Life on the Outside
The Sweet Release of Death

It Happened At The Fair: Final Chapter

09/03/2010 11:20 AM


She pulled the tall, cold glass to her lips. Its surface covered in a beaded sweat from the thick, hot summer air. As the beer slid down her throat, its chilled form washed away the sin administered to the rambunctious 5 year old not too long ago. P-did stared down at her shoes in a brief moment of remorseful reflection. Fuck! I got the little bastards blood on my shoes! Yeah! And I need a drink! Peppered D-mono the finished their drinks quickly and began exiting the beer garden in a hurried pace. A paleness washed over P-did's face "Oh Fucking hells bells! Its my parole officer!" her words fell like broken glass. " we need a drink!" eschewed D-mono.

They quickly jaunted into the 4-H livery weeded themselves amongst the giant Clydesdales. " what a big fucking ass that horse has!" Giggled P-did in a fit of release. At that brief moment of lightness D-mono felt a presence behind her. An un-nerving force that made her shudder and mutter "I really need a drink" "Hi" floated the hot breath into her ear. "I'm Jake and you are so fine" I NEED A FUCKING DRINK! D-mono yelped in a rage befitting of a Scottish warrior, spinning round in tornado-like blur grabbing a bridle hanging on the stable wall, she wrapped leather strap around her could-be lover's neck and dispatched him with the speed of light. "but you're so ho..t.." fell the last words from his lips. The event happened so quickly that D-mono did not notice the twin 8 year old girls hiding behind the hay bales. "shoosh...I need a drink" she whispered to the shocked twins as she raised here finger in front of her lips. "holy fucking shit! Clenched P-did. I can't take you anywhere!" as they scurried out of the stables a flock of pigeons lay before them circling, plucking seeds and other detritus from fairgrounds path. Fucking birds! Exclaimed P-did as she swung her foot wildly at the birds, kicking the less fortunate ones to pieces that were unable to out-fly her wrath.

As they mercilessly weaved themselves back into the crowd, D-mono slipped behind the vengeful P-did, she slowly reached for her flask and once again brought it to her lips. The whiskey slowly rolling over her tongue. In a panic stricken flash, the presence was felt again from behind " you're kinky... I like that in my girls" his hot-breathed words slithered into her ear. "I'm Jake and you got me switched on!" he pressed himself into her back. Her nemesis she thought dead by her own hands had risen in more ways than one and was slowly regaining his color as she was rapidly losing her cool. I need a fucking drink!! She screamed. Her heart raced, sweat poured out like river water.. Diana! Wake up! Your having a nightmare! As she opened her groggy eyes a heavenly vision stood above. Sun danced over her red locks as craved attention from above. Oh Laurie! It was horrible! Penelope was mean and we were lesbians, and we both killed people and.. And..Jake was.. Oh my... It's ok Laurie said with a soothing voice. "It was just a dream. Hey, lets get you a drink.

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It Happened At The Fair: Part 2

09/02/2010 11:19 AM


As the pair stumbled out of the beer garden and back into the swarm of fair goers, they were separated by a massive wedge of tourists. As D-mono shrieked a nervous call out for P-did, further up ahead in the crowd P-did was almost clipped at the knees by a five year old boy from Yelm. As D-mono frantically surged forward, she could see a glimmer of P's chestnut hair through the thick crowd. P! She shouted. I need another drink! At that moment, D-mono saw in a flash the burst of chestnut dart behind a Pretzel stand. D jumped from the crowd as if it were a speeding train. As she rounded the corner behind the Pretzel stand, what lay before her was straight out of Poe classic. P-did was knelt before her, her back to D-mono's shocked face. Oh my god! I need a drink... She whispered like the breath of a dying man. Shut the fuck up! P-did threatened with clenched jaws. "the little fucker cut me off and almost tripped me! He had to go!" her words dripped with defiance as she wiped the blood from her lips. "Help me put this little fucker in the trash, bitch" she barked to D-mono who quivered with fear and repeatedly looped " I need a beer. I need a beer" See what happens when you leave my side? She quipped emphatically to D. "now lets go get us another beer so I can get this god awful obnoxious taste out of my mouth"

As the two headed back upstream to the beer garden, D-mono, still shaking from the carnage that she stumbled upon, slowly pulled a silver flask from her back pant pocket, an answer her own murmured calls for liquid salvation. She slowly trailed behind P-did and raised the flask to her trembling lips. Two discreet pulls later, she quickly slid the flask back to its resting place safely by her hip. Come on! Shouted P "I need a fucking drink now!" As the two re-entered the beer garden, the screams from the patrons aboard the old, wooden roller coaster matched the screams in D-monos head. It had been a half hour and yet the beer garden crowd had been erased and filled in again like a school teacher's blackboard. " if that tramp doesn't get her skinny ass over here pronto for my drink order, I'm gonna fucking lose it!" P-did scowled. “Yeah... I need a drink too.” Lumbered D-mono. To be continued...

