Monday, May 20, 2013
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Indian CBN My Ass!
I guess it was about 2005-06, I lived in this little shitty apartment in North Arlington. My living situation with my girlfriend at the time had come to an abrupt end, (like get the fuck out abrupt, lol) and I was not about to couch surf with my friends. A good friend of mine was a leasing agent at the complex and she pretty much got me in the dungeon in less than 24 hours. I lovingly call it the dungeon, because the shit was underground. You literally had to walk DOWN two flights of stairs from street level to get to it. I could have survived a nuclear attack it was so deep down. And it was cold as fuck year round, because heat rises. Smell doesn't though. Sweet baby Jesus it doesn't. Every time somebody decided to cook with an exotic spice from some hut in the Middle East, I wanted to vomit. Or if they took a dump. I really couldn't tell the difference.
And everybody who lived in my building was seedy as fuck. My upstairs neighbors were some teenagers that fought 24/7, who one time threw a land line phone out of the window that was still plugged into the wall. Instead of hitting the ground, as I assume was the plan, the damn thing swung back towards the building and busted my bedroom window out like a super hero who just found a villain's hideout. Then there was the 300 lb lady across the hall who had 10 kids like the little old lady who lived in the shoe. I don't think they were all hers, I prefer to think that Peter Pan was on his way to Never Never Land with a new group of Lost Boys, realized how fucked off those kids were, and just left them with a lady in a North Arlington ghetto who looked liked she had plenty of food. And was always offering her across the hall neighbor blow jobs. ALWAYS. And the Indian family who lived 8 deep in one bedroom apartment that moved in about a month after I did.
Pretty much the day I was moving into the apartment, I met a dude who had a Dish Network sticker on the side of his truck. He was the neighborhood hustle man, offering every channel on satellite at the base package rate, plus $50 extra for him. His hustle game must have been strong, because EVERY apartment had a dish on the balcony. It was awesome. 24/7 sports, cartoons, and porn. My childhood dreams come true. But as I've learned, most bootleg hookups in life come with a caveat, the karmic fine print if you will. And the attached fine print to the cable hookup was that since the Dish guy couldn't register all the receivers, people's signals were on the same frequency. That meant you could be watching a program, and your television would magically change itself because the next door neighbor wanted to watch something different.
I never had a problem with my channels changing initially, because the old lady in the shoe couldn't afford satellite, and the upstairs kids were to busy screwing and fighting to ever watch TV. But the Indian family wasn't. As soon as they moved in, my shit was fucked. I'd be watching ESPN, and all of a sudden my TV would change to a Bollywood spectacular. I could change their TV too, so it would devolve into a channel tug of war that I would always win. See, apparently they had found all the Indian religious stations, and would watch them ALL DAY LONG. Whenever my TV would switch to one of the stations they watched I would let it stay there for a few moments. The shit was fascinating. The Indian version of the 700 Club would be on, and their version of Billy Graham would put the hands of Shiva fellowship on the people in his church , and they would catch the Holy Ghost. But instead of shouting and hopping around, they would start belly dancing. Greatest shit I've ever seen.
But the shit got annoying as hell. Playing television musical chairs while I was trying to watch a Mavericks, Rangers, or Cowboys game was not hot on the streets to me. Imagine watching a playoff game with the game winning shot about to be taken, and just because the neighbor's taxicab driving shift ended (not being racist, everyone in that flat drove for Yellowcab), you have to watch Slumdog Millionaire on a constant loop. Fuck a bunch of that shit. I would sit in my subterranean lair thinking, these cats are really over the top religious, how can I make them stop watching Mumbai Creflo Dollar everyday? Then it dawned on me, I get EVERY porn channel for free. Game time.
I can still remember the exact day and time that I heard the most terrifying real life scream I've ever heard in my life. Wednesday, February 1, 2006. The Dallas Mavericks were playing the Memphis Grizzlies. It was a close game between two mediocre teams, but it came down to a last second shot. A last second shot that I didn't get to see, because the neighbors got home and decided that it was late night worship time. I was fed up. I vividly remember saying aloud to myself,"Indian CBN my ass!" I don't remember the name of the movie I switched it to, but it had something about gangbang and grease in the title. Roughly 2 seconds after I switched the channel, I heard a loud thud and crash through the walls, and a scream like somebody had just seen Jasonchuckyfreddycandyman under their bed. about 2 minutes later, I heard their front door slam, and what sounded like a shittily maintained yellow Caravan burn out of the parking lot. And I never had a problem with my channels being changed again. I can only assume that the thud and crash I heard was their piece of crap TV, but I'm pretty sure the car peeling out was somebody headed to the hospital from fainting. And I giggled myself to sleep.
