Warning: The contents of this today's blog will be a continuous rant. This was not a pre-meditated blog, and thus will be in stream-of-consciousness style, like the ones we were forced to do in freshmen english, but hopefully more interesting. If you haven't read the liability waiver, click HERE.
Life right now is less than appealing. I am leaving Chico (again). It was a good vacation, and like all vacations, the departure sucks. This, however, is getting out of hand. Let me explain: First off, I'm on a plane that is shorter than I am. I feel like I'm on that show Little People. So on top of having to wake up to fly home with a hangover that could take down Goliath himself, I walk headfirst into the 5 foot high baggage compartment. Apparently I was mistaken when I assumed the "overhead" compartments were supposed to be above me and not chest level. Also, I'm on a prop plane right now. I didn't even know these were still legal. I feel like were about to take off and drop pesticide over a large field. I've never understood why they have to keep us on the plane, either. We're going to be here for at least another hour, you could at least let us out of the aircraft. Not that the Chico Municipal Airport is Disneyland though. More like Disneyland's sketchy, half retarded, gang member cousin. The only thing keeping me sane (that might not be the word for it) is my imagination. I'm still waiting for anacondas to start slithering out of the bathrooms. I'm tired of these mother fucking snakes on this mother fucking plane too, Samuel L Jackson. At least that would make things more interesting. Hey, look at that, now we’re in the air. Does it blow anybody else’s mind that we now can access the internet in flight? I don’t know whether to be stoked or depressed. As for now, I’m happy that our consumerist materialistic selves came to terms with the fact that we can’t suck up the 2 hour flight without being able to get on Facebook while hurtling through the air 30,000 feet above the ground at 436 mph in a pressurized metal tube. Holy shit. I am thirty thousand feet above you right now. That’s an interesting thought. Whoever figured out these plane things is a genius. You know who isn’t a genius? The guys that decided to build New Orleans. Great city, love it to death, unfortunately the guys that planned it were hammered drunk. I’ve got an idea, let’s not build a city under sea level and put it next to the damn water. Seriously? But then again, what would we do without New Orleans. Mardi Gras anyone? The biggest celebration in the US, even though 90% of everyone who celebrates it has no idea what it’s actually about. We’re celebrating because we really like the colors green and purple. And beads, we like those too. Enough with the charades people, let’s just embrace the fact that we just want an excuse to drink. America. Fat, unemployed, and drunk. Livin the dream. Speaking of fat unemployed drunks, I recently visited Alabama. (BURN.) Whilst there, I had the pleasure of driving behind a….well, I don’t really know what to call him because the term” redneck” really doesn’t do it justice. Whatever the next stage of redneck is, I was driving behind it. He passed me, honest to God I almost peed. I didn’t realize that they allowed jet airliners on the freeways, but I guess everything goes in Bama. After blowing out my eardrums with an engine roar comparable to an atom bomb, he blew past me and tried to suffocate me with enough black exhaust to kill the entire state of Massachusetts. And It wasn’t just your standard hick truck. I’m talking one of those two-story monster trucks that runs on baby tears and has the turning radius of an aircraft carrier. I’d slash his tire but I think they’re probably filled with explosives and/or other cars. I want a flamethrower. I think I’ve included this in a previous blog, but it’s so amazingly awesome that I’ll say it again. The best thing about flamethrower (besides everything), is the fact that their sole existences proves that at some point, someone thought, “I really want those people to be on fire, but I’m just not close enough to do the job.” Moral of the story? Don’t have one, but feel free to interject your own. Unless it involves something that defiles the name of bacon. Seriously though, if you’ve ever held a flamethrower you know how it feels to instantly transform into a ball of awesomeness. That’s how we need to recruit for the army. A guy is scared? Hand him a flamethrower and let him play around for five minutes. If he’s anything like me, he’ll come back half crazy and with the amped up destructive energy of the A-Team on a crack binge. He’ll sign up and hop on the first boat to wherever we’re fighting, and probably won’t even run home to get clothes. And let’s be honest, he’s armed with a flamethrower so you’re not gonna argue with him. I’d like to see a fight between two guys with a flamethrower and a fire hose (water included). 40 year old guy in a Lady Gaga t-shirt, not okay. Please get a new wardrobe and stop embarrassing humanity. I just realized I'm eating subway in an airplane. As I sit here listening to Symphonies by Dan Black on repeat trying to soothe my anger to a dull frustration, I am realizing that the guy next to me also is struggling with the little child a couple rows back that feels the need to let the entire airplane know that he is uncomfortable and possibly hungry. Shut up, little child. There is no need to yell, and it's not making it easier for anybody. Huzzah, we're landing. Now I'm in San Francisco. It never ceases to amaze me. A man just walked by in a bright red leather jacket with glitter and had one of those garter belt things on the outside of his jeans. I really hope he lost a bet. Time to board, next stop Dallas. Alright, that's enough of this nonsense rambling. You people have a nice day.
Shout out to Ronne Blofsky aka Ronn-Dawg.
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