| RANDI'S ROOM |
[Nov. 30th, 2005|08:18 pm] |
The situation at Louise and Willie's hadn't changed much. She's still laid up in the bed and The Dude. was out of commission today, apparently, but at least Willie rode his bike around town to scout out the contacts who don't answer their fucking phones.
I got the weirdest fucking e-mail:
RANDI'S ROOM
1. Smoking is no longer permitted for 3rd shift.
2. Smoking is only permitted outside.
Signed,
Randi S.
I've decided not to reply to it to see how long I stay on this cunt's list.
I got Ministry's "The Mind is a Terrible Thing to Taste" today. It's a good lo-fi precursor to "Psalm 69". This will go well with Meshuggah on my mp3 player. |
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| FUCK. |
[Nov. 20th, 2005|05:53 am] |
Hey guys here is a poem I wrote it's called FUCK are you ready here goes:
FUCK.
FUCKING FUCK.
FUCKER FUCKING FUCK.
FUCKED FUCKER FUCKING FUCK.
FUCKLY FUCKED FUCKER FUCKING FUCK.
FUCKTARDED FUCKLY FUCKED FUCKER FUCKING FUCK.
FUCK.
Thank you, thank you so veyr mu;ch!!1
I was hanging with my pals Louise and Willie the other day. It was an ... interesting experience.
Louise was in bed, and naturally I assumed like any naive person that she had just been up late partying the night before. But ole Denthead Willie said otherwise; "YOU GOAN STAY IN DAT BED ALL DAY AGIN?!?"
"She's been in the bed all day?"
"Yep!" Louise was proud of it, staring at me as if to defy her of her right to be a lazy apathetic bitch. Her prime is well behind her, baby. Trust me. She looks like shit now. Willie's no prime specimen, either. But being around them is like being at a real-life version of Seinfeld, never knowing who's gonna pop in and what the fuck is going on?
"Know why?" muttered Willie. He staggered up to me and nudged me on the arm as if confiding a deep and dangerous secret. "Huh? You know why she's up in that bed? Cause we ain't got NO POT!!!"
Louise threw the TV remote at him and he blocked his face in time enough for the remote to bounce harmlessly off of his forearm, but ouch, that fucker had to HURT. Indeed, he pounced on her but it was only to dry-hump her as she yelled, "AHH! He's trying to fuck me with my clothes on!! HELP!" Ugh. I kept my attention focused squarely on The People's Court that was on the TV. You know that case about that old fucking bitch with the over-priced photo album? Ugh, what a fucking old cunt!
Louise then proceeded to brag to me about how she used to work at a packaging factory making $10 an hour and managed to go through FOUR JOINTS in a MORNING. (@*&$(*@. One particular event she described explicitly portayed her in the restroom doing her business, and a group of Mexicans came in and she got freaked out so she tried to hide it in her sock (yes, she hid it in her fuckikng SOCK UHHGHH) only to find out that it was still burning and she had to beat herself about the foot to put it out! AHHAGHAAHAAHHAHAH that was so fucking high-LARIOUS.
Ole Denthead Willie managed to inadvertently provide some entertainment as well; he rang up The Dude. and left several messages that consisted of him mumbling and muttering threats with "I got yer fuggin' money I owe ya, ya fuggin' dig-sugger!" thrown in. Soon The Dude. called back to announce that he was On His Way. This sent Willie into a tizzy. He stomped around in a frantic search for his coat, gloves, boots, earmuffs, scarf, sockcap, etc. and stomped down the stairs from their loft to stand guard at the front door.
"Hurry up, mudderfugger!" "Gaddammit hurryup!" "Peesashit mudderfugger!"
Linda responded to his rantings by turning the TV up louder. The sexy bitch judge on The People's Court's voice does not sound quite so sexy when magnified on an antenna signal. I'm sure it must be annoying their roommate by now. I've seen their roommate all of three times now in the entire two years I've known these fellas. He's always passed out in his room. He must be hardcore. I think his name is Cletus or something.
Eventually The Dude. showed up in his crappy blue Sedan. I peeked through the threadbare blanket that was used as a "curtain" over their living room window and what I observed was so fucking obvious. Picture this.
A not-so-photogenic man, for all appearances a hippie with his long hair and fuzzy beard, or as my good friend Ian colourfully called him "A Meth-Faced Shaggy", swaggering out to a beat-up looking old blue Sedan. The windows and windshield looks a little too tinted to be legal, maybe? But the meth-faced Shaggy gets in the car and hands over the cash and says "Pass the Baggie to Shaggy so Scooby can Roll a Doobie!" Then that old Shaggy pops back out of the car and skips back to the house without so much as a wave goodbye or a look back while the car pulls quickly away. The last thing you hear, even from halfway down the street, was someone hollering at the occupants inside, "Get on upstairs, let's go!"
Yeah, painfully obvious.
I was quick to leave soon afterwards. |
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