More Reasons to Love Brazil!!! I need to go back for a visit!!
Showing posts with label Travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Travel. Show all posts
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Friday, March 2, 2007
Making a Theory Into Law (and THONGS!!!)
This was on my old website. The actual event happened in 1995, if memory serves me correct.
Making a Theory into Law
I wouldn't even call it road-rash; I've had carpet-burns that looked worse than this. But let me qualify all of this by saying that I was hoping for much more. I started a new teaching job around two months ago, and part of the deal with starting a new job is that you have no time off for the first 90 days. For those of you in Canada who can't do the math, 90 days is three months and that means I have another 30 days, or another month, before I can take some time off. Anyone who knows me knows I am all about taking time off, coming to work late, leaving work early, working on the web page during work, and thinking about not being at work while I am in fact at work. I figured that breaking a major appendage while on a road-trip would be the perfect excuse for me to take some time off and get to relax. But I failed miserably.
But the weekend road-trip wasn't a total failure; I did prove a theory of mine. That's right; I turned a theory into law. It is now unbreakable, and punishable by courts. You may have gotten the impression that I do pretty well with the ladies. That is true for the most part, at least romantically, but ladies that I am not involved with romantically or sexually sometimes tend to find me as a bit harsh and abrasive, and I've often wondered why that is. My theory (now a law) doesn't explain why that is, only when it happens. Typically, my experiences with the fairer sex in non-physical capacities have all started well enough and then horribly careened out of control until one of us is left in tears or cussing the other out. I have found that this downhill process has to do with the number 4. It always occurs in the 4th hour, 4th day, 4th week, etc. For some reason this paranormal 4th hour has plagued me my entire adult life.
During my road-trip where I was intending to seriously injure myself, I was in a car with 3 other stand-up, honest, male individuals... and one female. Like my theory goes, all is well for the first 3 hours and 59 minutes, then it happens. We were talking about college football after seeing a game and I mentioned that I watched a particular game that they were discussing. I explained that I was just sitting at a bar, eating food and watching the game when a hottie contest broke out. I was a victim of hottie fever, what the hell was I supposed to do? I was a spectator at one of the most strategically sound coups ever. The hottie wasn't going to win until she played the "thong card". Just like an Olympic champion, the thong-girl knew what it would take to win; she dug deep and found the courage to do what had to be done. As the saying goes: the thong always wins.
Needless to say, the girl in the care with us became very upset with me. Why get upset with me? I wasn't wearing the thong! She pointed out that mentioning the word "thong" in context with a female was degrading to her gender. I said that guys in San Francisco wear thongs and I don't find it degrading (Check that, I find it utterly disgusting, but I didn't want to make things worse so I tried a little diplomacy to try and smooth the situation). I would think calling her "harpy" would be degrading; "thong" is just a word.
Then she said, "that shit isn't cool", and thought evil thoughts about me while staring at the back of my head. I've never seen a chick this upset, ever. She was livid. I'm just lucky that she was female and was probably incompetent with firearms (I found out later in life that some females are too competent with firearms, but that is another story).
Then she called me a "pig". She didn't call me a pig to my face, but she did call me a pig. I think the female population needs to take a long hard look inwards. First they wear the thong, and then they get upset at me because of it. Why the dichotomy? Where is the compassion? We should be celebrating the thong, not calling me a pig! The thong equals power. The thong-girl is going to get a lot farther in life than the nasty pig-calling girl. I think she feared the thong. Viva la thong!
Making a Theory into Law
I wouldn't even call it road-rash; I've had carpet-burns that looked worse than this. But let me qualify all of this by saying that I was hoping for much more. I started a new teaching job around two months ago, and part of the deal with starting a new job is that you have no time off for the first 90 days. For those of you in Canada who can't do the math, 90 days is three months and that means I have another 30 days, or another month, before I can take some time off. Anyone who knows me knows I am all about taking time off, coming to work late, leaving work early, working on the web page during work, and thinking about not being at work while I am in fact at work. I figured that breaking a major appendage while on a road-trip would be the perfect excuse for me to take some time off and get to relax. But I failed miserably.