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It Happened At The Fair: Part 1

09/01/2010 11:17 AM


It’s State Fair time here in the Pacific Northwest and with that, plenty of my co-workers take the time to trundle on down to the Fair and partake in the consumption of Beer, deep-fried corn on the cob, Monster Trucks and 3rd rate entertainers. The following tale is of co-worker mingling after hours and away from the stifling confines of Corporate Land. The names have been change to protect the overtly amorous. TSROD

The massive crowds corralled through the fields of carnival barkers and swarthy thrill ride attendants. The smell of deep fried food hovered in the air like a thick perfume of failure. These fucking people are driving me crazy! Exclaimed P-diddy Sward to her BBF, D-Mono. Yep quipped D. Lets get a drink she purred. And once that phrase was released, a magical beer garden appeared just beyond the large couple in front of them. Ugh! If these fat asses get out of the way, we could maybe get a drink! Buzzed P. her words cutting through the thick buttery air like a samurai sword. Yeah! Lets get a drink purred D-Mono. As they approached the heaving beer garden, their anticipation was palpable. I can't wait to get a drink! purred D-Mono. Yeah, atoned P, They better not be any creepy guys next to us. Yeah! And I can't wait to get a drink purred D-Mono, sweat building on her upper lip with the thought of golden suds of bliss racing through her head. As the two friends anxiously jockeyed to an open seat in the back, the roar of the Monster Trucks jamboree clamored in the air, and rang home to the heart like a hillbilly national anthem. God I love monster trucks! P-diddy mused. Yeah! And I can't wait to get a drink! Purred little D-mono. As the barmaid slithered herself through the thick crowd towards the pair for their order, P-diddy let out a look of scathing contempt to the barmaid. "what a whore" she let out a screed. "As if" see continued. Yeah! And I can't wait to get a drink! D-mono purred.

As the barmaid approached the pair, a thought of utter disdain filled her trailer park heart, of having to deal with yet another pair of rambunctious lesbians. At least the ones before this duo were cordial and tipped well. She braced herself with the thoughts back to how nice those two were and exercised the idea of maybe turning for them, but stopped short of the idea as one was a Mexican and the other had flowing red hair and carried a horse whip. The gurgle of phlegm attached to the most despicable call out of "eh hem" snapped her out of her L word escape, "I'd like two Pale ales and a Hefe for the little one" directed P-did, the words marching out of her pursed lips like tiny soldiers of hate, Yeah! And I'd like a beer! purred D-Mono. The barmaid took their condescension with a grain a salt and spun her heels back towards the bar. Come here sweets, beckoned P to D with a look that laid her out naked like an artists blank canvas. "I'm gonna own you today" P–Did murmured to D-mono in a fascist tone. Yeah! And I want another drink! Squeaked D-mono. As the two entwined friends held court at the back of the beer garden, those around them gazed upon the pair with fevered regard that bordered on voyeurism. The spectacle that was presented was in line with late night cable precision. As the Monster trucks roared in the distance, P-did's heart raced with the thought of another beer and maybe an elephant ear. Yeah.. Definitely an elephant ear she simmered with the thought. She gazed into D-mono's eyes and pounded out Fuck Yeah! An elephant ear and another beer is gonna kill the pain! Yeah! And I want a drink too! Cooed D-mono As the two received yet another round, P-did espoused of her disdain for the "fucking in-bred fucking hicks that I fucking hate with all of my fucking black, callous, cold fucking heart" Yeah! Maybe they'll buy me a drink chirped D-mono with a sort of drunk cuteness that was delivered like an 8 week old puppy. Shut the fuck up! Pounded P into the table with a total authority that is bred only by 8 years in a Women's prison. Finish your fucking drink bitch! I need an elephant ear. To be continued...


