Oh, my beloved Arriba Burrito! How I miss you so!.

5:55 am, February 3, 2005

I don't know WHAT the hell that was. Seriously, that was an abomination to journals everywhere. Not the content, oh no. I stand behind my words one hundred percent. I'm talking about these screen-long tangents with parenthesis within parenthesis.

A woman is taking 500 farts to the face for a thousand dollars on the Howard Stern radio show. If she moves her face at all, it starts all over. This is honestly the funniest thing I've heard today and any day the last week. Speaking of which, Artie called in sick on Monday. They played his voice mail recording and he sounded exactly like Babe Ruth's farewell address (when he had throat cancer and talked with a voice box). If that doesn't ring any bells, think the short bald dude who ran the Reservoir Dogs.

So, I'm here to make an announcement. I hereby from now to eternity make my pledge that I shall no longer be playing another hand of Texas Hold 'Em with my own money. Notice I didn't say all poker, but honestly you can throw in The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly as well, that game just sucks. Last night, I only had a few beers. Maybe seven or eight. Nothing I can't handle. Well, after I molested a few children from the day care next door, my brother, Jake and I decided to play some Hold 'Em. We ended up getting in two games, both for two dollars. First game, I'm out first. Kon, I don't want to hear it, pocket fours are god-like. Second game I returned with a renewed drive. Beat Jake's ass to face a chip disadvantage to my brother (Jake decided to take one in the kiester and give all his chips away to Josh). And, in head's up, I made a decent showing to almost pull even before it all unravelled.

When you lose to a couple of amateurs in that fashion, where you can't even bluff because they just go in on anything and river you at any moment, you know your time in the sun has long since fizzled into oblivion. Granted, it's four dollars out of my life. You know what that is? It's a fucking Asada Burrito at this Mexican place by my apartment plus 18 cents! Incidently, I don't know how much they like serving gringos like me, as I noticed everyone who patronized that establishment spoke Spanish to the lady taking orders who also spoke Spanish. They most likely spit in my burrito (which they wrote as Asada = Beef "Steak"; not really instilling much confidence in the quality of the cows they're slaughtering to make my meal a delectible delight). Between the invisible mucus and the potential for Mad Cow disease, do you find it surprising to note that I've already gone back there twice since I've moved here?

I've noticed a lot of head-tension since I've contracted and defeated this cold last week. I've jokingly refered to the line in Kindergarten Cop that it may be a tumor. I'm here to tell you I don't think I'm all that far from the truth. There's no excuse for such head trauma! It's like that feeling of having too much blood in your head, like you're hanging upside down for a long time and all the blood rushes down there. It's like that all the time. So, at work, I'll bend over to pick something up and my head's just throbbing.

If you want some medical advice, though, go out and buy a bottle of Extra Strength Excedrin. I don't care what it costs, those pills are the single greatest pieces of medicine ever invented. Seriously making my tumor feel like nothing more than a minor stroke (WAIT, I'M IN LOVE ... no, it's a stroke)

Shit, 6am already. Where does the time go? Time to walk my dog before he has kidney failure. And, maybe a little hair of the dog while I'm at it. A wounded Hamms is sitting in my fridge as I completely died around 10pm last night

Current Mood: God DAMMIT I forgot to put new music in my mp3 player!
Current Music: Pink Floyd - Goodbye Blue Sky