But the weekend road-trip wasn't a total failure; I did prove a theory of mine. That's right; I turned a theory into law. It is now unbreakable, and punishable by courts. You may have gotten the impression that I do pretty well with the ladies. That is true for the most part, at least romantically, but ladies that I am not involved with romantically or sexually sometimes tend to find me as a bit harsh and abrasive, and I've often wondered why that is. My theory (now a law) doesn't explain why that is, only when it happens. Typically, my experiences with the fairer sex in non-physical capacities have all started well enough and then horribly careened out of control until one of us is left in tears or cussing the other out. I have found that this downhill process has to do with the number 4. It always occurs in the 4th hour, 4th day, 4th week, etc. For some reason this paranormal 4th hour has plagued me my entire adult life.
During my road-trip where I was intending to seriously injure myself, I was in a car with 3 other stand-up, honest, male individuals... and one female. Like my theory goes, all is well for the first 3 hours and 59 minutes, then it happens. We were talking about college football after seeing a game and I mentioned that I watched a particular game that they were discussing. I explained that I was just sitting at a bar, eating food and watching the game when a hottie contest broke out. I was a victim of hottie fever, what the hell was I supposed to do? I was a spectator at one of the most strategically sound coups ever. The hottie wasn't going to win until she played the "thong card". Just like an Olympic champion, the thong-girl knew what it would take to win; she dug deep and found the courage to do what had to be done. As the saying goes: the thong always wins.
Needless to say, the girl in the care with us became very upset with me. Why get upset with me? I wasn't wearing the thong! She pointed out that mentioning the word "thong" in context with a female was degrading to her gender. I said that guys in San Francisco wear thongs and I don't find it degrading (Check that, I find it utterly disgusting, but I didn't want to make things worse so I tried a little diplomacy to try and smooth the situation). I would think calling her "harpy" would be degrading; "thong" is just a word.
Then she said, "that shit isn't cool", and thought evil thoughts about me while staring at the back of my head. I've never seen a chick this upset, ever. She was livid. I'm just lucky that she was female and was probably incompetent with firearms (I found out later in life that some females are too competent with firearms, but that is another story).
Then she called me a "pig". She didn't call me a pig to my face, but she did call me a pig. I think the female population needs to take a long hard look inwards. First they wear the thong, and then they get upset at me because of it. Why the dichotomy? Where is the compassion? We should be celebrating the thong, not calling me a pig! The thong equals power. The thong-girl is going to get a lot farther in life than the nasty pig-calling girl. I think she feared the thong. Viva la thong!
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Vegas Baby Vegas
This one is a long one, but entertaining. It happened in 2001 and was posted on my previous website (Which has since disappeared thanks to a crappy server that couldnt do anything right!!) Anyway, enjoy!!!
Now, this actually started on a Saturday afternoon, but ended Sunday morning, so I figure this could be a drunk on Sunday story.
Vegas, ca. 2001: Its Saturday around 2pm, and we've just left Circus Circus. Have you ever been there? I have mixed feelings on the place. First off, it's like a second rate casino in the middle of babylon. But damn if that clown out front doesn't really pressure you into going in. He looks happy and jubilant, but there is no question that he is forcefully directing you to game at the Circus Circus Casino.
Well, we really couldn't keep ourselves from going in and gambling. Hell, you're in Vegas, what else is there? I could have spent the new millennium in Vegas, and had someone asked how it was, my response would have been something like "man, I had a hard 16 and the dealer dealt me a 5, it was incredible."
There were three of us. Somehow the 20 people that had shown up for our friend's bachelor party just werent around at this point. I'm sure we could have found them on some table somewhere. Hell we just drove up from Texas to crash the party, and the third in our particular party had flown in from San Francisco for the gig.
Anyway, we had some drinks while playing blackjack, which I believe we were all up. Interesting comment by the Pit Boss, "Man, I never put more than 10.00 gas in my car. If gas was 10.00/gallon, I'd have to keep stopping to put in another gallon." I dont know why, but that comment has been stuck in my head for a year. Anyway, I digress.
Have you ever checked out the big Circus tent, The Adventuredome, in Circus Circus? Dude, it's like an amusement park. This was my first time visiting Circus Circus in Vegas (Even though I had been to Vegas at least 20 times before, I never wanted to lower myself to that place). I had been to Reno where some kind blackjack dealer gave us the low down on the ranches in the area, but Ive never seen anything like this. As Ice Cube would say "I was getting overwhelmed by Bebe's kids."
