Embassy row
the fumes they lay low
On lanes that are wide
where the limousines glide
On the wrought-iron gates
and the bone china plates
And don’t forget your manners
where the anthems play
Until I get some stories and pictures from my sister's 21st birthday party, I don't really have much to post. Although you can be assured those stories and pictures will be worth the wait, even if I have to make up the stories and photoshop the pictures. Which is more than likely. Anyway, the last week or so can be summed up as follows: bees nest on my deck, she-male rudely forced me off my stool at a bar, and my body has re-adjusted to superior eastern time zone. Just imagine what I would have written for each of those post topics.
So how about I just discuss my day at work so far? It began with my usual hour or so of instant messaging. As was no surprise to either of us, my conversation with Jackie was mostly about different phrases for taking a shit. I offered up a couple of the standard phrases associated with this bodily function, "Dropping off the kids at the pool" and "Making a little chocolate soft serve". Jackie responded with a nice twist on the pool phrase, "Bill Cosby dropping off the Cosby kids at the pool". It's funny because it's racist.
I knew I was missing a number of good ones, so I did a little research. I was able to find a couple of excellent resources for this topic, The Canonical List of Terms for Taking a Crap and TurdWords.com. In an effort to class up the site, here are my favorites:
Conducting Air Strikes Over Porcelainastan
Fast Freight to Fudge City
Percolating Butt Coffee
Visit from Mr. Shittz McCrappen
Committing yourself to the dumpatorium
Making a Minnesota hand warmer (I don't get this one...do people in Minnesota hold shit in their hands?)
Most Memorable Moment: What better way to start off a trip than embarassing myself in front of women in a whole new time zone. It was literally the very first night of our trip, and I was fortunate enough to be talking to two ladies about the lovely city of Portland. At some point later in the night, one of the girls actually asked for my number. Now girls don't usually ask for my number at bars, so you could imagine why I might be a little suspicious. Sure she was 31, and her name was 'Asia', but she was moderately attractive (read: no missing limbs or gross scars/birth marks) and she had a vagina for godssake! So perhaps it was the inordinate amount of whiskey in my blood, or just the usual self esteem issues, but rather than taking this as a sign that poontang might be in my near future, I decided to ask this particular girl if she was 'screwing with me'. And even though she repeatedly assured me that was not the case, I felt the need to ask the same question a couple more times just to make sure. And then a few more times for good luck. Chicks dig confidence.
Yet she called me the next morning. I still think it was all part of some elaborate prank.
Frank
Most Memorable Moment: Frank's trip was apparently uneventful, because his most memorable moment was when a drug dealer in Vancouver called him a douche bag. Or did he just offer him a dime bag? We're still not sure.
Paul
Most Memorable Moment: Paul's most memorable moment was coincidentally Frank's and mine as well. Screw that shit I mentioned above. While attempting to cross the Canadian border, a customs agent informed Paul that there was a large amount of cocaine on his driver's license. Apparently, Paul had used his license to cut lines of coke a year or so ago, and had understandably forgotten to do a routine 'license wash' prior to the trip. Luckily, the two agents who searched the car were not able to find any drugs. Which is a tad concerning since we were carrying at least two different illegal narcotics.
By the way, the agent pulled me aside as well, but just to tell me that after checking my license he found 'Apple Jack crumbs and semen'. Apple Jack crumbs?!?!
"I'm not one of you. Okay? I can't relate to who you are and what you've been through. I graduated from the University of Life. All right? I received a degree from the School of Hard Knocks. And our colors were black and blue, baby. I had office hours with the Dean of Bloody Noses. All right? I borrowed my class notes from Professor Knuckle Sandwich and his Teaching Assistant, Ms. Fat Lip Thon Nyun. That's the kind of school I went to for real, okay?"
And there's no point in talking about Harvard Commencement Speeches if I don't provide a link to the greatest one of all, thanks to Mr. Conan O'Brien:
"I'd like to thank the Class Marshals for inviting me here today. The last time I was invited to Harvard it cost me $110,000, so you'll forgive me if I'm a bit suspicious. I'd like to announce up front that I have one goal this afternoon: to be half as funny as tomorrow's Commencement Speaker, Moral Philosopher and Economist, Amartya Sen. Must get more laughs than seminal wage/price theoretician."
Starting this Friday, the house will be on hiatus for awhile as we journey to the beautiful Pacific Northwest ... or as I like to call it, 'Where the Goonies was filmed'.
"Yeah, but this one, this one right here, this was my wish, my dream, and it didn't come true. So I'm taking it back. I'm taking them all back."
- Mouth
Now I know we will be sorely missed, but everyone can take comfort in the fact that, upon our return, I will immediately send out a mass email containing every minute detail of our trip. I mean, who doesn't love a mass email?!? There's just something special about an impersonal, longwinded, self-absorbed dissertation on one's life experiences, sent to everyone you know, most of whom don't give a fuck.
Topics for this email will include, but will not be limited to:
Number of women banged
Number of men banged
Number of hippies murdered
Number of miles travelled
Number of kids banged
Actually, screw the email, I'll just guesstimate the answers right now, respectively: zero, three, four (including one guy right after we banged him), no one cares, and it depends on what you consider a 'kid'.
Sunday, July 06, 2003 It's a party Marge. These pics actually kinda remind me of the song "I Want to Part-ay" by the Crash Test Dummies. I love that song.
Notice that there's always one kid in every group that has to give the finger whenever his picture is taken. And the picture of the hamburger is significant because, in addition to it's deliciousness, I stole it right from the hostess after she painstakingly finished it exactly to her liking. In hindsight, I feel kinda bad about that. But if given the opportunity, I'd probably do it again.
