Fridays are Movie Night at my house which gives Groff, me, and my mom a chance to slug beers together and bond. An awesome idea, I must say. Last night Groff called me up from the movie place, asking what he should rent. My mom and I were in agreement that Triple X would be the best movie ever, so I told him to get that.
Three hours later Groff showed up, smirking, with a DVD in his hand.
"You get the goddamn movie?" I asked, hinting at my annoyance toward his tardiness.
"Oh yeah Bro" he said, "Sit down. I'll put the movie in. You enjoy the show."
I tell ya if there's one thing Groff is good at, it's redeeming himself.

We started the movie and right away I knew he hadn't got the correct one; the production was really poor, like it was filmed on a camcorder. Still in back of my mind I thought maybe the director was playing a trick on the audience, like he was waiting for the anticipation to grow to such a fevered frenzy, that only then would he appease the viewers with a glimpse of the Golden God himself, Vin Diesel. My hopes were crushed when the opening credits finished and I hadn't seen his name. The names I did see, however, were anything but recognizable; names such as: Snatch Johnson, Mel Fistin', Laura Crotch, Steve Bukkake, Oprah Bang-Me, and Donald Hump.
Talk about a bunch of freaks. There's no doubt in my mind those chumps got their asses kicked day after day on the playground. Anyways, after my initial letdown subsided I made sure to find something enjoyable in the movie.
It started in a kitchen with a scantily clad young lady complaining about the sink to her friend. Her friend, in a bikini, suggested she call a plumber to fix the problem. Seconds later the doorbell rang and in came a burly man in uniform and a nametag which read Dick on it.
Groff and I both chuckled, but what happened next was no laughing matter.
Plumber man asked Lady #1 what her problem was and she said, "I think something's wrong with my plumbing." Except she said it in this weird, throaty, voice which made me worry about her health. Plumber man was all into it though, responding with, "Well, why don't I go down there and take a look?" Of course he winked.
Instead of checking out the sink, he got on his knees and put his face where a doctor's should go. Boy oh boy was my face red!!!! I had no idea that's what plumbers really did! As this was going on I became aware of the soundtrack fading in. Casio melodies and synthesized drum beats that would make Wesley Willis (R.I.P) proud played in the background, and I couldn't believe it but, out of nowhere Lady #2 with her bikini walked in!!! Can you say embarassment? Evidently neither Snatch Johnson nor Laura Crotch can, because they invited (who I'm guessing was) Oprah Bang-Me to join them. She did. Things got messy so I covered my eyes.
When the scene ended I felt very relieved, and glad that I wouldn't have to put up with it again. Finally, I could pay full attention to the film, its unraveling plot, the dialogue, and all that important stuff. Well, wouldn't you know, five minutes later the same situation played itself out with different partners? This made me angry. How was the movie supposed to go anywhere when all its characters kept getting naked?? Not to mention I didn't see any goddamn Vin Diesel!!! Groff and my mom were oblivious to all this, as they seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the whole thing. I didn't want to be a fifth wheel so I just kept my mouth shut till it was all over; while they both hooted and clapped I asked Groff, "What the hell was that? I thought you were going to rent Triple X!" He called me an idiot and said I wouldn't know a good XXX film if it sat on my lap and danced.
At this point I was drunk so I went in my room and crashed. A few hours later I woke up though, and in my drunken haze decided to apologize to Groff for flipping out. Oddly enough, he wasn't in the living room. It wasn't until I made it back to my bed that I heard from behind the wall, "Now let's take a look at that sink" along with a muffled giggle.
So I'm guessing Groff helped my mom unclog the bathroom sink, which makes sense, because he's always telling her how he's good with his hands.
After that I couldn't possibly stay mad at him, 'cause like I said earlier, if there's one thing Groff's good at, it's redeeming himself.

Mark Wahlberg said it best with, "Poems are amazing . . ." and I agree with him. If you don't know where that quote's from then you better start doing your homework. Lately I've been getting into some deep poetry that's changed my life. Because of this I've decided that I should start writing poems and posting them, that way I can change somebody else's life. I haven't been able to write anything yet, so I'll just post my favorite Emily Dickinson poem, which I found on the internet. This one doesn't have a title but here goes:


Milk.
Milk.
Lemonade.
Round the corner--
Fudge is made.