After winning some deformed coffee mug at some contest, and enjoying a good hot dog, I had to get the hell out of that place, so we took the glasses our drinks were in (which I could serve you out of if you humbled me with your presence at my pad) and took off.
Down to the Bellagio, for no real apparent reason. But what we discovered was the backdoor to Vegas. You know how they give you free drinks when you gaming, which sometimes can come to about 20.00/drink if you're not careful? Well, we hit the Sportsbook in the Bellagio for some gambling on the ponies.
First off, if you go at the right time, you're one of only a handful of people there. Secondly, the Bellagio has the hottest waitress' in the world, I'm convinced of that fact, and they're in plenty, which is even better.
So, what you can do is sit there and bet a couple dollars on the ponies here and there over the course of say 5 hours, and get free drinks all the while you're there. So you get loaded at very little or no cash expense to yourself.
Well, we sat there for a good while getting loaded. One waitress would come by every 10 minutes, and I must say I still talk about that girl with fond admiration and as a level of beauty which I compare others too. God Bless her mother and father for bringing her into this world. Of course, it could have been the drinking, but I'm sticking with my original story.
Another waitress would come by every 10 minutes, but staggered between the other girls stops. Now, my buddy Brent and I could not help but to get a drink every time she stopped by. Hell, why wouldn't you? It's free (for the most part). I'll never forget seeing his eyes when he realized that we could get shots for free from them. It was as if he was seeing for the first time. It was beautiful to be there for that moment.
After tying a really good one on (Im sure my speech was slurring badly at this point) I met up with a friend of mine at the poker tables. He's an old buddy of mine from my band days back in Texas, and I know anytime I'm in Vegas, he'll be at the Bellagio Poker Room. It's a given.
We drank some more as we played some blackjack. The local native friend of mine had gotten drilled for about a grand in 20 minutes, so he left in a hurry and we bid adieu. However, I was doing okay on my table, and we were having more and more drinks.
This is where I found out that Hasim Rachman had knocked out Lennox Lewis down in South Africa to take the heavyweight title, at 15-1 odds no doubt. Damn I was an idiot for not taking the gamble on that one, but who would really?
So we get drunker. I like to think that there should be a term called Vegas Drunk. Because drinking in Vegas is like drinking nowhere else in the world. You don't know you're drunk, can't tell what time it is, how drunk you are, how dumb you are. I mean, Vegas really knows what theyre doing to shadow your senses to your own stupidity. But damn, I love it so.
We leave the Bellagio drunk as a skunk and head over to Paris Casino across the road. Along the way, one of us comes up with the brilliant plan: "I think it's time to bet big." Now, saying this to some drunken gamers is an easy way to test the limits of your pocketbook quickly. I think it's about 9pm now, and we're stumbling across the road.
Going into the Paris Casino through Bally's Walking Escalator one will become hypnotized...you sit there on this escalator going into the casino as a soothing voice says out speakers "close your eyes, listen to my voice. Today you're going to win like you've never won before."
I don't know why we didn't bet at Bally's because I know that guy was right, but we went to Paris, which is adjoining Bally's. By the way, did you know that if you ever want to see anything in the world, you can find it in Vegas? I saw the Eiffel Tower there, and now I have no reason to travel across the Atlantic.
So we "bet big" at Paris. "Betting big" is a relative term, but to us that meant about 100.00 hands in blackjack. After about 20 minutes I was down about 800.00 and pretty pissed off. Time to hit the craps table.
But before the craps table, I had to take care of some business in the world-class bathrooms there. I recommend the Paris Casino for all your toilet needs while you're in Vegas.
However, as a drunk might do, I walked out of the bathroom and through the casino with toilet paper on my shoes, trailing me as I walked around. The only reason I could finally figure out what everyone is looking at was my friend's laughing so hard at me. They usually don't laugh that hard, so a quick perusal of my person found the problem. Hell, it was pretty funny for me.
Well, I called some girl a whore at the craps table. I think that was rock bottom for me that evening. She didn't deserve it, and I apologized, but the French inspired Paris Casino had the manners and pissy attitude of the French, and I was getting drilled left and right. I wasn't sure how I was going to pay for the ride home to be honest.
On our way back to the MGM Grand, where I had room on the floor of a room reserved for the bachelor party, we decided to do shots at every bar we could find. Now, in Vegas there are a lot of bars. I remember dancing to some crap at some casino somewhere at some point.
