Porn Score and Seven Years Ago

Porn score and seven years ago.... Erk!!!  Actually that's not what I wanted to speak out about.  Although, one of the funniest things I ever came across in a record store was a compilation CD for the most popular porn music from the 1970s and 80s.  I never purchased it, of course, but just the thought that there was a demand for a movie soundtrack to be produced, always amused me some.  As if up to that point in time, people just watched porn to listen to the outstanding musical score.

Earlier, this afternoon when I was departing from work after a long, well-worked day, I was passed by one of the hundreds of Filipinos who are currently in the employ of the company that I work for too.  He was walking briskly with one hand over one ear and clenched a cell phone tightly in the other.  The conversation he was having was either a heated argument, or he was very passionate about the subject matter.  I couldn't understand a single word, as he was speaking in his native tongue.

I tend not to walk at a very fast pace.  I'm more a fan of moseying.  Being excited to leave at the end of the day, isn't lost on me, I just choose to relax a little more when walking out to my vehicle.  This unidentified Filipino, though, was in a hurry.  As he whisked by me, I overheard some of what he was saying.  It all sounded like gibberish, to me, but like I said, he was very animate about this conversation.  I swear to all that I hold dear to me, he uttered the following words, "Bow-Chicka-Bow-Bow".  I don't know what the f*ck that was but either something was lost in the translation or he was getting ready to shoot an amateur porno.  I doubt it was the latter, as Asians (and I'm sure Filipinos can be included), have tiny dicks.  Nobody wants to watch a dirty movie, if the guy has a tooth pick dangling between his thighs.  A tree trunk in a guys pants can be quite overwhelming and discouraging, too, sure but needle dicks?  Nah, I don't think so.

My point being is...:  How do you consider "Bow-chicka-bow-bow" a legitimate language?  They should simply abandon this language.  In fact, ANY language that sounds similar to (or exactly like) porn music, should be abandoned they way ancient languages had been discarded hundreds or even thousands of years ago!!

Chinese, Japanese, Korean and all points in between, sound like the bells ringing off in a f*ckin' pinball machine, drop the f*ckin' language.  If you're from the middle east and your language sounds like someone throwing up or trying desperately to clear their throat, then lose the f*cking language.  If your language sounds like the background music to Ron Jeremy tearing up some poor unsuspecting woman in a 1970s adult flick, then lose the f*cking language.  Even French is a stupid language.  It sounds like the gibberish people say to babies, thinking the child will find it cute and not think you're an idiot.

Someone gave me shit, once upon a time, on Facebook, when I said he lived in a Third World Country.  "I from Spain!!" he typed in reply, adding some mismanaged, poorly executed profanity.  This is when I stated to all of the Facebook world, and now I share this with all of you fine readers, after which, you'll think about it and realize that it's true.

ANY COUNTRY WHERE ENGLISH
IS NOT THE PRIMARY LANGUAGE, I CONSIDER TO BE
 A THIRD WORLD COUNTRY. 

English is such an awesome language.  Granted, it's probably the most difficult to learn as there are so many words that describe the same f*cking thing.  Then again, by using only one single term or phrase to describe an item or description, is pretty f*cking boring.  The written word is so much better too, not to mention easier to understand.  Unlike that tic-tac-toe looking shit that the Asians use for communication or the squiggly lines that the middle east uses.  That's probably why middle easterners are so angry and bombing shit all the time.  No one can understand their shit.

Everyone just need to relax.  Kick back with a cold one, listen to some Rosetta Stone or hit the books.  It's been said that if you listen to some relaxing instrumental music, that learning becomes easier.  I don't know how well it works with porn music playing in the background.

Wet and Juicy

I went and saw the most recent Jason Statham movie, "Parker" tonight.  I thought it was a decent flick.  It had great special effects and was filled to the nines with a shit load of blood and violence.  Everything that makes this boy laugh out heartily.  The movie co-starred Michael Chiklis (Vegas, The Shield), who was a fantastic villain and a formidable foe against Statham's character.  Jennifer Lopez also starred and for once, the sound of her voice didn't make me pray for deafness, nor did she make me want to gouge my f*cking eyes out.  (I don't find the whole 'ghetto booty' thing as attractive as so many others seem to.)  