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Return To The Warm & Fuzzy

05/11/2010 07:03 PM


My how time fly’s when on vacation. As the last of my vacation days slowly drained away, the peaceful and carefree feeling was slowly replaced with impending doom and the proverbial case of return-to-work loathing. Work was waiting with baited breath for my return. My lunch breaks at Bubba’s burgers between surf and sun sessions had ceased. The sweet menagerie of beautiful Hawaiian songbirds, their tune but a fading memory with each passing day. The two scoops of tropical paradise in a waffle cone that is Lappert’s ice cream- a sticky sweet reminder of those warm nights beneath the stars… Work. The thought of returning had made my insides boil. But before I could set foot back into Corporate Land, I had to leave paradise and make the dreaded, jammed-packed, two-flight trip home. Not a pleasant thought when you are 6’-5” and 245. It can be tight to say the least.

The flight from Hawaii to LA was ok, as I had plunked down the extra couple bones to bump up to first class for the legroom. Missing in action were the Delta Deadheads from my previous flight, so there was some actual decent service from the LA based crew on the way back. But the service came at a price. As the first leg of my return journey was peaceful and relaxing, my second leg was to be the exact polar opposite. As we touched down in LA at the springtime fresh time of 4:30 AM, I was soon to be engulfed in a swarm of cell-phone douchebuggery.

You would think that at the hour of 4:30 AM anywhere, would be a rather down, quiet time. Nope. Not LAX. I sat down in a rather quiet section of the terminal and awaited my connecting flight-3-1/2 hours to kill- by reading. Nope. I have a fat Brittney Spears knock-off roll up and start yammering into her pink, bedazzled Blackberry about absolutely nothing. Fuck! Really? So I shoot her some laser beams that kill and move to another section across the way. No sooner had I sat down, a be speckled older gent in cargo shorts and a polo shirt starts barking about a code red. Great. It’s the return of Captain Bluetooth! Yep, Capt’n Bluetooth was the embodiment of a Radio Shack techno wet dream. Then, just as I’m entertaining the thought of succumbing to nuclear annihilation, George Costanza’s doppelganger plops down two seats away and you guessed it, unleashes his own brand of Celljabbery. Good Lord, when will this self-absorbed assholeness of the world end?

#1- who the fuck to you have to call at 4:30 in the morning? #2- you are a fucking asshole for calling anybody at 4:30 in the morning! #3- I don’t care if you are calling ahead to the East coast or beyond, you are still an asshole cause you are annoying the piss out of everyone around you in 4:30 land. So as I moved yet again from the techo-twats, it was iPod to the rescue once more. As my remaining time ticked by- Dimebag Darrell riffing away my frustration with modern man- the thoughts of a rogue solar flare raining down ultra-violet rays of brain cancer onto my surrounding self-indulged cellbots, sent echoes of sinister laughter ringing through my head. “Take that!” I thought. As boarding time crept closer, the passenger waiting area increased in size, giving me a glimpse of the packed flight-to-be. Wicked.

As I boarded the plane and settled into my seat, I noticed a famous musician sitting to my right and back one seat. Up ahead I noticed an actor from a 90’s cop show. “It is LA after all,” I thought. I started factoring in the screaming babies, famous people and the remaining average Joes and concluded that it was a recipe for disaster. Yep, I nodded to myself as I turned to the missus and quipped, “we are sooooo going down.” A little silence and then she snapped, “What did you say?” I turned and whispered, “ This plane. Us. The situation is bleak. It’s the perfect recipe for disaster.” A general shock and concern washed over her face followed by a sly grin. “ You’re horrible!” she chirped. “Think about it,” I said. “We have 2 celebrities, a bunch of screaming babies and a handful of self centered schmucks on cell phones. Factor in the rest of us average Joe’s and you have the makings of a horrifying plane crash.” She was not amused. “You need to get home. You’re getting cranky and delusional.” She concluded. “Yeah,” I said in agreement. “But hey, if we’re going down, it means I don’t have to go to work!” Well, I can fantasize can’t I?

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The Pachyderms in Room #334

05/04/2010 12:01 AM


3:38 AM – There’s a rumbling going on next-door that has awoken me from a deep sleep. A fight? No, I wish it were that simple. The ruckus next door is from another set of travelers that have found it in their hearts to arise at the ass-crack of dawn, and set about an aural assault on my now awakened senses. As they stumbled about rather gregariously, I realized the noisy bastards are heading home on the early flight off the island. What’s amazing to me is that I saw the neighbors next door, the previous evening and, by all accounts, they appeared to be a rather normal looking couple. All of the previous evening’s data was rendered moot at this point as it had become painfully apparent, that my vacationing neighbors have arisen in the shapes of two wild pachyderms… on crank…and about as skillful with their legs as a newborn foal.