We stopped at every place and did Tequila and Jaggermeister everywhere. Not a good combo. We had no idea what time it was, where we were, or what was really going on. I do remember the Monte Carlo. I swear to this day that a Steve Martin look-alike was working behind the bar, but my companions disagreed with me on that one. When I asked him about it, he said that he never heard that before. I'm sticking to my story though.
This Steve Martin look alike advised us that if we wanted to locate some women that we'd probably want to go to this brewery in the Monte Carlo Casino, so off we went. My buddy Brent and I went in, showed our ID's and went on in. Both of us commented on how hard they had carded us, but went in and ordered three Alabama Slammers.
Waiting for our buddy Matt to come on in got tiresome, so we offered his shot to one of the girl's that were milling around us. Conversing with the girls, they asked where our other friend was. We nonchalantly, half joking but half serious, said, "oh, he's probably being detained by the cops, or in jail, but we're not really sure."
A couple minutes later Matt showed up, pissed as all can be, talking about how the cops detained him at the door. I can not do justice to his anger at that particular moment, so I won't try, but he went on to explain what happened: They took my ID and claimed it wasn't me, and then waved some cops over. They had be backed up to a wall, and 4 cops surrounded me. they kept questioning me about when I graduated (then proceeded to say I couldn't graduate that year) and all about everything. Man I was so pissed. I thought about trying to break my way out, but I didn't.
I wish I could do justice to the pleasure the story gave me at the time, but I cannot. I hardly remember all of it.
We went on down the street making our way to the MGM. Somehow, a group of about 4 guys were really enamored with us, and said that they wanted to buy us drinks down at Mandalay Bay. I'm always down for free drinks, but there was also a Fatburger along the way. So, I ran across the street and saw my life flash in front of my eyes as a car came flying around the corner. Dude, I had to jump out of they way of that car, and had I not jumped, I'm sure an extended stay in a Las Vegas hospital would have been in order.
But I got my fatburger and rootbeerfloat, ate it on the curb on the strip and headed back down to the MGM where the other guys were. Found them on the tables, gambled a bit and then to the bar again.
It was about 4-5am at this point, and we went into some argument about the fight (Lewis rachman). At this point I thought about trying to pick up one of the nice ladies sitting at the bar to go back to my room with me, but the thought of where (there were 10 people staying in the hotel room) to take care of business evaded my capabilities at that point.
Of course, I can't even be sure if they would have gone, and a slap could have happened with any kind try...I don't know how all that works anyway.
So I went to sleep on the floor of the hotel room. Woke up the next morning, made a lot of my money back the hour before we left, Brent and I got in my pickup and made the long drive back to Texas after dropping Phil off at the Airport.
Vegas, I love you!
Now, this actually started on a Saturday afternoon, but ended Sunday morning, so I figure this could be a drunk on Sunday story.
Vegas, ca. 2001: Its Saturday around 2pm, and we've just left Circus Circus. Have you ever been there? I have mixed feelings on the place. First off, it's like a second rate casino in the middle of babylon. But damn if that clown out front doesn't really pressure you into going in. He looks happy and jubilant, but there is no question that he is forcefully directing you to game at the Circus Circus Casino.
Well, we really couldn't keep ourselves from going in and gambling. Hell, you're in Vegas, what else is there? I could have spent the new millennium in Vegas, and had someone asked how it was, my response would have been something like "man, I had a hard 16 and the dealer dealt me a 5, it was incredible."
There were three of us. Somehow the 20 people that had shown up for our friend's bachelor party just werent around at this point. I'm sure we could have found them on some table somewhere. Hell we just drove up from Texas to crash the party, and the third in our particular party had flown in from San Francisco for the gig.
Anyway, we had some drinks while playing blackjack, which I believe we were all up. Interesting comment by the Pit Boss, "Man, I never put more than 10.00 gas in my car. If gas was 10.00/gallon, I'd have to keep stopping to put in another gallon." I dont know why, but that comment has been stuck in my head for a year. Anyway, I digress.