The movie, itself, was fairly decent.  A formulated storyline, bad guy with a set of ethics, who's been wronged and he's out to get back at those who double-crossed him.  It's a story that's been told a million and one times, yet we, the movie going audience, still buy up that shit up.  The only real drawback that I found, was the company that were seated around me.

I like to see movies on my own sometimes.  After all, when the lights go out, nobody should be conversing anyway, so I don't see any big deal about it.  I like to find a nice seat that is centralized to the screen, but secluded enough that people won't sit near me.  I go early enough to find my place, but not so much that I'm sitting there like a f*cking idiot for too long.  This strategy usually works well enough, but was thwarted tonight.  I had a couple of guys sit directly in front of me, despite the entire row being open and free.  Thankfully the guy right in front of me was no taller than a garden gnome, but the other motherf*cker was freakishly big.  A great big dark fella who filled the space around him with a thick stench of smoke and buckskin.  Not cigarette smoke, but "throw another log on the..."  It was thick but I mustered through the pain. 

The next audience members to join the vicinity were a special couple.  They sat directly behind me, which is fine, as my view wouldn't be obscured any more than it already was.  However, they were chattery.  Actually the female of the two, was well-behaved and never muttered more than a couple of sentences before the previews began.  Her companion, on the other hand, wouldn't shut his f*cking mouth up during the previews and the first few scenes of the movie.  As each character appeared into frame, he'd announce to his row, practically, who was who and what was what.  I think someone finally shushed him into silence, but what followed was worse than the talking.

He'd cough, then clear his throat and if you thought the smoky buckskin clad fella in front of me stank, you clearly have never experienced someone with shit breath.  I kid you not!  He smelled like he not only ate a shit-sandwich for supper, but consumed an entire shit buffet.  When I was a kid growing up on the farm, there was a work horse there named JIM.  He was a nice enough horse, as horses go, I guess.  A gentle and kind demeanor that made him very approachable by us kids.  I mention Jim, only because he had a small problem with flatulence.  You'd be patting him down or running a comb over his back and I don't know if it relaxed him or what, but he'd let loose with a lengthy and very smelly fart that practically wrinkled his skin as it vacated his body.  The guy's breath who was seated behind me, smelled just like Jim's wet and juicy farts.

By the time the movie had begun, the small theater had filled to enough capacity that I was unable to find another seat that wouldn't put me practically on top of some one else, and even then it's a crap shoot (pardon the pun), as in the past, I've jumped from the frying pan into the fire and found myself in worse shape.  Kinda like that fella in front of me who smelled like he fell into a fire too.  Probably drunk... 

Hellacious Geysers

Pardon the pun, but HOLY CRAP!!!  Talk about a day from Hell.  I've only experienced one such day as this, once before, and at that time, I was only able to maneuver about town, seeking medical attention, if I were able to travel quick enough to a public washroom before the next terrorist attack in my pants.

Today I was inflicted with Montezuma's Revenge, as it is called by some describing a fiery discharge from one's pooper.  Although I've not visited Mexico recently or ever, the effects have been the same, however.  The culprit to blame for this serious and fiery condition, I suspect would be the discounted burritos I purchased from my local grocer.  By nature, I am a cheap bastard, so any opportunity to save a buck or so, I'll pounce on. Imagine my delight when I discovered the bean and beef burritos marked down by half at the grocery store down the street from my house.  For the store to discount any food item by 50%, the expiry date is most likely around the corner.  To my own fault, I probably should have consumed the food items that night, but instead I placed them in the refrigerator and forgot about them for a couple of weeks.  So when I came home last night after my visit with my physiotherapist, I was too spent to make any real meals for myself and resorted to finding something in my fridge.

On the bottom shelf, tucked way behind a couple packages of cheese slices, I rediscovered the burritos.  Throwing caution to the wind, I warmed those bastards up in the microwave and ate them for supper.  All seemed fine until about a quarter to four in the morning, when I was abruptly woken up by sharp pains in my abdomen.  I thought I was stricken with appendicitis.  That is until I quickly sprang to the adjoining bathroom.  Horrendous, was the feelings that followed.  In fact, what followed, continued from the wee-early morning, straight into the afternoon.  Thinking the worst was behind me, pardon the pun, I attempted to leave the house to seek medical attention, but quickly returned to the confines of my bathroom.

