Tonight, the Chicago White Sox convinced a stadium of fans to wear nothing but black in attempt to create a "blackout!" The administration must have failed to realize that the vast majority of White Sox fans are white. And hillbillies. Wearing blackface would have been inappropriate and out of the question. Go Bulls!
If I had an income I might be more worried about the current economic catastrophe that has unfolded the past few weeks in this country. The idea of the government asking for $700 billion to bail out rich motherfucks is seemingly absurd. However, I'm not at all worried about that specifically. The DOW dropped 777 points which is still second to what MJ dropped on Utah. Sure the economy had the biggest single day loss in history (or since The Great Depression?) but could you imagine what kind of shit show would have taken place if it had dropped 666 points? Sarah Palin would have, unblinkingly of course, told the American people that the world was going to end (if it isn't already). The sad thing is, the people would have wholeheartedly believed it. So if this simple triple number was just a digit lower, we would have been fighting off hillbillies with our Toyota Prius' and other eco-friendly cars. Not much of a chance against Ford F150's and whatever other bigass truck that includes a free cowboy hat and Tim McGraw cd upon purchase. Sane people all over this country dodged a hypothetical bullet (shot from Jesus Christ's glock, he be bustin shots crazy these days). Maybe we should look at all those lucky 7's as a blessing.
"A client was laying here looking up and told me, Michelle, you have Jesus on your ceiling. I just kind of looked at her, and she said you do, Jesus on the ceiling," said Michelle Beech, Manager.
In my opinion, when you see a 'portrait' of Jesus Christ in a water stain on a ceiling tile, there is either something wrong with your mental interpretation of Jesus Christ or you are abusing a prescribed substance, which is awesome. When is it ever just a stain? or a Cheeto? or just tree bark? or just a normal piece of whatever? Those that (supposedly) follow in Jesus' footsteps should be bothered that the only natural pictorial evidence they have of Jesus comes in savory Frito-Lay snacks, nasty ruined ceiling tiles, or countless other ridiculous things. The right thing to do would be to begin to question whether this pictorial evidence of what Jesus looks like is getting in the way of the beliefs and morals he preached and taught. Imagine being hung up on something so ridiculous, constantly inspecting every snack, mud imprint, used tampon, or anything else just as trivial and unimportant (well, not the tampons), never really being able to practice those ideals. If I were one of those people I would be completely upset. Then again, I'm not one of those people. I eat Cheetos 6 at a time, never worrying if I'm biting the head off of Jesus. If I have...it was delicious.
Why does it seem like all of these "Jesus" sightings happen in Wisconsin?
After going to see Don Cheadle's "Traitor" tonight (which I thought was badass) I came home to find my mom using the Republican National Convention as background noise to her reading. Neither of us really cared about what was going on at the convention so we decided to make it a game. "Find A Black Guy" quickly turned into "Dear God Find ANY Brown Guy!" It was laughable. For fifteen minutes we didn't catch a single glimpse of a tan. My mom shouted, "GOT ONE!" only to quickly realize the guy she spotted was a security guard with his back to the stage, and one of those land line telephone wires in his ear. My rules say that doesn't count. A few minutes later I was almost positive I saw the hand of a black woman behind Cindy McCain, although, we didn't count that either because it was only one hand, the left one. We gave up a few minutes later and got back to what we were doing. I'm not too sure we should have found it as funny as we did...
Why yo grand-daddy gang bangin' And yo mama booty be stankin Why yo brother got them lil' gym shoes on Yo sister? she nappy headed
You light skinned like michael jackson But yo mama and them dark like michael blackson No money back when you did your taxes Oodles and noodles for lunch and breakfast
T-shirt little Got a big ketchup stain in the middle Lil dirt tpain you a stripper Short hair due with a bang in the front Pony tail in the back You smell like baby similac mixed with a dill pickle
And you got a black front tooth Yo mama got a mustache bigger then mine And got a size 14 in a timberland boot
[Chorus:] Yo mama dirty Yo daddy dirty Yo sister dirty Yo brother dirty Yo dog dirty Yo turtle dirty People got jokes and I know you heard me What's up with that? [x4]
Yo mama got a mustache bigger than yo dads What's up with that?