Boom! Boom! Boom! As one tramples from one end of the room to the other. No sooner has Mindy the elephant stopped, Randy the elephant counters with his own Boom! Boom! Boom! Right behind her. Each ½ ton step ripples through the floorboard, across their unit through to mine, up the bed frame and mattress and right into my ear. Wakey! Wakey! Eggs and Bakey! After about eight trips back and forth in the span of 2 minutes, I thought “ Wicked. Tweakers!” The constant moving back and forth lead me to speculate that maybe, just maybe, that the neighbors were in possession of King Tut’s golden treasures and were simply moving the valued artifacts from room to room. (Hey, it was early and my mind tends to run rampant with crazy thoughts at that hour)

That Idea was thoroughly crushed when I resolved that these folk were not in possession of Tut’s treasures, but merely just lazy fuckers that did not pack the night before. As I lay in my bed, fully awake now, I thought back to my apartment dwelling days and a vicious, bitter taste filled my mouth. As PT Barnum’s Mindy & Randy shuffled about next door, as delicately as a dump truck, I imagined myself with super elastic Stretch-Armstrong arms, and the super loving bear hug I would give my house upon my return. “Oh House! You’re the best!” I would coo. I truly don’t know how my apartment and condo dwelling friends do it without committing a heinous felony every weekend. I would be locked up plain and simple, probably deep in the side of a mountain in Colorado. I’d make Hannibal Lecter look like a flippin’ Muppet: “ …And over here we have Jimmy. Jimmy killed his neighbor’s cause they were loud and obnoxious, and then he built an exact replica of John Bonham’s Ludwig drum set out of their skin and bones. He then proceeded to play in its entirety, Moby Dick. The live version…until the cops arrived. He’s as crazy as a shithouse rat folks but, a pretty good drummer if I must say!” the attending tour guide would robustly proclaim. So as I fantasized of what could have surely been a life behind bars if it wasn’t for home ownership, Mindy& Randy had finished packing up their Big Top and were finally on their way. Bon Voyage you heavy-footed assholes! As peace and quiet settled back over the condos, I thought to myself: Next trip I’ll be sure to pack some earplugs… and some fresh peanuts… just in case.

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From Vogons to a Depressed Robot: A Forgotten Treasure is Found

05/01/2010 08:16 PM



Before I leave on a trip, I like to stock-up on a few books to read during travel and down time. For this current vacation jaunt that I’m on, I hit the local Barnes & Noble scooping up a Miles Davis autobiography and the latest David Sedaris collection of prose. I wandered through Borders and cherry-picked a few magazines that Barnes doesn’t carry. But my best find was not found in either establishment, not at all. It was found in of all places, a salvage yard! Yes! The find? Douglas Adams masterpiece: The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. It was in yellowed, dog-eared, thirty-year-old vintage paperback splendor. The cost? Free! Since I was buying a collection of assorted knick-knacks, the manager threw it in for free. What a guy! If you have never read this wonderful book, do so at your earliest convenience. If you haven’t read it in some time, don’t you think its time you revisited an old friend? I do. Now if I could just score an old vinyl copy of Robin Williams “Reality: What a Concept” album. Time to initiate the Improbability Drive!

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How My Photography Summoned MacGyver: Part 2

05/01/2010 01:19 PM


As I returned back down to the crevice that was holding Mr. Lens cap hostage, some fellow tourists stopped to watch the turtles and the free, hillbilly sideshow I was performing. Editors Note: Tan before you come to Hawaii. That way you blend in better and you don’t look like a tourist. If you are well tanned, you can fudge a bit and say you are visiting from another island. The last thing you want is to look like “Albinos on Parade” for the locals.

I assessed the situation and came to the conclusion that if I were to rescue Mr. Lens Cap, I was going to have to turn my back to the Sea, lay face down on a rather perfectly sized slab of basalt, and reach down into the void and grab Mr. Lens Cap. As I moved into position and began reaching down, that sweet lady the Sea, sent a rather large wave crashing up behind and over me. Oh that minx! I was also finding out that my usually reliable Orangutan-esc arms were falling short, leaving my fingertips a mere inch and a half from clutching hold of Mr. Lens Cap. Shit!

Editors Note: At this point you are probably thinking: “Dude, it’s a lens cap. Let it go!” Which, I would agree with that statement, in most cases. But I firmly believe in the motto of “leave no trace behind” when visiting such a beautiful place such as Kauai. Believe me, if I had dropped it between two bags of trash in Manhattan, I wouldn’t give it two-seconds of thought to fish for it. I’d be shootin’ to one of the dozen or so camera shops on 42nd street for a new cap. Fuhgettaboutit indeed!