Since 4am, I've spent a majority of my time, perched upon the commode, emitting a hot burning substance I can only equate to liquid fire, and following up with what I can only compare to as steam.  My legs are cramped and I fear that the only true relief I'm going to feel in the hours that follow, is if I were to strip naked from the waste down and plant myself in the snowbank in front of my house.  I believe in global warming, as it is present and accounted for in my rear end.  Even at this moment, I find myself racing to and from the bathroom.  Thank goodness for Febreze air freshener spray.  Instead of smelling like a backed up sewer, the "After the Rain" scent makes my lavatory smell like...  I'll spare you the gory details on that...

Man On The Moon

I have the perfect body.  That is to say, that if this shitty body I have, can be defined as "perfect".  The norm would dictate otherwise, but I've come to the realization that no matter what sort of workout regiment or diet I was to commit to, my level of desirability to the opposite sex, will be null and void.  To elaborate further;  Even if I were to become the most physically fit fella in the city, I'd remain ugly as f*ck.  

No matter how much I squint, looking into the mirror, it is still my ugly mug that I see squinting back.  To be perfectly honest, I'm not even clear on the conquests I've already had in my life.  To the best of my knowledge, every one of these fantastic women have had good vision, therefore by simple deduction, I have to believe that it was charm and charisma that got me to share that special bond with them.  These days, however, I'm rarely faced with a situation that will allow me to impart my special characteristic.  It's rare that I converse with anyone at work, especially those of the female persuasion.

I was thinking the other day, that if I were the person I am today, back in high school, there's a good chance that I'd have been more popular than I was.  In high school, I was invisible.  A "living ghost" as it were.  Roaming the halls, too shy to speak to just about anyone.  I had friends, sure, but my place on the pecking order was near the bottom with the dog shit and spent chewing gum.  Whether that was the case, truly, it's how I've always perceived myself back then.

Nowadays, I don't have many opportunities to mingle with people.  Availing myself in a social situation, faced with any single women.  I've gone to the bar with friends, but really, does a person really wanna establish a relationship with some floozy who's half cut with her boobs bouncing out of her two-sizes too small shirt?  Not really.  Fun to watch from the corner of the booth, but I can't respect someone who doesn't respect themselves.  Although, as I type out these words, it would seem that I, too, have little self respect.  Not to mention that the premise of exchanging an intelligible conversation with a heavy bass pounding in the background is f*cking impossible.

I'm not that interesting, anyway.  Even with those I've already have an established friendship, I rarely have anything significant to share.  One of my best friends in the world, who ironically I only see once every few months, I never have anything that interesting to share when we do catch up.  He'll ask about what's new in my life, and I almost always have nothing to tell.  I work, I come home, I repeat.  Weekend comes and more times than not, I stay in the entire weekend.

As per my current situation of not meeting anyone, or having opportunities to engage anyone long enough to warrant a social outing of warm refreshments and a tasty meal, I suppose that's on me.  Ball's in my court, so to speak, but I honestly couldn't even tell you what sort of venues are out there for a single (unattractive) fella like me.  Go to a church?  Gimme a f*ckin' break!  Plus, I wouldn't feel right about seeing someone who believes so strongly in something that I find absolutely preposterous.  Online dating?  Not a chance.  I tried that years ago and got burned by one chick and then the other described herself as "athletic", but in reality was a chain-smoking battle tank.  I'm no prize, myself, as I've plainly pointed out, and definitely should not be throwing rocks from my glass house, but f*ck.  I'm not interested in cigarette-ash-stinkin' sibling of Jabba the Hut.

Another argument for winning the lottery would be my sudden attractiveness to women.  With a couple mill in my bank account would definitely make me much more attractive to women.  I know this is a shallow point, both on my account and theirs, but with enough zero's behind a number, would even make John Merrick* suddenly appear like Gerard Butler to the most finicky of women.  In the meantime, I think I could maybe get away with just wearing sunglasses everywhere.  Kind of like Belushi in The Blues Brothers.  Wearing my Raybans always make me feel better about myself anyway.  