Yo mama Yo daddy Yo greasy greasy grand-mammy
She got wholes in her draws 6 feet tall Tall enough to play basketball
She fonky And you busted Why you walk around smelling so musty Looking like ezell off friday That's a damn shame girl you dusty
Get yo goofy ass out of here With a face like midget mac Yo weave off track And yo butt so flat Do apple bottoms sagg?
Yo mamas on crack Rock her hair just like a dust mop Yo uncle smell like dookie Plus he live behind a bus stop
[Chorus]
Oh hell naw Yo buddy cute but you pop Yo daddy work at the corner store And yo mama stripper name is stop
Yo mama look like a man Yo man look like a kid Yo kid look like a miniature volume of martia billblewit a wig
Yo booty stank and you musty Plus yo clothes dirty as hell Yo air force ones all busted You had them since last year
Yo 10 year old sister pregnant And yo mama mad cause she caint get with Yo little brothers idle is michael vick And yo uncle real name is harriet (Ooooo)
There's definitely something about the west coast. I thought I figured it out when I was in San Francisco a week ago. I've always thought that maybe the weather just completely changes the way people think. In some ways, I would say that it's very true. Cold winters keep us Midwesterners humble. Keeps us in check. I slowly realized that California isn't as "laid back" as everyone claims it is. On the weekend, most stores don't open until noon in San Francisco, seemingly trying to prove that storeowners and their consumers have an understanding that sleeping in is more important than shopping. I really thought I was getting somewhere, when I was up by 10:00am wondering where I could eat a hearty breakfast to kill my hangover, realizing that opening late on the weekends is more pretentious than anything else. But I wasn't satisfied with that conclusion. I'm not sure I ever really figured out what is so different about the west coast.
It wasn't until we arrived in Portland that I noticed a difference that I could grasp. It's really easy for me to judge a city like San Fran as "pretentious" because I really don't know anything about the place. I don't really understand it. However, what I do understand (in pretty much every situation) is when girls have butts. And in Portland, the white girls have butts! I mean going on short hikes in Yosemite, seeing shooting stars, gazing from overwhelming cliffs, and hearing stories of black bears ripping open cars to eat chap stick and suntan lotion was foreign to me. Foreign as fuck. But white girls with butts?!?!?! It can drive a pathetic little city dude from Portage Park, Chicago to near insanity. "There are a lot of good looking people in this city," I found myself saying repeatedly. What I was really trying to say is, "Is it me or do these white girls have butts?" They did. They did indeed. So from now on Portland shall be known as "home to the white girls with butts." I just wish some of them would move to Chicago. Portage Park area preferably.
For anyone that likes the idea of the show "Jackass" they will really appreciate Remi's intelligence at pulling off ridiculous pranks (and how awesome he is at soccer). I saw his videos a few years ago and thought they were hilarious. I'm glad to see he's still doing his thang. I recommend pretty much all of his videos but here are just a few examples:
For years Al has been parading around referring to our dogs as "asos." And for years I thought that it was just another sound example of his insanity. I mean, walking around calling things by nonsense names isn't too far removed from any of Al's other habits when confronting the world. When Al puts four digits from his left hand to his face and makes a face of disgust, I know from all of my past experiences with him, he will follow his hand motions with a high pitched, "Bobby Bayouk-son!" (bye-YOOK-son). He will then repeat it around six times, each getting louder and higher pitched. Now I can't tell you who exactly Mr. Robert Bayouk-son is, but he's been a topic of conversation for years in my household. As legendary as Santa Claus is to a four-year-old (or a fourteen-year-old if you live two doors down) the rest of us in this house talk of Mr. Bayouk-son with great amusement and fascination. We've come to figure that he must not have been a sincerely profound character in Al's life because he is only mentioned when LuLu decides that pooping outside is overrated or when Al decides to smell the lint that has been wedged under his toenail for the past seven weeks.
After procrastinating for nearly twenty years I finally built up the strength (and the courage, who wants this looney toon to be correct after all these years?) to see if Al's childhood imagination is relentless or if he does indeed belong in a padded Filipino prison. I found that in Tagalog (the mother country's native tongue) "aso" means dog. I'm not sure if "aso" in the plural tense is "asos" but Al has been right all along. Pointing at LuLu and exclaiming, "That, my friend, is a little ASO!" She sure is. I am happy to have some sort of sign that I will not become completely insane by the age of forty, however I am still stuck in a world of confusion. Who is this Bobby Bayouk-son, and why does he remind Al of terrible smells?
