...Ladies and Gentleman of the Jury, what say ye?
We find the defendent....Retarded as charged.
Again, I'll get back to what that means in a bit. Some of you undoubtedly understand what it means. Basically, I'm a retard. Through and through. When I was but a twinkle in my old man's eye, engaged in some cosmic game of chromosomal poker, the dealer fucked up and shorted me. Again, I'll explain later...
So I'm back in the states, and have been for a week. My sister seems to wanna "kick it old school" and not have internet in her house, so I haven't had much chance to get on and write about the Adventure that is ... The Return Home.
Being in foreign countries has always intrigued me for a number of reasons, one of the main reasons being that you see stuff that you don't really see elsewhere, and you can't really bring justice to the comedy of the situation when you talk about it later. But allow me to try..
On layover in Dubai, I didn't get a hotel room even though I 'technically' rated one. However, as we all know, using the word 'technically' is the last refuge of a geek or someone who gets screwed over somehow on a 'technicality,' but luckily my travelling buddy did get a room, so I ditched my shit in his room, watched some Star World, and eventually we headed to the bar to see what was crackin'. Dubai (UAE) is a cool place, cuz it's very much what you would think of as a "middle eastern" country in that it's dusty and hot and mosquey, with dudes cruisin around in man jammies and the whole getup, but there's so much money there that it's considered one of those progressive middle eastern states. I guess chain smoking + alcohol + Russian chicks + wanna be "mercs" makes a place progressive. In keeping with "progression," when we went to the bar I saw all the prereqs:
Arabs clad in man jammies and the headdress getting shitfaced and chain smoking
Russian chicks dancing on stage wearing ridiculous outfits matched and surpassed only by their ridiculous choreography and fake smiles (cuz we all know Russian chicks are grumpy creatures).
Wanna be mercs maddogging everyone
But the icing on the cake was:
A man in his 60s doing a dance solo in the middle of the bar. I guess when you spend your golden years in Thailand you forget where you are...
It seems a lot less comical when I write it. Kinda one of those "had to be there" things I guess.
So I flew out of Dubai to Heathrow, and this dude sits next to me. He had a screaming high 'n' tight haircut, a well groomed goatee, some 5.11 pants right out of battalion quartermaster, a riggers belt, and an oohrah marine corps shirt with "iraq" written on the sleeve. So I said, "...So, you workin as a contractor in Iraq?" That would be akin to asking a man wearing an orange afro, a red nose, giant shoes, and a polkadot unisuit, "...So, you a clown?" but I couldn't really think of a better way to break the ice. Oh, but this ice wasn't to be broken. He musta been PSD or something tough like that, cuz he didn't really wanna talk to me. He said, "Yeah, you?" and I sed "I've been working in Afghanistan." and he said "What program?" and I said "Poppy eradication." I was being pretty cheerful and not acting like a toughguy, so maybe I didn't measure up. Plus I was dressed like an unemployed scumbag which, coincidentally, I am, so that's where the conversation ended. So I slept for 8 hours. I guess I coulda pulled out the old "so were you a Marine?" thing, but why bother? After dealing with meathead psuedotoughguys for 7 months, I wasn't gonna lose sleep over another one, so I didn't. My customary 4 tylenol PMs sealed the deal. Peace out homo, have fun cheating on your wife wherever you're going, blowing your child support from the previous one, and pretending like you don't hate your job.
So I went on a 2 day drinkathon in DC and Baltimore. Apparently I must have morphed into some sort of anthropomorphic furniture item, cuz guys in bars kept leaning on me. It was really freaking me out, but they did it wherever I went. I'd be standing there, some guy would have his back to my back, and he'd kinda lean back. What's going on with that? It kind've took away from the evening(s) because it made me really nervous. I'm still not used to dealing with crowds of people being so close to me.
I am writing this on a seriously excessive laptop I bought. Hopefully I don't destroy it somehow, or spit coke all over it or something.
Aah yes, back to the matter at hand. Why I'm a retard. I'm not talking about how I dress, talk, carry myself, my inability to do simple math problems, my outlook on life, my tendency to accidentally pee in sinks, etc.. At the Cincinnati Airport I pulled a couple real good ones.
First, I missed my flight. My connecting flight. I thought it was an hour behind the east coast, so I sat there and read a book while my flight took off. Yeah, aren't I a seasoned traveller. That was strike one. Strike two is even better. Now, we all know that stuff in airports is expensive, and I'll be the first one to line up and buy a bottle of orange juice for $3. It's a fact of life, and since money and numbers go hand in hand, I tend to throw it around even when I don't have any. So I spot this little store called Laptops 'r' Us or something, and I cruise in (cuz I have 4 more hours till the next flight) and discover that it's also an internet cafe. I hop in, get online, start talkin to some friends, whatever, and an hour later I come out ready to continue waiting around. The dude there asks, "All done?" and I say "Yessir!" and he says, "Ok, that'll be $43 dollars." Again, I'm bad with numbers, and I don't usually complain about price, but I looked at him and said, "....Dude...That's really expensive." to which he responed, "Well, you were in there for 60 minutes exactly" as if it were a measly $5... So I bent over and took it right in the keister. What other choice did I have?
So that's why I am a retard. And because I will undoubtedly make thousands of other stupid mistakes like that during the rest of my tenure here on planet earth, I will always be ...a tard.
So I'll leave you with a gorgeous picture taken by a friend of mine named Rob, aka "The Bipolar Express." I saw him shoot a bus once. An occupied one. He's a whackjob, but he takes a mean photo:
Looking at it makes me miss the scenery "over there." I really miss the guys I worked with too, so this blogs for you. Hereye hereye. Or is it hearye hearye. My Ole English isn't what it used to be. Jolly good. Peace out, more later.