Since my ape-like arms were failing me, the next best thing was to improvise. Yes! Ladies and Gentlemen! I was about to roust my inner-MacGyver into action! I could feel the power of the mullet as I began scanning the surrounding area of flora and fauna, rocks and other beachside curiosities. Off to my left, about 20 feet over lay a sun-bleached tree limb with a cluster of three smaller limbs branching off of it. Perfect! I snapped one off, plunged it into the crevice and began dragging Mr. Lens Cap closer to freedom. Although it was closer, it was still yet out of reach. Then I heard a voice as clear as a bell: “ Use the gum you have in your backpack.” “Richard Dean Anderson! Is that you?” I exclaimed. This freaked out the observing tourists and a local fisherman, as I was face down into a lava rock when I yelled out to my invisible helper. “Yes, it is I, Richard Dean Anderson. Now quit lying there yelling into that rock, and get your snowy white ass to your pack and start chewing that gum!” I scrambled back to my pack and low and behold, there in the side pouch of my pack, lay three pieces of Extra! Spearmint gum. I shoved all three pieces into my mouth and chomped away.

“Whatcha doin?” Quipped the missus. “Oh, MacGyver told me to, er… I mean, I got this idea that if I chew on these pieces of gum, I can place it on one of the sticks, and it will act like a fingertip and help grab Mr. Lens Cap.” I explained. “Should I call a doctor?” shot back the missus. “You freaked out the tourists and the fisherman is laughing his ass off about you talking to the rocks.” She surmised. “Naw” I quipped, and clambered back down to my trapped lens cap. I grabbed my sun-bleached sticks; their pointed ends looked surprisingly like skeleton fingertips. Then Mac started explaining in detail what I was to do. “Dang! This is just like the TV show!” I chirped. “Hey! Pay attention! I’m missing my hockey game cause of you, now listen up!” MacGyver bellowed, then began his instructions. “ Take the gum out of your mouth, and place it on the end of one stick. Now use the other stick to help grab Mr. Lens Cap.” He directed. “ Now carefully pinch Mr. Lens Cap between the sticks, kinda like salad-tongs. Speaking of Salads, have you tried the salad buffet at the Hyatt resort yet? He asked quizzically. “Its Fab! I highly recommend it!” He divulged. “MacGyver!” I shrieked. “My lens cap please!” I wailed over the rocks.

By now the fisherman was really having a laugh and muttering to himself between snorts and giggles “ Crazy Haole!” Just then, Mac gave me the last instruction to free Mr. Lens Cap: “ Now carefully raise your sticks up out of the crevice and slowly maneuver the sticks and lens cap over the flat rock to your right.” Following MacGyver’s instructions to the letter, I freed Mr. Lens Cap from a potentially watery grave. “Thanks MacGyver…Er… I mean Richard Dean Anderson!” I shouted to the sky. “Your welcome! And hey, catch my MacGyver Marathon on TV Land in May!” His voice disappearing into the waves as they crashed ashore. Will do Mac. Will Do.





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How My Photography Summoned MacGyver: Part 1

04/30/2010 09:07 PM


One of my favorite things to do on this gorgeous island of Kauai is photography. Geeky? Sure, but it gets me out in the Sun, and helps in removing my fish-belly whiteness that has accumulated over the course of a dank, dreary Seattle winter. No matter how many times I come here, there is always something new that catches my eye that is absolutely breathtaking. Whether it is a new shade of blue in the sky, or how shades of pink and orange collide into the huge, majestic clouds that float over the horizon at sunset. Screw Hollywood and their CGI bloated films with blue kitty-people; nothing beats the reality that pulses outside my door. Late one morning I decided to trudge on up the road, to a spot not too far away where some Green Sea Turtles were hanging out close to shore. I figured I would get some killer shots and soak up some rays in the process.