I miss living in the Wack Cave sometimes, but the only reason this story popped into my mind is this article I just read about Dish Network trying to purchase Sprint http://www.usatoday.com/story/money/business/2013/04/15/dish-sprint-nextel-bid/2083523/ . I'm hoping they've gotten their frequency/ channel game together, because I really don't want to get a sext from some random Indian dude whose life I sent into a degenerate spiral by changing his worship time to some NBA players tag teaming a 4ft11 Asian woman that was dressed like a Dragonball Z character. I never said I changed the channel back to the game, did I? 'Nite folks!
And everybody who lived in my building was seedy as fuck. My upstairs neighbors were some teenagers that fought 24/7, who one time threw a land line phone out of the window that was still plugged into the wall. Instead of hitting the ground, as I assume was the plan, the damn thing swung back towards the building and busted my bedroom window out like a super hero who just found a villain's hideout. Then there was the 300 lb lady across the hall who had 10 kids like the little old lady who lived in the shoe. I don't think they were all hers, I prefer to think that Peter Pan was on his way to Never Never Land with a new group of Lost Boys, realized how fucked off those kids were, and just left them with a lady in a North Arlington ghetto who looked liked she had plenty of food. And was always offering her across the hall neighbor blow jobs. ALWAYS. And the Indian family who lived 8 deep in one bedroom apartment that moved in about a month after I did.
Pretty much the day I was moving into the apartment, I met a dude who had a Dish Network sticker on the side of his truck. He was the neighborhood hustle man, offering every channel on satellite at the base package rate, plus $50 extra for him. His hustle game must have been strong, because EVERY apartment had a dish on the balcony. It was awesome. 24/7 sports, cartoons, and porn. My childhood dreams come true. But as I've learned, most bootleg hookups in life come with a caveat, the karmic fine print if you will. And the attached fine print to the cable hookup was that since the Dish guy couldn't register all the receivers, people's signals were on the same frequency. That meant you could be watching a program, and your television would magically change itself because the next door neighbor wanted to watch something different.
I never had a problem with my channels changing initially, because the old lady in the shoe couldn't afford satellite, and the upstairs kids were to busy screwing and fighting to ever watch TV. But the Indian family wasn't. As soon as they moved in, my shit was fucked. I'd be watching ESPN, and all of a sudden my TV would change to a Bollywood spectacular. I could change their TV too, so it would devolve into a channel tug of war that I would always win. See, apparently they had found all the Indian religious stations, and would watch them ALL DAY LONG. Whenever my TV would switch to one of the stations they watched I would let it stay there for a few moments. The shit was fascinating. The Indian version of the 700 Club would be on, and their version of Billy Graham would put the hands of Shiva fellowship on the people in his church , and they would catch the Holy Ghost. But instead of shouting and hopping around, they would start belly dancing. Greatest shit I've ever seen.
But the shit got annoying as hell. Playing television musical chairs while I was trying to watch a Mavericks, Rangers, or Cowboys game was not hot on the streets to me. Imagine watching a playoff game with the game winning shot about to be taken, and just because the neighbor's taxicab driving shift ended (not being racist, everyone in that flat drove for Yellowcab), you have to watch Slumdog Millionaire on a constant loop. Fuck a bunch of that shit. I would sit in my subterranean lair thinking, these cats are really over the top religious, how can I make them stop watching Mumbai Creflo Dollar everyday? Then it dawned on me, I get EVERY porn channel for free. Game time.
I can still remember the exact day and time that I heard the most terrifying real life scream I've ever heard in my life. Wednesday, February 1, 2006. The Dallas Mavericks were playing the Memphis Grizzlies. It was a close game between two mediocre teams, but it came down to a last second shot. A last second shot that I didn't get to see, because the neighbors got home and decided that it was late night worship time. I was fed up. I vividly remember saying aloud to myself,"Indian CBN my ass!" I don't remember the name of the movie I switched it to, but it had something about gangbang and grease in the title. Roughly 2 seconds after I switched the channel, I heard a loud thud and crash through the walls, and a scream like somebody had just seen Jasonchuckyfreddycandyman under their bed. about 2 minutes later, I heard their front door slam, and what sounded like a shittily maintained yellow Caravan burn out of the parking lot. And I never had a problem with my channels being changed again. I can only assume that the thud and crash I heard was their piece of crap TV, but I'm pretty sure the car peeling out was somebody headed to the hospital from fainting. And I giggled myself to sleep.