Amazing, right? It's a shame that woman never saw success in her lifetime; I'm sure that one would've wowed her peers. In other things literary, it's occurred to me that others' opinions of you will skyrocket if they know you read. I know this for a fact because everytime I'm somewhere public and a hot mama walks by, I drop whatever topic I was conversing about and say, loudly, something like, "Yeah so I've been reading [insert amazing book title] and it's really changed my life!" An attention grabber, believe me! Whenever I pull this little trick, I make eye contact with the hot mama and wink. Winking is like giving a girl a business card that says, "Hey Babe. Wanna hump?" Try it some time.
I'm off topic though. Back to the point. I frequent the local Salvation Army which has a buttload of books and they're super cheap, so I thought I'd impress you with a list of books I bought the other day. Another reason I buy secondhand books is so I can brag to all my friends about owning older copies; this way I can claim oldschool on them. Everyone who is more oldschool than someone else is cooler by default.
Here is my list of titles I purchased and a short synapse of how I feel about them:

Where The Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein--Like I said, I'm into some really deep poems right now and Silverstein is no exception. Plus, he wrote that song "A Boy Named Sue" so he deserves some credit for that too.

The Complete Stories Volume 2 by Isaac Asimov--Normally I don't buy anything that is split into series or volumes because I think the chances of finding the complementary books are slim to none. BUT my grandfather gave me the first volume so I wanted to add numero dose to the collection. For $2.99 you can't go wrong! Eat shit Barnes and Noble.

1984 by George Orwell--An awesome book I read years ago. Have you read it yet? Didn't think so. Keep trying Scooter.

George W. Bushisms V "New Ways To Harm Our Country" Edited by Jacob Weisberg--It's obvious the guy who compiled this book hates freedom. Soon as I saw it, I knew it must be bought; that way I could burn it.

As for what I'm currently reading, that would be: Hiroshima by John Hersey--On the cover beneath the title is a quote that states, "Everyone able to read should read it." I couldn't think of an argument as to why I shouldn't read it. Non-fiction isn't my bag but this is a good book. If you're able to read, you should read it.

Basically the point of this post was to showcase how much smarter I am than you. Enjoy!

I joined a new club yesterday! Can you believe it? I can't.
On my way to work I had to fill up the Honda, and since a new gas station opened up less than a mile from my house I stopped there. Besides gas I bought a large coffee and when I paid for both the dude at the cash register said, "That's $21.67 Would you like join to our Coffee Club?"
I got choked up. I couldn't believe my ears. Was he really asking me to join their coffee club? Before I could answer I blinked my eyes a few times (to cover up the tears of joy) and cleared my throat, but suspicion crept in. Why was I being offered membership into an exclusive club such as this?

There was only one plausible explanation and it froze my guts just thinking about it.

This here clerk saw me with my long hair and boyish good looks, mistook me for a nancy and, being one himself, decided to make a pass at me. Well, I wasn't having that. I regained composure and in my deepest, most monotone voice said, "And why the hell would I want to do that?"
"You'll get a free 12 oz. cup of coffee after every sixth purchase" he said.
He knew I was on to him and we were now engaged in a verbal sparring match, but I wasn't backing down and asserted my straightness, saying, "I don't see myself buying too much coffee, but I'll join. Usually I drink gravy while eating a steak in the morning; only when I run out of gravy do I touch coffee."
"Whatever you say, sir. Enjoy your cafe au lait with the extra shot of raspberry and cream" was his response.
Through some crazy coincidence I had a stick of beef jerky in my jacket (from the last time I'd been stoned) so instead of dignifying him with a goodbye I crammed that sucker into my mouth, ate it, without breaking eye contact. It was so manly I'll put money down that John Wayne spun in his grave. After getting my point across, I turned to the door and left.
So now I'm a member of the Green Mountain Coffee Club!
After typing it all out and reliving the whole ordeal in my mind, I think I may have overreacted. It's fine though; I went back there this morning and Jules (that's his name!) offered to take me to dinner. I guess I can apologize and explain myself then. Who knows? We might even go to a Disco afterwards!!!