Have you ever checked out the big Circus tent, The Adventuredome, in Circus Circus? Dude, it's like an amusement park. This was my first time visiting Circus Circus in Vegas (Even though I had been to Vegas at least 20 times before, I never wanted to lower myself to that place). I had been to Reno where some kind blackjack dealer gave us the low down on the ranches in the area, but Ive never seen anything like this. As Ice Cube would say "I was getting overwhelmed by Bebe's kids."
After winning some deformed coffee mug at some contest, and enjoying a good hot dog, I had to get the hell out of that place, so we took the glasses our drinks were in (which I could serve you out of if you humbled me with your presence at my pad) and took off.
Down to the Bellagio, for no real apparent reason. But what we discovered was the backdoor to Vegas. You know how they give you free drinks when you gaming, which sometimes can come to about 20.00/drink if you're not careful? Well, we hit the Sportsbook in the Bellagio for some gambling on the ponies.
First off, if you go at the right time, you're one of only a handful of people there. Secondly, the Bellagio has the hottest waitress' in the world, I'm convinced of that fact, and they're in plenty, which is even better.
So, what you can do is sit there and bet a couple dollars on the ponies here and there over the course of say 5 hours, and get free drinks all the while you're there. So you get loaded at very little or no cash expense to yourself.
Well, we sat there for a good while getting loaded. One waitress would come by every 10 minutes, and I must say I still talk about that girl with fond admiration and as a level of beauty which I compare others too. God Bless her mother and father for bringing her into this world. Of course, it could have been the drinking, but I'm sticking with my original story.
Another waitress would come by every 10 minutes, but staggered between the other girls stops. Now, my buddy Brent and I could not help but to get a drink every time she stopped by. Hell, why wouldn't you? It's free (for the most part). I'll never forget seeing his eyes when he realized that we could get shots for free from them. It was as if he was seeing for the first time. It was beautiful to be there for that moment.
After tying a really good one on (Im sure my speech was slurring badly at this point) I met up with a friend of mine at the poker tables. He's an old buddy of mine from my band days back in Texas, and I know anytime I'm in Vegas, he'll be at the Bellagio Poker Room. It's a given.
We drank some more as we played some blackjack. The local native friend of mine had gotten drilled for about a grand in 20 minutes, so he left in a hurry and we bid adieu. However, I was doing okay on my table, and we were having more and more drinks.
This is where I found out that Hasim Rachman had knocked out Lennox Lewis down in South Africa to take the heavyweight title, at 15-1 odds no doubt. Damn I was an idiot for not taking the gamble on that one, but who would really?
So we get drunker. I like to think that there should be a term called Vegas Drunk. Because drinking in Vegas is like drinking nowhere else in the world. You don't know you're drunk, can't tell what time it is, how drunk you are, how dumb you are. I mean, Vegas really knows what theyre doing to shadow your senses to your own stupidity. But damn, I love it so.
We leave the Bellagio drunk as a skunk and head over to Paris Casino across the road. Along the way, one of us comes up with the brilliant plan: "I think it's time to bet big." Now, saying this to some drunken gamers is an easy way to test the limits of your pocketbook quickly. I think it's about 9pm now, and we're stumbling across the road.
Going into the Paris Casino through Bally's Walking Escalator one will become hypnotized...you sit there on this escalator going into the casino as a soothing voice says out speakers "close your eyes, listen to my voice. Today you're going to win like you've never won before."
I don't know why we didn't bet at Bally's because I know that guy was right, but we went to Paris, which is adjoining Bally's. By the way, did you know that if you ever want to see anything in the world, you can find it in Vegas? I saw the Eiffel Tower there, and now I have no reason to travel across the Atlantic.
So we "bet big" at Paris. "Betting big" is a relative term, but to us that meant about 100.00 hands in blackjack. After about 20 minutes I was down about 800.00 and pretty pissed off. Time to hit the craps table.
But before the craps table, I had to take care of some business in the world-class bathrooms there. I recommend the Paris Casino for all your toilet needs while you're in Vegas.
However, as a drunk might do, I walked out of the bathroom and through the casino with toilet paper on my shoes, trailing me as I walked around. The only reason I could finally figure out what everyone is looking at was my friend's laughing so hard at me. They usually don't laugh that hard, so a quick perusal of my person found the problem. Hell, it was pretty funny for me.
Well, I called some girl a whore at the craps table. I think that was rock bottom for me that evening. She didn't deserve it, and I apologized, but the French inspired Paris Casino had the manners and pissy attitude of the French, and I was getting drilled left and right. I wasn't sure how I was going to pay for the ride home to be honest.
