Strove to find a way to punch people in the face by using the Internet.


Well, Camera-Phone Adventure, Anyway
Do you like having adventures? I do.

The night after Becca tried to pop my chest pimple I had an adventure where I went to this big party at 3 in the morning. Somebody rolled a piano into the street and set it on fire. I took a picture with my phone:


The firemen and police officers who showed up to take care of it were in surprising good humor over the whole thing. They chuckled and laughed and squirted their fire juice onto the flames to put them out. I suspect they could tell the intent behind the fire was celebratory... Lighthearted. Oh, like the time those villagers chased Frankenstein into that windmill! That's a good analogy.

After the fire was extinguished, I was walking back to my truck when a van pulled up alongside me. Somebody inside called me a fag. I was so, so tired, but I shot them a bird, because there's a proper sequence of events you're supposed to follow in these situations, and I didn't want to drop my end of the bargain and let anyone down.

After I shot the bird, I yelled, "Fuck you!" Then the guys in the van told me they were going to beat my ass. But the one guy that climbed out after the van stopped got down on his hands and knees and started throwing up in the street instead. I stuck around for a bit but it looked like he wasn't going to finish anytime soon, so I got in my truck and drove home. I guess everyone was tired. Sorry, random fighty guys. Maybe next time. Hope that throwing up turned out OK for you.


A few days later I went to go put gas in my truck and something odd happened. I was zoned out and pumping away, kind of gazing off into the distance, when I heard an odd gurgling noise. I looked over and a clear liquid started pouring out of that top yellow hutch thing you can see in the photo. The thing that says "quality fuels."

So this liquid is really coming down, just pouring out like a weird shower or something, nad it's getting all over my arm and shoes and stuff. I just kept pumping. "What is that shit?" I thought. "Did some rainwater get trapped up in that yellow hutch thing?" I looked up through the downpour and noticed that the pumps were covered by a large cement gazebo structure. "No way rain could get in that hutch with that gazebo standing guard," I thought. "What is this stuff?" I sniffed at it some, but didn't really smell anything, and just kept pumping away.


My next thought — no lie — was that the pumps were automatically washed on a timer, like the lettuce and stuff at the supermarket, and I was just unlucky enough to want to pump my gas when it was set to clean itself. Several embarrassing seconds later, I thought, "No, you're an idiot, that's totally ridiculous," and stopped pumping long enough to sniff my arm. It was only then that I figured out what you knew minutes ago — I was standing in a big-ass pile of gas. It was all over my pumping arm and had soaked through my sneakers and jeans. Why does gas smell like gas on my arm, but smell like water when it cascades through the air like a pretty waterfall? Is it because of science?

Alarmingly, gas kept coming out of that hutch even after I stopped pumping, ringing up on my fucking credit card. I ran inside and yelled at the girl behind the counter to shut down her crazy rogue pump before it ate all my goddamn money and turned me into a penniless street urchin. That's her in the second photo, sealing that shit up with yellow warning baggies.

I told her I'd like to take the extra gas money off my credit card and she called her boss to ask how to do it. It was her first day on the job and everything was really stressing her out. Her boss was like, "Well, how much did he get in his truck?" Like all suspicious I was stealing gas. I didn't want the girl to freak out, so instead of getting into it I just split and said I'd come talk to him in person the next day. After some thought, though, I just said fuck it and threw away the receipt. I figured it's worth 45 clams to not have to haggle and barter around with some butthole gas-station miser who's all penny-pinching and terrible.

The counter girl followed me outside to say thanks for not being a dick about the whole thing, and before I drove off I looked at all the gas everywhere and said, "So do you think all this shit will blow up when I turn the ignition?" She looked worried and said, "I honestly don't know." I yelled, "THEN YOU BETTER GET INSIDE!!! AAAAAGH!" She ran for her life and I drove off. No explosion.


So I was a little wound up over all this adventure and Saturday I decided I should go drink about a million beers to relax. I ended up at this block party where they had an awesome inflatable moonwalk blocking off one end of the street. If you were the competitive type and weren't into all the random bouncing you could grab these big puffy sticks and use the moonwalk for jousting, like these girls are doing. Oh, and another alternative moonwalk activity involves just getting really high and peacefully sacking out in the corner, like the guy in the far left corner.


I thought it was pretty great that the sleeping guy decided to enhance his relaxation experience by taking off one shoe and putting it on his head. I'm totally going to try that sometime.


You have to respect the courage of those who enter the field of battle to test their mettle in hand-to-hand combat, even if that field is soft and puffy. But you also have to admire the fortitude of those who use the field of battle for naps. You know? Unless they're one of those awful Buddhists, just trying to make a point.


Seriously, What the Fuck. Is that an Extra Nipple?
I'm sort of loaded right now. (Full disclosure.) And I've got wrasslin' queued up on the fake TIVO. And I'm eating this Cuban sandwich, and it is so, so good. Oh my god. I'm actually feeling pretty good right now. The only thing that could be better is if I had another one of these sandwiches. I got it from this place called Flaco's.

It wasn't all succulent Flaco's and awesome TV wrasslin' tonight, though. For exaMPLE, I got this big zit on my chest, and it's a really deep one. Like a third nipple. And deep! I tried to pop it before I went out, but the pain was too much. I almost passed out. This is a picture of Becca trying to pop it, outside at the bar. God damn, that shit hurt.

Becca's pretty. I hate her.

Seriously, someone took a picture of it and was showing it to everybody and they all assumed it was a proper nipple instead of a gnarly deep pimple. When Becca was through torturing me, squeezing and milking and molesting it but to no avail, we took another picture, because it was especially swollen and this seemed worth documenting, and we made sure to get one of my real nipples in there for comparison. Shit, I could totally eat another one of these Cuban sandwiches. I... I... I'm sleepy. My chest hurts.


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