Man, I remember when Stampede meant something.
I lie: it never meant anything - it just seemed cool way back when to eat as much deep-fried sugar as you could before strapping yourself into as many gravity-altering contraptions until you threw up into a Conklin garbage can. It was fun, y'know? All Stampede means these days is that people get drunk while wearing pink shirts. Oh, and really bad cover bands playing at a Stampede Breakfast at 10:00 am on a Sunday. Please stop ohgodwhyamiawake pleasegivemecoffeeandahammer tohurtpeoplewith.
Anyway: that's over now.
Yes, I know it's been another week since I, y'know, blogged. I am a bad antisocial interweb ranter. Sex does that to me. Now I'm home, but it's only to do laundry and clean the disaster that I call my apartment, before the parents hit town for the first time since they left, way back in 1994. Needless to say, I is a tad on the nervous side, as it will be the first time that my parents will get the opportunity to view my digs EVER. I know: it's sad. I'm over thirty. I should be able to answer the door in a wife-beater and ratty boxers, point at a collection of beer cans and porn and say, "Welcome to Casa Del Janzen!" with a shrug and a grin, but still: it's Mom & Dad, and they have superpowers. So clean I must. Plus: if I clean, then the ladyfriend can FINALLY come over to my place and not be afeared of being hit in the head by a flying ant.
Oh. Did I mention the whole Ladyfriend thing? Oops. Yes: the decade-long drought is over, and I have a Special Companion, or whatever it is you kids are calling it these days (I refuse to call her my 'ho' or 'bitch' or 'cum-dumpster', as some people have suggested, as doing so will result in the loss of teeth and sexual activities), and she is pretty and all of that stuff and I like her a lot. So there.
One thing: I'm still leaning towards cancelling my cable, as I haven't actually watched any TV in the last month and a half, aside from the few minutes I caught today which confirmed the fact that lacrosse still seems to be considered a REAL sport, and that everybody STILL loves Raymond, which in my opinion is more than ample proof that the lot of you need to be euthanised. Also: Watching a dubbed version of Kung Fu Hustle really sucks ass.
I lie: it never meant anything - it just seemed cool way back when to eat as much deep-fried sugar as you could before strapping yourself into as many gravity-altering contraptions until you threw up into a Conklin garbage can. It was fun, y'know? All Stampede means these days is that people get drunk while wearing pink shirts. Oh, and really bad cover bands playing at a Stampede Breakfast at 10:00 am on a Sunday. Please stop ohgodwhyamiawake pleasegivemecoffeeandahammer tohurtpeoplewith.
Anyway: that's over now.
Yes, I know it's been another week since I, y'know, blogged. I am a bad antisocial interweb ranter. Sex does that to me. Now I'm home, but it's only to do laundry and clean the disaster that I call my apartment, before the parents hit town for the first time since they left, way back in 1994. Needless to say, I is a tad on the nervous side, as it will be the first time that my parents will get the opportunity to view my digs EVER. I know: it's sad. I'm over thirty. I should be able to answer the door in a wife-beater and ratty boxers, point at a collection of beer cans and porn and say, "Welcome to Casa Del Janzen!" with a shrug and a grin, but still: it's Mom & Dad, and they have superpowers. So clean I must. Plus: if I clean, then the ladyfriend can FINALLY come over to my place and not be afeared of being hit in the head by a flying ant.
Oh. Did I mention the whole Ladyfriend thing? Oops. Yes: the decade-long drought is over, and I have a Special Companion, or whatever it is you kids are calling it these days (I refuse to call her my 'ho' or 'bitch' or 'cum-dumpster', as some people have suggested, as doing so will result in the loss of teeth and sexual activities), and she is pretty and all of that stuff and I like her a lot. So there.
One thing: I'm still leaning towards cancelling my cable, as I haven't actually watched any TV in the last month and a half, aside from the few minutes I caught today which confirmed the fact that lacrosse still seems to be considered a REAL sport, and that everybody STILL loves Raymond, which in my opinion is more than ample proof that the lot of you need to be euthanised. Also: Watching a dubbed version of Kung Fu Hustle really sucks ass.
Coming soon: Fishing adventures with The Boys.
This is me going to clean now. No, really. I mean it this time.