I hopped over the low sea wall and clambered onto the lava rocks below, to get a good perch to watch the feeding critters. As I began snapping away, The Sun broke through some left over morning clouds and let it be known. Well, it got hot, really hot. I soon noticed my SPF 50-soaked fingertips were uncomfortably slick, so I decided to close up the camera and scoot down to the water to wash my greasy paws. Now the group of lava chunks I so precariously set my pasty white self upon, was just a mere four feet or so from the waters edge. The “Gee, ain’t the water pretty! / Don’t do what you are about to do” smart-to- stupid ratio, well, stupid was heavily favored on this one. In my mind I was thinking: “Get up off the rocks, keep the lens cap in your pocket, and put it back on the lens when you get back to the top of the wall. THAT WAY YOU WON’T LOSE IT, DUMMY.” But since this is vacation, and you are only supposed to be thinking in regards to what kind of savory little creature you’re going to be eating soon, I glanced back out to the water and the turtles. In doing so, I pistol whipped my inner-voice of reason and reached into my pocket for Mr. Lens Cap. No sooner had my hand exited my pocket, with Mr. Lens Cap in my grasp, SPF 50 came into play and freed Mr. Lens Cap in one swift, “Adios Sucker!” move.



To my great relief, the Emergency Computer Override in my brain kicked in, taking over all systems controls and kept me from diving after it, and into the jagged crags below. I’m sure if I would have dove for it, it would have made for some splendid, gut-wrenching laughs on one of those YouTube “Greatest Wipe-Outs” collections: “Watch as Daryl dives after his stupid lens cap, eating shit into lava rocks at the waters edge!” I know I would laugh about it, although I’d more than likely be spitting out my front teeth also as I did. The Missus watched the comedy unfold from above and called down “You dropped it, didn’t you?” “Yep” I replied. I looked down into the crack below, and I could just make out one of the caps edges in the wedge of sunlight that was able to pierce between the rocks. “Damn that’s tight,” I thought. I scurried back up the rocks to put the camera away before it too became part of the shoreline. The Sun was fully freed from the clouds now, and that coupled with the jet-black lava rocks, well, it was hotter than a crack pipe at Whitney Houston’s house.
To be continued.

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A Vanload of Thieves, A Volcano and 5 Delta Flight Attendants: A Vacation mini series part 2

04/27/2010 07:41 PM


So after many hours on the phone with Expedia, the decision was made that if we can’t go East we will go West, way West, Hawaii. After unloading the sweaters, coats, scarves etc from our bags and reloading it with t-shirts and shorts, it was back to the airport and off to the island. The first leg of our flight was from Seattle to LA and with that I ran into an old friend, Travel Baby. He’s on almost every flight I take regardless of destination and it was nice to see him again. He hasn’t aged a bit and still sounds the same. He’s still five months old, with huge, big lungs. Man that kid can scream! After a brief pit stop and a change of planes in LA, we were finally off to Kauai. Through all the changes that the volcano created, I felt a bump to first class was called for. So as we settled into the large leather seats that Delta has to offer, I daydreamed about the forthcoming complimentary beverages and snacks.

I usually fly Hawaiian Air and they are Johnny-on- the- spot when it comes to service. I was starting to understand rapidly that these Delta folks just weren’t getting it. I have a relative that lovingly refers to flight attendants way past their prime, as “Grimies” as in “Boy howdy is she sure grim looking!” this of course applies to the male equivalent also. Well, on this flight, Delta had the market cornered on frightful looking staff. These folks were straight out of Stan Lee’s nightmares. Rick Baker wouldn’t have enough spirit gum and latex rubber to create the droops, sags and crags this lot was carrying about. Yeesh! About five minutes pass and still no drink. Hmm… I did notice that our token male flight attendant was standing right across from me with a fresh Mai Tai for a lady and her male friend. Now mind you I could not see her, only hear her (her laugh will echo in my deepest nightmares) as my line of sight was blocked by Token’s ass encroaching over my shoulder as he leaned to give her that dewy Mai Tai.

At this point I hear her say to the attendant “Yes! Connie and I are deadheading… Hi Connie!” Then Connie pops up from the seat in front of me “Hi! Cheers!” Ech! Just then, Token moves and now I finally get a shot at the Mai Tai Dead-Head. Good Lord… Keith Richards with boobs. A sense of fright overcame me and I started calculating the odds of surviving this flight intact. I started to wonder if this was turning into a George Romero zombie movie. A quick glance to my left, ok, 2 deadhead there. A quick look up towards the front, 2 more. Add in 3 of the 4 working staff yuking it up with their non-working buddies, and it was no mystery as to why me and the rest of my fellow working class stiffs were not getting served.
Editors note: It is at this point that I would like to give a shout out to Mr. Steve Jobs and the brilliant design team at Apple for the creation of the iPod. I truly believe that Steve was more than likely on a similar flight and said to himself “ Note to Self: Create a portable music/movie device to help in the suppression of violent murder spasms. P.S. You are the Man! And, never forget that Bill Gates is an idea-stealing hack.”

