Post by salparadise on Jun 21, 2006 0:15:04 GMT -5
I awoke in a fit of teeth-clenching binary shock.
It was about a year ago.
I had recently suffered a round of full-blown intellectual castration at the hands of a small British boy. He was all decked out in blue knickers and wore one of those plate-looking hats with the ribbon thingy coming off the back, you know. He was as sad as I was and had some brilliant advice for me (it’s amazing that at even at such a young age, that pompous accent makes the British really seem smarter than everyone else, for sure).
Anyway, what he had to say was not so much profound or poetic as it was brutal and savage…but so appropriate as to actually make me think twice, and then wake up. He said:
“Sal, stop watching Star Wars, even your own wife is losing sexual interest in you because of that lame-ass crap…please read books that are better than The Dark Tower Series and take up golf.
“When you are done with all of that, I will visit you again…”
So I sold my Phantom Menace on VHS at a garage sale and resisted buying Episodes IV-VI: The SILVER Deluxe Letter Box Special You’ve-Never-Felt-So-Stupid-Spending-$70.00-in-Your-Entire-Life-Edition…NOW ON DVD!!!!The weirdest part was once I made the decision I came to realized that George Lucas is a power greater than himself, and that we all must turn our lives and our wills away from his crappy movies if we are ever to restore ourselves to sanity.
I then went and picked up a Classic fiction and a few non-fiction readers. Out of all that I would recommend Silko’s Ceremony, AIDS in the 21st Century by Barnett and Whiteside, and I’ve Got a Big ‘ol Boner for You, Girl by GA Fricano. Good shit, seriously.
Then I went to college, where I began to pay people to tell me how much I sucked at things. General things, of course. I don’t get to specialize in sucking at things for another year or so.
But before all of that I bought a set of golf clubs. I hit the links a whole bunch of times and never improved until a few months ago when I got a birdie on a par-4. I’ve been chasing that Tweetie little bitch ever since, much to the disappointment of everyone I golf with and to the horror of my clubs, all of which I am sure expected a better future for themselves than what I have so far provided (the head of my 3-wood exploded on the 17th hole at Bel-Aire in Phoenix because I drove it about a foot into the ground in front of the tee…the club’s head went further than the ball…RIP Dunlop 3-Wood, you were to the world far more than it ever was to you!).
So I did everything that the little British biscuit asked me to do, and the experiences have rendered me A) more sexually appealing (according to me), B) a few more books the wiser and C) with the cherished nicknames “Freshman Bitch” and the adorable “Three-Wood”.
And then after all of that the little limey fucker hasn’t reported back in. And I swear to god that pisses me off. Little swaggart is gonna get some crumpets and a wicket shoved up his pasty ass next time I dream about him.
I swear to god.
Fuck the British. I’m gonna go fire up Empire.
-Thanks for listening,
Sal
It was about a year ago.
I had recently suffered a round of full-blown intellectual castration at the hands of a small British boy. He was all decked out in blue knickers and wore one of those plate-looking hats with the ribbon thingy coming off the back, you know. He was as sad as I was and had some brilliant advice for me (it’s amazing that at even at such a young age, that pompous accent makes the British really seem smarter than everyone else, for sure).
Anyway, what he had to say was not so much profound or poetic as it was brutal and savage…but so appropriate as to actually make me think twice, and then wake up. He said:
“Sal, stop watching Star Wars, even your own wife is losing sexual interest in you because of that lame-ass crap…please read books that are better than The Dark Tower Series and take up golf.
“When you are done with all of that, I will visit you again…”
So I sold my Phantom Menace on VHS at a garage sale and resisted buying Episodes IV-VI: The SILVER Deluxe Letter Box Special You’ve-Never-Felt-So-Stupid-Spending-$70.00-in-Your-Entire-Life-Edition…NOW ON DVD!!!!The weirdest part was once I made the decision I came to realized that George Lucas is a power greater than himself, and that we all must turn our lives and our wills away from his crappy movies if we are ever to restore ourselves to sanity.
I then went and picked up a Classic fiction and a few non-fiction readers. Out of all that I would recommend Silko’s Ceremony, AIDS in the 21st Century by Barnett and Whiteside, and I’ve Got a Big ‘ol Boner for You, Girl by GA Fricano. Good shit, seriously.
Then I went to college, where I began to pay people to tell me how much I sucked at things. General things, of course. I don’t get to specialize in sucking at things for another year or so.
But before all of that I bought a set of golf clubs. I hit the links a whole bunch of times and never improved until a few months ago when I got a birdie on a par-4. I’ve been chasing that Tweetie little bitch ever since, much to the disappointment of everyone I golf with and to the horror of my clubs, all of which I am sure expected a better future for themselves than what I have so far provided (the head of my 3-wood exploded on the 17th hole at Bel-Aire in Phoenix because I drove it about a foot into the ground in front of the tee…the club’s head went further than the ball…RIP Dunlop 3-Wood, you were to the world far more than it ever was to you!).
So I did everything that the little British biscuit asked me to do, and the experiences have rendered me A) more sexually appealing (according to me), B) a few more books the wiser and C) with the cherished nicknames “Freshman Bitch” and the adorable “Three-Wood”.
And then after all of that the little limey fucker hasn’t reported back in. And I swear to god that pisses me off. Little swaggart is gonna get some crumpets and a wicket shoved up his pasty ass next time I dream about him.
I swear to god.
Fuck the British. I’m gonna go fire up Empire.
-Thanks for listening,
Sal