I miss living in the Wack Cave sometimes, but the only reason this story popped into my mind is this article I just read about Dish Network trying to purchase Sprint http://www.usatoday.com/story/money/business/2013/04/15/dish-sprint-nextel-bid/2083523/ . I'm hoping they've gotten their frequency/ channel game together, because I really don't want to get a sext from some random Indian dude whose life I sent into a degenerate spiral by changing his worship time to some NBA players tag teaming a 4ft11 Asian woman that was dressed like a Dragonball Z character. I never said I changed the channel back to the game, did I? 'Nite folks!
Saturday, March 30, 2013
This is why we can't have nice things...
OK, let's try this again. Back in the olden times, before Myspace, before Twitter, and before Facebook, I tried this blogging thing. It was fun, but the ease of established social media sites was more enticing than sitting down and punching out a blog everyday. My mind is always going, and the ability to just quickly jot down whatever pops in my head and share it with people that i think are intelligent enough to enjoy them seemed like a good idea at the time. But what I didn't take into account was, that for me to share my thoughts with people on the aforementioned sites, I would have to acquiesce to the fact that I have to see/read their post and or comments. And 95% of the people that participate on social media sites are moderately functional retards. I'm not trying to us the word "retard" in a derogatory fashion. I really mean that if they actually tested some of you at a lab, by the time the test was over you would be given a boxer's headgear, only allowed to wear sweatpants and Velcro shoes, and would receive a monthly check to keep you out of the workforce. And it makes me sad as fuck.
Every time I look at social media sites (sms from here on out), all I see are liars, hatemongers, whores, puppets who regurgitate everything they see on the news or sms without any research or info, HORRIBLE parents, people who read and write on a third grade level, 30K a year millionaires, and sociopaths that need to be on a government watch list. The best way I can describe my feeling on sms is to appropriate Dr. Ian Malcolm's quote from Jurassic Park; "If I may... Um, I'll tell you the problem with the scientific power that you're using here, it didn't require any discipline to attain it. You read what others had done and you took the next step. You didn't earn the knowledge for yourselves, so you don't take any responsibility for it. You stood on the shoulders of geniuses to accomplish something as fast as you could, and before you even knew what you had, you patented it, and packaged it, and slapped it on a plastic lunchbox, and now.." Well now, all I want to do is stand in the corner like the Mike in the Blair Witch Project, and wait for somebody to put a hatchet into the back of my head anytime I look at sms. But I can't look away. The car wreck that is sms is just too beautiful not to stare at, the dusty Faces of Death VHS tape on the top shelf of the closet that you save for special occasions. Fucking real life Bum Fights.
I can't explain with any reasonable sense why I still participate with sms, because the more I'm involved, the less social I become in real life. The more I hate people for the flat out ignorant shit they say, do, think is cute, or funny. It's not . Can anyone please explain to me the burning need to comment on everything a person post, the feeble attempts at comedic remarks, or the need to be a contrarian and correct what other people say. Especially when a person is obviously being sarcastic/funny? There's a reason I RARELY reply to comments on things that I post. Because if I did, it would be a Napalm attack on the dumb ass shit people think they need to add to what I just shared with you. Here's a hint for correct sms etiquette as it pertains to me; if the post isn't in the form of a question, step away from the keyboard. I've been on Facebook since 2006, and I average about 7-10, comments on other people post a year. Why is that?
1. I honestly don't read other peoples Facebook post. I generally just think that whatever I have to say is more important and funnier than anything else anyone has to say as it pertains to my everyday life.
2. English is my first language. I don't know how to read Ebonics, Text speak, or kindergartner. And I refuse to validate blatant laziness and wanton stupidity.