Once the Token had his fellow Delta monsters taken care of, my drink arrived and since the fright crew got a jump on the rest of us in the drink department, their gums were a flapping. And flap they did! I’m not joking here when I say that the duo in front of me talked the whole way. They yammered on about absolutely nothing AT ALL for the 5 hours and 41 minutes it took to fly from LA to Lihue. And to spice it up a bit, since everybody was such good friends, they played musical chairs and kept the Gabapalooza going full tilt.

Every now and then you hear about some maniac going berserk on a long flight, and how he/she tries to pry open one of the planes exit doors in an attempt to depart the aircraft. Now I know why. They either 1. Have no iPod or 2. It has run out of juice and left them to suffer through torturous hours of mind numbing, pointless and never ending conversations. Bailing out at 35,000 feet starts to sound appealing at that point. So the next time you hear about a guy going Coo Coo for Coco Puffs on a plane, Remember to have your iPod fully charged before that plane pushes back. Hell, buy another iPod as backup cause Lord knows you don’t want to hear about how Connie’s Chlamydia was cured by watching American Idol in Spanish and Brittany’s 3 year old is wearing pull-ups now but, the dog still scratches his butt on the Berber, but at least Bill has stopped throwing up in my hair at night since he started taking Cialus… Eventually the Delta Deadhead Hot Air Sky Team got us to Kauai in one piece and ending what I would refer to as the longest, non-political filibusters of bullshit I have ever encountered.
Delta: One Great Airline!


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A Vanload of Thieves, A Volcano and 5 Delta Flight Attendants: A Vacation mini series

04/27/2010 03:20 AM


It’s been awhile since my last post and since I started this maniac, I promised myself that I would not be one of those writers that posts something, and then flakes for a long stretch between posts. That sucks and it pisses people off. So I do apologize for my absence but I do have a good excuse. As you can see in the photo above, Corporate Land has been robbed. It happened on a Sunday night, just before I was to leave on vacation the following Wednesday. The jackals made off with 13 Mac G5 towers but left the monitors (thanks guys!) But what really put the hurt in the caboose was the theft of our company’s X-Raid server, which really set off my inner Nancy Kerrigan Screaming Why? Why? Why? As if the break in wasn’t bad enough, a little Volcano in Iceland (Ehimgonnafuckwithya) decided to blow it’s top, spewing ash into the sky while flushing billions down the drain. The British stiff upper lip quivered and closed its air space as everyone knows, but I must say to my British friends; you missed out on the biggest Monty Python living theatre opportunity ever! Iceland, Angry Viking Volcano, Hot ash cloud...French and German airlines tempting fate and flying through the cloud? Sounds like a laugh riot to me. The Brits could have been there too! I can almost hear John Cleese and Michael Palin: “Ello Govnor, we seem to have lost engines 3 & 4 sir. Jolly good Neville! Press on! Err… but Govnor, we are also losing altitude and the ash is sandblasting our windscreen…we can’t see a thing. Yes, yes I see Neville. Well, put the kettle on and fetch me a biscuit would you? I’m famished.” So as the Ehimgonnafuckwithya volcano kept my vacation hanging in the balance, a backup plan was devised. So regardless of the air quality over Europe, I was leaving for somewhere. But before I could leave I had to help in getting Corporate Land back up and running with fresh Macs and a server. Three days later and much cursing and fantasizing a slow painful death to the robbers, I tidied up the loose ends at work and headed for the airport. Everything packed for England and its weather, sweaters, scarves down vest etc. As I step up to check in, the flight clerk asks, “Where is your final destination?” England, Liverpool. “Uh yeah we aren’t flying there at all.” Nice. Brilliant. “You can still go to Amsterdam, but after that you are on your own.” Hmm… Legalized pot and hash bars, prostitution… sounds like an ideal destination to be stuck in, but since there are already thousands of people stuck there and clamoring to escape, I’m sure it smells pretty ripe. The last thing that I want at this point in time is to be stuck in a Spielberg outtake of Schindler’s list, trapped in a train car or bus with a bunch of smelly Europeans.
To be continued.


