks. It felt like back when I was in middle school and teachers sent me home with notes to my parents telling them what terrible thing I did that day. I wondered why I was even bringing this home. I could just throw it away and no one would know. I don't want to smear my poop!
After I decided that I was just crapping once and smearing it three times and being done with it, I started having other questions. What am I supposed to crap into? A bucket? Some tupperware? A paper plate? And after I smear the card, where do I keep the card with the poop on it? In the fridge? Seriously, where? Wait, I do most of my crapping at school. Am I going to crap on a napkin at school? And shit, where do I keep the shit card at school? In my backpack? Fuck this. I'm crapping once on Monday and smearing it on all three days and going back that day. I went to a doctor's office this morning hoping just to find out what my cholesterol is, or maybe if all the drinking had finally killed my liver. Instead, I'm going to be popping a squat in my living room over a paper plate.
I'll be selling the video for $19.99.
I have officially determined that somewhere deep down inside of me, i have a problem. An actual real, probably not made up, disorder. But the good news is that i can finally admit it. Everyone else around me has known all along, but the truth is now out. I'm retarded... I'll let that sink in for a minute.
See here is the thing, all my life I have wanted something I can't have, and when I finally get it, It turns out to be not that great... I know I am not the only one out there on this one. Maybe I will start some sort of "I am never, ever, satisfied with anything in my life anonymous" group. I would attend for the first few sessions, til it got old anyway. Just to give a real world example of this we will take Girl A. I have no attraction to Girl A whatsoever. She actually asked me out a few times and I got busy. Girl A now is dating someone else. I am in love with said Girl A. This might be normal. I'm not sure since I can barely stand myself for more than a few hours without some sort of medication or sedative. And I know reading about this is about as exciting as watching your grandparents fight over who gets to use the teeth tonite, but it is what is on my mind.
Sports Fans, this is the saddest week of the year. NFL season is all but done with, only if you count the Pro Bowl, which I don't (and sadly Peyton Manning hasnt overdosed on gay porn, or died in a fiery plane crash... yet). College football is done. If you are a college hoops fan you still have rivalry week coming up, but after that what do you have? A few descent college basketball games per month mixed in with hours of monotonous NBA, and MLB. How does one do it? Not to mention arena football is about to kickoff again. This is why more people kill themselves in the winter months. Not because of the lack of sunlight, or the absolute lack of any kind of real seasons in Tennessee, but because the holidays are done and Santa isnt coming back for a long long time. As far as the Super Bowl goes, I didnt really care who won just as long as Manning never played another down in his life. Needless to say, I am still disapointed. And I also bet on the beloved bears because the last time they won I was only able to cry and shit on myself, nothing wrong with wetting the bed at 15 (just joking, It was in 1984, they still counted my age in months at that time. and the answer was less than 5 months old)
During the Super Bowl, other than the shity ads this year, there were a few things that got on my nerves. One being the rain and two being the dumbass signs in the crowd. I understand that some people really want to be on TV. For me personally, I don't think it's worth it to look like a douchebag for 3 hours just so that ESPN will show your "Sportscenter is Next" sign for 4 seconds in the tenth frame of the PBA Omaha Open. Just like I won't sell my cow for magic beans, I won't trade sucking TNT's dick for an entire Spurs game just to get my face on Inside the NBA. But if you are going to accept that trade-off, there have to be SOME rules. The only one I have for now is that you have to spell the network's acronym with the first letters of the words on your sign. For example:
Eagles
Sack
Pennington
Now
= acceptable
lEbron
jameS
Peed
oN me
= unacceptable
The retarded autistic guy that runs out to pick up the stand after kickoffs, which with any luck will be me in 3 to 7 years, can come up with a four word sign with the letters E, S, P, and N sprinkled somewhere throughout the words. Now all he needs is a non-toxic marker, a pair of safety scissors, and your ticket and you two are interchangeable. Stay off of my TV retards.
We need to start showing animals who's the boss. And by showing them who's the boss, I don't mean strapping them down in front of TVs while Tony and Angela have a light-hearted debate about gender roles in 1980's America. Although I don't think anyone would argue the fact that that would also be a very good idea. Anyway, to get back on topic, humane treatment of animals has gotten out of hand. I've even seen restaurants advertise that the animals that they serve were treated ethically. Well guess what, they are still fucking dead and you killed them. I say, fuck that. I'm starting my own chain of restaurants that will openly disregard hygiene, laws, and widely accepted moral standards. It will be delicious and only serve based on my wants and needs. Which will accomadate everyone with the exceptions of minority, and white people. As long as you dont fall into that category you will be covered! Because at Brad's Chicken Shack, you have it the way nature intended, dead and painful. Brad's Chicken Shack: "They Don't Understand They're Being Killed, They Just Know It Hurts."