Again, I'll get back to what that means in a bit. Some of you undoubtedly understand what it means. Basically, I'm a retard. Through and through. When I was but a twinkle in my old man's eye, engaged in some cosmic game of chromosomal poker, the dealer fucked up and shorted me. Again, I'll explain later...
So I'm back in the states, and have been for a week. My sister seems to wanna "kick it old school" and not have internet in her house, so I haven't had much chance to get on and write about the Adventure that is ... The Return Home.
Being in foreign countries has always intrigued me for a number of reasons, one of the main reasons being that you see stuff that you don't really see elsewhere, and you can't really bring justice to the comedy of the situation when you talk about it later. But allow me to try..
On layover in Dubai, I didn't get a hotel room even though I 'technically' rated one. However, as we all know, using the word 'technically' is the last refuge of a geek or someone who gets screwed over somehow on a 'technicality,' but luckily my travelling buddy did get a room, so I ditched my shit in his room, watched some Star World, and eventually we headed to the bar to see what was crackin'. Dubai (UAE) is a cool place, cuz it's very much what you would think of as a "middle eastern" country in that it's dusty and hot and mosquey, with dudes cruisin around in man jammies and the whole getup, but there's so much money there that it's considered one of those progressive middle eastern states. I guess chain smoking + alcohol + Russian chicks + wanna be "mercs" makes a place progressive. In keeping with "progression," when we went to the bar I saw all the prereqs:
But the icing on the cake was:
It seems a lot less comical when I write it. Kinda one of those "had to be there" things I guess.
So I flew out of Dubai to Heathrow, and this dude sits next to me. He had a screaming high 'n' tight haircut, a well groomed goatee, some 5.11 pants right out of battalion quartermaster, a riggers belt, and an oohrah marine corps shirt with "iraq" written on the sleeve. So I said, "...So, you workin as a contractor in Iraq?" That would be akin to asking a man wearing an orange afro, a red nose, giant shoes, and a polkadot unisuit, "...So, you a clown?" but I couldn't really think of a better way to break the ice. Oh, but this ice wasn't to be broken. He musta been PSD or something tough like that, cuz he didn't really wanna talk to me. He said, "Yeah, you?" and I sed "I've been working in Afghanistan." and he said "What program?" and I said "Poppy eradication." I was being pretty cheerful and not acting like a toughguy, so maybe I didn't measure up. Plus I was dressed like an unemployed scumbag which, coincidentally, I am, so that's where the conversation ended. So I slept for 8 hours. I guess I coulda pulled out the old "so were you a Marine?" thing, but why bother? After dealing with meathead psuedotoughguys for 7 months, I wasn't gonna lose sleep over another one, so I didn't. My customary 4 tylenol PMs sealed the deal. Peace out homo, have fun cheating on your wife wherever you're going, blowing your child support from the previous one, and pretending like you don't hate your job.
So I went on a 2 day drinkathon in DC and Baltimore. Apparently I must have morphed into some sort of anthropomorphic furniture item, cuz guys in bars kept leaning on me. It was really freaking me out, but they did it wherever I went. I'd be standing there, some guy would have his back to my back, and he'd kinda lean back. What's going on with that? It kind've took away from the evening(s) because it made me really nervous. I'm still not used to dealing with crowds of people being so close to me.
I am writing this on a seriously excessive laptop I bought. Hopefully I don't destroy it somehow, or spit coke all over it or something.
Aah yes, back to the matter at hand. Why I'm a retard. I'm not talking about how I dress, talk, carry myself, my inability to do simple math problems, my outlook on life, my tendency to accidentally pee in sinks, etc.. At the Cincinnati Airport I pulled a couple real good ones.
First, I missed my flight. My connecting flight. I thought it was an hour behind the east coast, so I sat there and read a book while my flight took off. Yeah, aren't I a seasoned traveller. That was strike one. Strike two is even better. Now, we all know that stuff in airports is expensive, and I'll be the first one to line up and buy a bottle of orange juice for $3. It's a fact of life, and since money and numbers go hand in hand, I tend to throw it around even when I don't have any. So I spot this little store called Laptops 'r' Us or something, and I cruise in (cuz I have 4 more hours till the next flight) and discover that it's also an internet cafe. I hop in, get online, start talkin to some friends, whatever, and an hour later I come out ready to continue waiting around. The dude there asks, "All done?" and I say "Yessir!" and he says, "Ok, that'll be $43 dollars." Again, I'm bad with numbers, and I don't usually complain about price, but I looked at him and said, "....Dude...That's really expensive." to which he responed, "Well, you were in there for 60 minutes exactly" as if it were a measly $5... So I bent over and took it right in the keister. What other choice did I have?
So that's why I am a retard. And because I will undoubtedly make thousands of other stupid mistakes like that during the rest of my tenure here on planet earth, I will always be ...a tard.
So I'll leave you with a gorgeous picture taken by a friend of mine named Rob, aka "The Bipolar Express." I saw him shoot a bus once. An occupied one. He's a whackjob, but he takes a mean photo:
Looking at it makes me miss the scenery "over there." I really miss the guys I worked with too, so this blogs for you. Hereye hereye. Or is it hearye hearye. My Ole English isn't what it used to be. Jolly good. Peace out, more later.
2 Comments:
Perhaps some people enjoying kickin' it old school. Yo.
Yeah, they're called Amish and Eskimos.
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