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The Cell Phone Sandwich

04/01/2010 07:28 AM


They say misery loves company. But does it really need a double tall latte’ also? It’s Monday. Your weekend flew by way too quick and you summoned the courage to roll out of bed and get on with the grind of 8 hours of devalued, underpaid time drain you call a job. You have a few moments to stop off at one of the 6 local Starbucks to burn the $4.50 lounging in your pocket and kick-start the day. As you park the car you mutter to yourself; please don’t let there be a line... Please don’t let there be a line... As you saunter up to the door, the silhouette of four other schmucks radiates through the smoked glass making your toes curl and your teeth clinch. Shit! A line! Its The Dreaded Line.

With the line comes a syndrome so sinister and evil that a majority of news agencies refuse to report it’s grasp on America’s major chain coffee outlets. I will refuse to succumb to their chokehold and tell you their secret here. With the line comes... The Lister. Yes, when you only have ten minutes, The Lister is the person that will see to it you spend twenty minutes waiting for your one cup of Joe. The Lister raises your blood pressure, which sucks because you didn’t want the Lister to do that, you wanted the coffee to do it. The Lister gives you thoughts of all out thermonuclear warfare to unfold at that precise moment to rid yourself (and the other poor bastards around you) the pain of waiting for 15 variations of coffee and pastry. The Lister is the point-man for the Invisible Lazy Bastard Brigade. You know who you are. The group of co-workers that are just waiting for someone to mention their going for coffee so they can get their order in and keep working. God forbid these fuckers leave the house an extra twenty minutes early. But I digress. The Lister will make you spin on your heels and turn for the door without your fix just by hearing: “Hi! I have a list I need a double tall vanilla latte and a blueberry scone and a short, one pump...” Poof you’re gone!

But a majority of the time, you suffer through cause Starbuck’s has got you hooked. You need your fix. Now the Lister is about as bad as a Lindsay Lohan movie but there is another group within the line that is more vile and repulsive than the Lister and no it’s not Nickelback. It starts out when you take your spot in the line. You’re say... fourth in line, The Lister is at the head draining your life away, and just behind him is a plump gal with “Pink” appliquéd on the ass of her sweatpants, that’s ordered her drink but is waiting for her quiche carmel ham sandwich, and there in front you stands The Exec. Dressed to the nines and constantly checking his watch but wait. What’s this? Oh great! The Exec has his cell phone firmly entrenched into his left ear. You take this in and start wondering to yourself “ What did I ever do to deserve this?” The Exec smells of too much cologne and the constant bobbing of his head and the repeated : yeah... Uh huh. Yeah . yeah. well I don’t... yeah. Is starting to make you wonder why you even drink coffee. By this time, The Lister is almost done, the plump gal has got her sandwich, and you think OK. I’m almost out of here. Just a couple of more minutes longer. It’s at this precise moment that fate throws another curve, because fate is a CY Young award winner and it’s dead on every time.

Cue The Loaf. The Loaf is the reason Jerry Springer is on this earth. Jerry shows us in his trailer park kind of way, the essence of The Loaf. The Loaf is that uneducated, overweight, poorly dressed, obnoxious twat that seems to pop up in the damnedest places. Now she is behind you. That’s right I said she, because 9 times out of 10 it’s a she. Sorry. Deal with it ladies. Well, things now just got officially out of hand because The Loaf has a cell phone too and she is making everyone aware that she can put words together and form incomplete sentences and bark them into her Motorola. Now you feel the walls closing in, you clinch your car keys in your hand as you curl it into a fist; sweat starts beading up on the back of your neck. The chatter of yeahs from The Exec coupled with the bobbing of his head. His bald spot that resembles a monkeys ass, bouncing to the rhythm of yeahs and uh huhs. At this point The Loaf’s meanderings join together with The Exec’s creating a cacophony of verbal in-breeding worthy of a Jeff Foxworthy seal of approval. You start thinking of other Starbucks to go to, but this one is your favorite. Why should you change? The Loaf’s conversation floods over you “ yeah well we played x-box all day then we went to his cousin’s house...”

It’s then that you start thinking of the rogue asteroids NASA has been talking about that are on a collision course for earth, because nuclear bombs just won’t do the trick. The planet must be completely annihilated. To say you feel overwhelmed with contempt is putting it lightly. You find yourself starting to mumble and whispering “Why god? Why?” Followed by “Christ almighty! I don’t know why I come here...” Finally, the Exec has moved on and it’s your turn. The words sprint past the contempt and flow out like honey, “Venti Latte please.” The suffering of your time in line is comparable to a bad night on American Idol, like getting hit by a bus cranking Celine Dion. But when you get your coffee, the warmth rolls over you and happy thoughts flutter through your brain like birds of a feather. You are complete. Another satisfied postal worker.

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