The hot story over the last several years were about young female teachers having sex with their students. And for the most part, these were really hot teachers, nothing at all like that butch girls' gym teacher that used to molest me when I was in school. But that's old news. Now, I've seen a number of stories about mothers who hook up with their son's friends. Back when I was growing up, guys would talk a good game. We'd rip on each other and claim that we had hooked up with our friends' mothers, sometimes even claiming to have breached the space-time continuum, and that were actually our friends' father. Then we'd tell them to mow the lawn or something so that we could mack on their moms.
But that was just fantasy, ok? It was just healthy male bonding. There's a huge difference between fantasy and reality (its the same reason noone can have a healthy realtionship with Pamela Anderson or Halle Berry, too many fantasies involved). No one actually did it, right?
Not anymore. This mom had a sex and alcohol party in her son's honor where she hooked up with one of his friends. This mom had an ongoing relationship with her son's 15 year-old friend. This woman, hooked up with her son's best friend with one of her kids in the room. So while I'm hoping these stories are merely examples of aberrant behavior, the fact is that some guys are breaching the Holiest of Holy Grails. As a teen, I may have fantasized about breaching the very same vessel which once housed a good friend, but I would never have actually done it (or I never had the opportunity, it was definitely one of the two, more likely the second though). But kids are doing it these days.
It's no wonder Playstation 3's aren't selling that well.
Is this conversation going on in our neighborhoods?
Wanna play Halo?
Nah.
Want to go to the movies?
Nah.
What do you want to do then?
I don't know... I was thinking about hooking up with your mom.
(pause) Again? Well ok, but just remember I'm crashing at your place next weekend.
So kids remember, friends do not let friends have carnal relations with their mothers.
Anyways, I have a first edition Nintendo with trackpad at my apartment right now and my childhood memories are flooding back to me. Its exactly like hurricane Katrina. but no one died or lost their home or irreplacable possessions. But, you know, similar.
(completley unacceptable)
You ever goes years without talking to someone you don't like? Or maybe go a long time without eating a certain food, or going to a certain place? After a while, you can't remember what it is you don't like about that person/place/thing. Then you come in contact with the thing you don't like and remember why you stayed away. Well, I hadn't been to a doctor in a real long time.
And now I remember why I don't like them. Besides the fact they prescribe "rest" for everything wrong with you, there's other things. For instance, my doctor told me I needed to come in at 7:30 this morning, when the lab opened, to get my blood test done. Otherwise, I would wind up waiting forever to get it done when I got there later in the day. I don't know if I have made this clear, but there is absolutely nothing I wake up early for. So a blood test where I have to wake up at 7 a.m. just wasn't happening. I got there at 11:30, and was out of there by 11:40. My doctor wanted me to roll out of the rack at 7 for nothing. I get there, fill out some shit, get a needle in my arm, get some blood drained. Peace out, assholes.
But wait, they want my pee, too.
Anyone who knows me is well aware of my ability to do two things on command -- pee and get an erection. Amazingly, a cool breeze can cause either of those things to happen. Whatever. I was only here for some blood work, but I'll squeeze out a few drops of my golden liquid just for you. I pee, give it to her, and I'm ready to leave. But wait! One final test! "OK, when you get home, you need to take these and smear your feces on these boxes and bring it back in three days."
"Ummmm, what?"
"These" were little wooden sticks that look like the chopsticks you get in a restaurant where you have to break them apart to use them. She told me that I needed to stick them in my poop and "smear" them on this card. What the fuck, man? I wish you could have seen me walking home from the doctor with this plastic bag filled with a poop smear card and some chopsticks. It felt like back when I was in middle school and teachers sent me home with notes to my parents telling them what terrible thing I did that day. I wondered why I was even bringing this home. I could just throw it away and no one would know. I don't want to smear my poop!
After I decided that I was just crapping once and smearing it three times and being done with it, I started having other questions. What am I supposed to crap into? A bucket? Some tupperware? A paper plate? And after I smear the card, where do I keep the card with the poop on it? In the fridge? Seriously, where? Wait, I do most of my crapping at school. Am I going to crap on a napkin at school? And shit, where do I keep the shit card at school? In my backpack? Fuck this. I'm crapping once on Monday and smearing it on all three days and going back that day. I went to a doctor's office this morning hoping just to find out what my cholesterol is, or maybe if all the drinking had finally killed my liver. Instead, I'm going to be popping a squat in my living room over a paper plate.
I'll be selling the video for $19.99.
I have officially determined that somewhere deep down inside of me, i have a problem. An actual real, probably not made up, disorder. But the good news is that i can finally admit it. Everyone else around me has known all along, but the truth is now out. I'm retarded... I'll let that sink in for a minute.
See here is the thing, all my life I have wanted something I can't have, and when I finally get it, It turns out to be not that great... I know I am not the only one out there on this one. Maybe I will start some sort of "I am never, ever, satisfied with anything in my life anonymous" group. I would attend for the first few sessions, til it got old anyway. Just to give a real world example of this we will take Girl A. I have no attraction to Girl A whatsoever. She actually asked me out a few times and I got busy. Girl A now is dating someone else. I am in love with said Girl A. This might be normal. I'm not sure since I can barely stand myself for more than a few hours without some sort of medication or sedative. And I know reading about this is about as exciting as watching your grandparents fight over who gets to use the teeth tonite, but it is what is on my mind.