On our way back to the MGM Grand, where I had room on the floor of a room reserved for the bachelor party, we decided to do shots at every bar we could find. Now, in Vegas there are a lot of bars. I remember dancing to some crap at some casino somewhere at some point.
We stopped at every place and did Tequila and Jaggermeister everywhere. Not a good combo. We had no idea what time it was, where we were, or what was really going on. I do remember the Monte Carlo. I swear to this day that a Steve Martin look-alike was working behind the bar, but my companions disagreed with me on that one. When I asked him about it, he said that he never heard that before. I'm sticking to my story though.
This Steve Martin look alike advised us that if we wanted to locate some women that we'd probably want to go to this brewery in the Monte Carlo Casino, so off we went. My buddy Brent and I went in, showed our ID's and went on in. Both of us commented on how hard they had carded us, but went in and ordered three Alabama Slammers.
Waiting for our buddy Matt to come on in got tiresome, so we offered his shot to one of the girl's that were milling around us. Conversing with the girls, they asked where our other friend was. We nonchalantly, half joking but half serious, said, "oh, he's probably being detained by the cops, or in jail, but we're not really sure."
A couple minutes later Matt showed up, pissed as all can be, talking about how the cops detained him at the door. I can not do justice to his anger at that particular moment, so I won't try, but he went on to explain what happened: They took my ID and claimed it wasn't me, and then waved some cops over. They had be backed up to a wall, and 4 cops surrounded me. they kept questioning me about when I graduated (then proceeded to say I couldn't graduate that year) and all about everything. Man I was so pissed. I thought about trying to break my way out, but I didn't.
I wish I could do justice to the pleasure the story gave me at the time, but I cannot. I hardly remember all of it.
We went on down the street making our way to the MGM. Somehow, a group of about 4 guys were really enamored with us, and said that they wanted to buy us drinks down at Mandalay Bay. I'm always down for free drinks, but there was also a Fatburger along the way. So, I ran across the street and saw my life flash in front of my eyes as a car came flying around the corner. Dude, I had to jump out of they way of that car, and had I not jumped, I'm sure an extended stay in a Las Vegas hospital would have been in order.
But I got my fatburger and rootbeerfloat, ate it on the curb on the strip and headed back down to the MGM where the other guys were. Found them on the tables, gambled a bit and then to the bar again.
It was about 4-5am at this point, and we went into some argument about the fight (Lewis rachman). At this point I thought about trying to pick up one of the nice ladies sitting at the bar to go back to my room with me, but the thought of where (there were 10 people staying in the hotel room) to take care of business evaded my capabilities at that point.
Of course, I can't even be sure if they would have gone, and a slap could have happened with any kind try...I don't know how all that works anyway.
So I went to sleep on the floor of the hotel room. Woke up the next morning, made a lot of my money back the hour before we left, Brent and I got in my pickup and made the long drive back to Texas after dropping Phil off at the Airport.
Vegas, I love you!
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Vidor, Texas and 4 Drunk Guys
Another blast from the past here. All of my friends down in Texas will know what I am talking about. This was originally posted on my now-defunct website in Sept. of 1998.
In college we had a saying: Don’t fuck with Willie. We said it almost as often as we “Texas Fight” on Saturdays for football and basketball games.
Willie was a big, beef-eating kind of a fuy. His skin was blacker than night and he had a death wish throughout most of our college lives. There was many a weekend when Jimmy, Jason, Willy and I would head out and immediately be up to no good.
One long weekend, we were visiting friends in Beaumont, Texas. Now Beaumont is Cajun country, almost on the border with Louisiana. The night of “the keg incident” we’d gone across the border to Hebert’s Grocery (again, for you yanks, it’s pronounced A-BEAR’S). Back in the back of the tiny store was a window with a guy on the other side making underage boys like ourselves very happy (We were all Freshman or Sophomores in College). This was the place all the kids from Texas and Louisiana within 30 miles would go for beer and wine. Four mega sized beers later we peeled out and headed back to Texas. Kelly and Willie were in Kelly’s latest loaner Mustang and Jason and I were in Jason’s piece of shit pick up that could rattle the paint off a house.