The biggest frustration I feel, I think, is when I look around me and see all these other ugly motherf*ckers of equal or greater hideousness, partnered with an attractive significant other on their arm.  A special someone  with whom to spend time with, laugh with, converse with.  Someone to just be with.  That's all I'm really concerned with.  The physical aspects of any relationship is one thing, but someone to just be with.  A shoulder to lean on when the times are tough.  A smile to share a laugh with when the times are great.  I don't think that's too much to ask.  I just don't know how to do it, is all.  I believe that deep down, I'm a fairly decent guy.  I have a good job, own my house, and have an awesome head of hair.  I'm not perfect, this is true, but people seldom are.

It's been said by those who come out of a marriage and are faced with the single life once more, of having "ring rust", so to speak.  Having no idea on how to dive back into the dating pool.  I've never been married and I still have no f*cking clue....

.

*John Merrick was "The Elephant Man"* 

The Nastiness of Life

There's a lot of nasty shit in the world.  Most that people put up with on a daily basis, most of which, I couldn't f*cking deal with, myself, though.  Off the top of my head, pardon the pun, a hairdresser or barber.  I couldn't f*cking deal with all the f*ckin' hair.  My sister is a hairdresser, a profession that she enjoys thoroughly, but I can't fathom the idea of touching people's hair for a living.  I barely enjoy running my fingers through my own hair, let alone someone else's, and I have an awesome head of hair.  However, on my visits for haircuts, I watch as she (my sister) sweeps up all the hair that has collected on the floor and dispenses it into the garbage can, that is always steeped with pounds of discarded human hair.  Minimal amounts of that which is swept, escapes the broom and is left, tucked into nooks and corners of the room.  Small minuscule hairs, scattered about the room, similar to those of mine I discover on my shirt when I arrive at home.

Another gross practice is Wing Night at some of the local eateries.  While the flavoured chicken wings are (usually) quite tasty, I cringe when the waitress or busboy comes to collect the plates of discarded bones.  The collected bones varying from being completely devoured of every morsel of meat, to some with some skin and cartilage remaining, all however, covered with saliva and spit.  I try to assist in placing my own plate of bones on the tray and even then, am disgusted when a hint of my own drool grazes a digit.

The absolute worst feeling though, is that disgusting warm sensation when you sit down on a public toilet seat.  I use public facilities ONLY at times of absolute desperation and emergency.  In most cases, public restrooms are f*cking disgusting.  Veritable petri dishes of filth and germs, despite some poor shlub signing off that they've "thoroughly cleaned" the facility.  God forbid, if a person ever has to use a bathroom at a bar.  Holy Christ, I can't imagine the horror of realizing you need to drop a deuce there.  I don't know what the women's restrooms are like, but the men's room is almost always in some form of dilapidated state.

However, IF the need to use the public restroom presents itself, why the f*ck does the toilet seat need to be hot and sweaty?  What the f*ck was the predecessor forcing out of his ass that required that much intensity?   A f*cking Miata?  They sound like Bruce Banner turning into the Incredible Hulk.  "Oh no.  Oooh no!  Oooh God, no!!  Haah!!  Haaarrrrrrruuuuuuugh!!!"  Or perhaps, it is simply a case of a person taking some time out of their busy day to kick back and relax on the shitter? A moment or two from a hectic work day or a few fleeting moments away from the kids throwing tantrums...  Of all the f*cked up places to relax, why would you choose a public restroom?

It is a true rarity that I will find myself in the public restroom, of any establishment or shopping mall.  And if it is necessary to pay a visit, it's in and out in record time, because guaranteed, any longer than a minute and there's a unfortunate fool in the next stall, who is unleashing some kind of fury.  Sounds similar dumping a bucket of gravel into the bowl, masked only by the occasional grunt or groan of great strife.  I don't know what the f*ck these people eat that they need to strain themselves almost to the point of injury, but I'm staying the f*ck away from the food court, just to be on the safe side.

It's shit like this that keeps me pretty close to home.  It's bad enough driving in traffic with these f*ckin' people, but having to share space with them too?  No f*cking thank you....