It dawned on me while reading an issue of "Us" magazine that American broads hold an uncanny attraction to British men; Hugh Grant, Jude Law, Sean Connery, Mic Jagger, Russel Crowe, etc...
My immediate response was, "That explains why women won't talk to me" which wasn't a smart thing to say out loud because Cletus, my supervisor, walked in the breakroom as I uttered it. Thinking on my feet, I quickly added, "At least that's what my father said when we told him guys aren't supposed to wear dresses. Ha. Good old Dad." Cletus gave me an odd look and walked out. Whew. Talk about a narrow escape from a potentially awkward situation!
I thought about my unfortunate problem with the female species and wondered if there wasn't anything I could change, and that's when it hit me: I could be British too! This took my spirit, picked it out of the trash, wiped it off, and sent it sailing. From that point on, I swept floors faster, scraped scuff marks harder, and yelled at students more frequently. When finally I made it home I called Groff to ask his advice and assistance; he was more than willing to help, and thirty minutes later he showed up with two cases of beer. Groff and I got down to brass tacks and before I knew it I was on my way to being a real Brit!!

Groff told me I'd forgotten one very important name on my handsome clebrities list, and that was Robert Smith of The Cure. He said if I dressed like him chicks would lay me like a blanket. I was totally down with that, so I made sure to put lipstick and hair gel on my "To Buy" list.
Then Groff told me how British people drink tea by the barrel, and that their favorite food is Cheerios. Duly noted.
After that I was taught how to speak with a 100%, honest-to-God British accent, by yelling "Oi!" into my mirror for a few hours.
Finally, Groff explained why he brought so much beer over, stating that the British love to get "pissed!" He then proceeded to urinate on my pillows.
Before ending the night we danced in my room to Duran Duran, David Bowie (duh), and some Crass. It really was quite bitchin! After all that excitement I couldn't wait to show the world my new British self, but it took a few days to gather all the necessary items, so I had to bide my time.

When my time came to shine I arrived at work dressed as closely to Robert Smith as possible; my lips bright red, my hair teased to the maxx. Now don't get me wrong, I expected some surprised faces, some remarks like, "You really amaze me" and so on; but I only received the former, and that was at best.
My entrance to the breakroom came as a complete shock to my co-workers. Cletus all but shit himself in a paroxysm of cuss words and Wally just stared, while his copy of Swank fell to the floor. The silence had to be broken so I said, "G'day mates, any of you sods catch the football match last night?" Those idiots didn't realize I meant soccer and responded by talking about some fifty-niner team. I got confused so I stopped paying attention, but decided it was time to work. Not many people saw me after that, I was busy unplugging toilets and replacing urinal cakes. Lunchtime rolled around, garbage cans had to emptied, and I was pumped to unveil myself to the kids and, more importantly, Linda.
I entered the cafeteria with hopes of a standing ovation and came pretty close to getting one. It started off with a few smirks, spreading into full mouthed grins, expanding into bursts of laughter, and ultimately ended with kids pointing at me and clapping. This gesture of support would not go unnoticed; I stood atop a table and bowed. Some wise-ass had an orange he didn't feel like eating, and instead of throwing it in the trash, threw it at me. The orange pelted my forehead in mid-bow, causing me to lose balance and fall backwards into a trash can.
This was a good thing because it broke my fall, saving me a trip to the hospital; on the other hand this was a very bad thing because this particular day was Spaghetti & Meatballs Day.
So there I was, stuck in the garbage, limbs flailing, waiting for someone to help. Mistaking me for his student, a Special Ed teacher rushed to my aid but ended up kicking the trash over when he found out who I was. Stupid prick. Anyways, I got off the floor (looking like I just shat pasta sauce) and, not having the heart to be seen by Linda, hurried out of the cafeteria amidst roars of laughter.
Cletus, Wally, Jasper, and Stefan could tell I was distressed; I explained what happened, telling them, "Oi! Bloody hell. Me britches is stained from arse to ankle." I was told to take a break which was cool because it was almost tea-time. I went to the vending machine and bought a Lipton Brisk Tea, offering the other custodians to join me. They declined, murmuring something about me and tea bags. I couldn't hear exactly what it was they said but I'd love to know more about tea bags and all the different varieties there are, so I should bring that up next time at work. Even though I was on break, the fact that some shmuck kid chucked an orange at me really got on my nerves. Cletus must have sensed this because I was ordered home after finishing my tea; pretty lame, I know, but on the bright side I ended up working only half a day.
While my attempts at becoming a British sex symbol fell flat on their face, I learned that it's cool to roll with the punches. What does that mean? I don't know. I'm drunk.
One thing I DO know is the kid who threw that orange at me got expelled. I did some research and found out who he was and which locker he used, then planted some beer and cigarettes in it. Then I made an anonymous complaint about him to the principal. That jerk'll be in juvie for at least two years. Who's laughing now, Orange Peel?