Sports Fans, this is the saddest week of the year. NFL season is all but done with, only if you count the Pro Bowl, which I don't (and sadly Peyton Manning hasnt overdosed on gay porn, or died in a fiery plane crash... yet). College football is done. If you are a college hoops fan you still have rivalry week coming up, but after that what do you have? A few descent college basketball games per month mixed in with hours of monotonous NBA, and MLB. How does one do it? Not to mention arena football is about to kickoff again. This is why more people kill themselves in the winter months. Not because of the lack of sunlight, or the absolute lack of any kind of real seasons in Tennessee, but because the holidays are done and Santa isnt coming back for a long long time. As far as the Super Bowl goes, I didnt really care who won just as long as Manning never played another down in his life. Needless to say, I am still disapointed. And I also bet on the beloved bears because the last time they won I was only able to cry and shit on myself, nothing wrong with wetting the bed at 15 (just joking, It was in 1984, they still counted my age in months at that time. and the answer was less than 5 months old)
During the Super Bowl, other than the shity ads this year, there were a few things that got on my nerves. One being the rain and two being the dumbass signs in the crowd. I understand that some people really want to be on TV. For me personally, I don't think it's worth it to look like a douchebag for 3 hours just so that ESPN will show your "Sportscenter is Next" sign for 4 seconds in the tenth frame of the PBA Omaha Open. Just like I won't sell my cow for magic beans, I won't trade sucking TNT's dick for an entire Spurs game just to get my face on Inside the NBA. But if you are going to accept that trade-off, there have to be SOME rules. The only one I have for now is that you have to spell the network's acronym with the first letters of the words on your sign. For example:
Eagles
Sack
Pennington
Now
= acceptable
lEbron
jameS
Peed
oN me
= unacceptable
The retarded autistic guy that runs out to pick up the stand after kickoffs, which with any luck will be me in 3 to 7 years, can come up with a four word sign with the letters E, S, P, and N sprinkled somewhere throughout the words. Now all he needs is a non-toxic marker, a pair of safety scissors, and your ticket and you two are interchangeable. Stay off of my TV retards.
We need to start showing animals who's the boss. And by showing them who's the boss, I don't mean strapping them down in front of TVs while Tony and Angela have a light-hearted debate about gender roles in 1980's America. Although I don't think anyone would argue the fact that that would also be a very good idea. Anyway, to get back on topic, humane treatment of animals has gotten out of hand. I've even seen restaurants advertise that the animals that they serve were treated ethically. Well guess what, they are still fucking dead and you killed them. I say, fuck that. I'm starting my own chain of restaurants that will openly disregard hygiene, laws, and widely accepted moral standards. It will be delicious and only serve based on my wants and needs. Which will accomadate everyone with the exceptions of minority, and white people. As long as you dont fall into that category you will be covered! Because at Brad's Chicken Shack, you have it the way nature intended, dead and painful. Brad's Chicken Shack: "They Don't Understand They're Being Killed, They Just Know It Hurts."
The hot story over the last several years were about young female teachers having sex with their students. And for the most part, these were really hot teachers, nothing at all like that butch girls' gym teacher that used to molest me when I was in school. But that's old news. Now, I've seen a number of stories about mothers who hook up with their son's friends. Back when I was growing up, guys would talk a good game. We'd rip on each other and claim that we had hooked up with our friends' mothers, sometimes even claiming to have breached the space-time continuum, and that were actually our friends' father. Then we'd tell them to mow the lawn or something so that we could mack on their moms.
But that was just fantasy, ok? It was just healthy male bonding. There's a huge difference between fantasy and reality (its the same reason noone can have a healthy realtionship with Pamela Anderson or Halle Berry, too many fantasies involved). No one actually did it, right?
Not anymore. This mom had a sex and alcohol party in her son's honor where she hooked up with one of his friends. This mom had an ongoing relationship with her son's 15 year-old friend. This woman, hooked up with her son's best friend with one of her kids in the room. So while I'm hoping these stories are merely examples of aberrant behavior, the fact is that some guys are breaching the Holiest of Holy Grails. As a teen, I may have fantasized about breaching the very same vessel which once housed a good friend, but I would never have actually done it (or I never had the opportunity, it was definitely one of the two, more likely the second though). But kids are doing it these days.
It's no wonder Playstation 3's aren't selling that well.
Is this conversation going on in our neighborhoods?
Wanna play Halo?
Nah.
Want to go to the movies?
Nah.
What do you want to do then?
I don't know... I was thinking about hooking up with your mom.
(pause) Again? Well ok, but just remember I'm crashing at your place next weekend.
So kids remember, friends do not let friends have carnal relations with their mothers.
Anyways, I have a first edition Nintendo with trackpad at my apartment right now and my childhood memories are flooding back to me. Its exactly like hurricane Katrina. but no one died or lost their home or irreplacable possessions. But, you know, similar.
(completley unacceptable)
posted by Brad at
11:22 AM
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