3. I don't enjoy hating people, but the more I see on there, the more people I despise.
And here's my number 1 pet peeve on sms; People who do nothing but complain all the time about their lives and how shitty it is. Don't get me wrong, we all get kicked in the nuts from time to time. Bad shit happens. You have to get over it. Life can be awesome as fuck if you allow it to be. And ultimately, the only people who want to hear you bitch and moan are the people waiting in the wings to savor your failures. About 6 months ago I was at the lowest point of my life, for a variety of reasons. I only really opened up to one person on how bad things were, and they flat out told me that complaining made them think less of me, and that it was disappointing. It stung like a bitch and really made me rethink some of my relationships, but it was true. Basically no one wants to hear that shit. Suck it the
fuck up and make your situation better. Or don't. Either way, I don't give a shit.
Aaaaaaaaannnnndddd, that's my first blog rant! Now that that is out of the way, just a few things to look forward to in my blogging future. Movie reviews. Sports Talk. Fun website suggestions. Wild Ass stories of things I've seen and done. And things that are just too much to share on sms. And I promise 99% of the post won't be this negative. But I do plan on sticking with this for a while so hang around for a bit, it'll be worth it. Bitches.
Every time I look at social media sites (sms from here on out), all I see are liars, hatemongers, whores, puppets who regurgitate everything they see on the news or sms without any research or info, HORRIBLE parents, people who read and write on a third grade level, 30K a year millionaires, and sociopaths that need to be on a government watch list. The best way I can describe my feeling on sms is to appropriate Dr. Ian Malcolm's quote from Jurassic Park; "If I may... Um, I'll tell you the problem with the scientific power that you're using here, it didn't require any discipline to attain it. You read what others had done and you took the next step. You didn't earn the knowledge for yourselves, so you don't take any responsibility for it. You stood on the shoulders of geniuses to accomplish something as fast as you could, and before you even knew what you had, you patented it, and packaged it, and slapped it on a plastic lunchbox, and now.." Well now, all I want to do is stand in the corner like the Mike in the Blair Witch Project, and wait for somebody to put a hatchet into the back of my head anytime I look at sms. But I can't look away. The car wreck that is sms is just too beautiful not to stare at, the dusty Faces of Death VHS tape on the top shelf of the closet that you save for special occasions. Fucking real life Bum Fights.
I can't explain with any reasonable sense why I still participate with sms, because the more I'm involved, the less social I become in real life. The more I hate people for the flat out ignorant shit they say, do, think is cute, or funny. It's not . Can anyone please explain to me the burning need to comment on everything a person post, the feeble attempts at comedic remarks, or the need to be a contrarian and correct what other people say. Especially when a person is obviously being sarcastic/funny? There's a reason I RARELY reply to comments on things that I post. Because if I did, it would be a Napalm attack on the dumb ass shit people think they need to add to what I just shared with you. Here's a hint for correct sms etiquette as it pertains to me; if the post isn't in the form of a question, step away from the keyboard. I've been on Facebook since 2006, and I average about 7-10, comments on other people post a year. Why is that?
1. I honestly don't read other peoples Facebook post. I generally just think that whatever I have to say is more important and funnier than anything else anyone has to say as it pertains to my everyday life.
2. English is my first language. I don't know how to read Ebonics, Text speak, or kindergartner. And I refuse to validate blatant laziness and wanton stupidity.
3. I don't enjoy hating people, but the more I see on there, the more people I despise.
And here's my number 1 pet peeve on sms; People who do nothing but complain all the time about their lives and how shitty it is. Don't get me wrong, we all get kicked in the nuts from time to time. Bad shit happens. You have to get over it. Life can be awesome as fuck if you allow it to be. And ultimately, the only people who want to hear you bitch and moan are the people waiting in the wings to savor your failures. About 6 months ago I was at the lowest point of my life, for a variety of reasons. I only really opened up to one person on how bad things were, and they flat out told me that complaining made them think less of me, and that it was disappointing. It stung like a bitch and really made me rethink some of my relationships, but it was true. Basically no one wants to hear that shit. Suck it the
fuck up and make your situation better. Or don't. Either way, I don't give a shit.
Aaaaaaaaannnnndddd, that's my first blog rant! Now that that is out of the way, just a few things to look forward to in my blogging future. Movie reviews. Sports Talk. Fun website suggestions. Wild Ass stories of things I've seen and done. And things that are just too much to share on sms. And I promise 99% of the post won't be this negative. But I do plan on sticking with this for a while so hang around for a bit, it'll be worth it. Bitches.
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