Earl's got himself a girlfriend now. Know what I think? She's bad news. Not only is she bad news but she's also a raging feminist. She didn't come right out and say, "Hey I'm a raging feminist" but I can tell when I spot one. She hated me from the first minute she laid eyes on me. It's not like I was out of line either; all I did was say, "Hey Raenisha, you got some killer bazongas" and I might have accidentally pinched her butt. Nothing big, ya know? Certainly nothing that would warrant calling me a "chauvinist pig!"
That accusation is completely false and absolutely ludicrous! I wasn't wearing some lame blazer or a goofy driver's cap, and there sure as hell wasn't a limousine anywhere near us, so for her to assume I was a chauvinist was pure crap. Now the second part of that slanderous label rings closer to home, because of an incident when I was in highschool. One night at a party I got a little too drunk, blacked out, and woke up in a dumpster. Does that make me a "scumbag" or a "dumpster diving dickhead?"

I didn't think so either, but the captain of the swim team told everyone to call me a pig and everyday at lunch kids would bring in homemade mud pies to throw at me. Thanks a lot Kent.
Anyways, now Raenisha's trying to break the group apart saying that she doesn't feel "comfortable" around me. Whatev. I didn't really think she had killer bazongas in the first place. I was just saying it to be nice. Even if Earl betrays us for her, it doesn't matter 'cause Groff's my true homie. I'll roll with him till the wheels fall off.
BRO'S BEFORE HO'S!

Yesterday Groff and I went to an Italian eatery while he was on a fundraising mission to save the rainforests of Mars or something. In front of the building was a pink Pontiac Grand Am that had a red, white, and green flag on the bumper. Across the windshield was plastered "Sicilian Stallion of Love," and as Groff and I were about to walk in these two guys burst out in argument. They must have been speaking some rare dialect because neither Groff nor I could understand a word of it. This is what we heard:

Guy 1: "Hey Paison!"

Guy 2: "Eh, Rigatoni!"

Guy 1: "Mozzarella primavera ravioli Chuck Mangione!"

Guy 2: "Pasta fagiole chicken caccitore bologna pepperoni!"

Guy 1: "Salami spaghetti provologne!"

Guy 2: "Fettucini???"

Guy 1: "Linguini!!! Tony Soprano parmesan al dente lasagna!"

Guy 2: "Lasagna???"

Guy 1: "LASAGNA."

Then they started fighting. Groff and I laughed because the whole thing consisted of them rolling on the ground, pulling each other's hair, and yelling out foreign phrases like, ziti and calzone. Guy 1's shirt was torn, exposing a tattoo of Italy wrapped in tribal barbed wire that had "ITALIAN 4 LIFE" written above it. Then Guy 2 cheated and poked Guy 1's eyes. I heard him utter a "Why I oughtta...." and was surprised that he was bi-lingual.
Groff found a stick nearby and started poking both of them, which he thought was hysterical. They didn't find it funny though, so they got up and approached him. Guy 1 was all like, "Meatball antipasto manicotti marinara." Guy 2 started talking trash as well, adding, "Ragu alfredo ricotta Al Pacino." Groff was dumbfounded. He just looked at the dudes and told them he didn't know any Spanish. They kept advancing on Groff so he threw the stick at them and bolted in the other direction, with me following. When we were at a safe distance Groff yelled out, "Hey idiots!" to get their attention. It worked. Groff flipped them off and shouted that they were a bunch of wusses and that he'd totally beat their asses if he wasn't so late for work.
We continued running after that because they started chasing us, but they couldn't catch up and we got away. When Groff and I arrived at his house we were pretty tired, so we napped together. And that was that.
I'd really like to know what those dudes were saying though. Groff says it was Spanish, but I don't believe him. I'm pretty sure the argument had something to do with that Pontiac because I remember Guy 1 farting on its hood when he said, "Lasagna."
Heh, lasagna probably means poop. That's pretty funny.