Alcohol does things to a man. Mostly make him stupid. And stupid is as stupid does, that night. Willie decided he wanted to go to the Taco Bell. But not the nearest one, no, no, he wanted the one in Vidor.
Oh, hell no. “You’re fucked up, man. We ain’t going to Vidor.”
“I’m hungry!”
“For a noose?”
I remember looking at Jason and he smiled and shrugged. “The boy wants to go to Vidor, let’s go.”
Shit. It was a fucking bad idea. Vidor is where the Klan is. And I don’t just mean a group of Klansmen residing in the city, I mean the whole god forsaken city. I am not joking. Vidor is the racist city in the world. The Klan headquarters is there. Even the police are world famous for their racism. Fucking Montel Williams did a whole show on the racism in Vidor, which only advertised to the rest of the haters out there that there was a safe haven for them right there in East Texas. Hell, the Klan posts a fucking sign at the Wal-Mart announcing meetings so nobody misses one.
We pulled up in the Taco Bell and Jason opened his glove box. “Put these on. Keep your mouth shut.” He gave me two cheap men’s rings. I put one on each hand. Jason had relatives in Vidor. He didn’t share their views, but it gave him insight on how to handle the mentality.
We were the only ones inside when we ordered, but halfway through the meal, because Willie insisted on eating in the dining room, we had visitors. Three white boys pulled into the parking lot driving a pick up with a keg in the bed. They came inside and immediately set eyes on Willie. That motherfucker I swear nibbled his taco from that point on. “Eat, bitch.”
“Man, my belly is hurtin.’”
Jason balled up his paper and glanced at Willie, then me, then Kelly. He held up three fingers, then four.
Outnumbering them didn’t matter one bit when the cops would arrest every damn one of us. No cop in his right mind would believe we just stopped in for something to eat. Blacks don’t just stop in Vidor. I don’t care if they’re diabetic and chancing a coma if they don’t get some fucking OJ in the next two minutes, they don’t stop in Vidor. Sidebar here -- I remember going to the Sugar Bowl in 1994 or 95. We were piled into a car that was being driven by our friend Tyrone, a Track and Field star at UT. We were beyond empty and needed gas, he refused to stop for gas in Vidor. This was a big athletic dude and he wouldn’t even set foot in that town. We ran out of gas turning off at an exit about 6 miles past vidor. He stayed in the car as my friend Drew and I had to walk to the gas station. He felt we were still too close to Vidor for him to venture out walking. Crazy shit! And it’s like that to this day.
Anyway, back to the story. We got up to leave just as the Vidorians’ order was ready. Willie swore he didn’t move first, but it happened so fast I couldn’t tell. One minute we were almost home free, the next we were ripping one skinny white boy after another off of Willie while he tore into the biggest one who’d been eyeballing him the hardest. The wiry son of a bitch I got stuck with kept drilling me in the chest until I finally got a knee into his gut. All I can remember thinking is “Oh, Jesus, not the face, don’t hit me in the face!” I could hide the bruising on my body, but a busted lip and black eye would generate a whole new shit storm with my parents, who were coming down to visit me in two days.
The one guy Jason was pounding had lost his nerve and ran to the other end of the dining room which freed both him and me up to get between Willie and the fucking moose he was brawling with. The cashier told us she called the cops, which was not good news for us no matter who started it. It took all three of us to drag Willie out of there.
Once we got outside Jason, Kelly and I all ran for our rides, but Willie took a detour.
“What the fuck are you doing? Come on!”
Willie had jumped into the back of the white boys’ truck and was pushing the keg out to the end of the bed. Then he jumped down, slid the keg off onto his back and walked it one agonizingly slow step at a time to Jason’s pick up. We dropped the tailgate and he set the keg down, shoved it back and lifted the gate.
“Souvenir.”
Jason called him a name not even I would repeat, but it was the first time I’d ever heard Willie laugh. I mean laugh hard. When we got out of there and hopped back onto the highway I told Jason. “I’m fucking glad he’s on our side.”
Jason looked at me in all seriousness and said, “Can you tell my pants are wet?”
Reflection: As I look back on this, I am sad to say that Vidor is still a messed-up place. I have some friends from there and I will say that not everyone in that town is a racist, but there seems to be a higher than normal percentage. CNN and several other news shows have done recent stories on the town. Here are the links to a couple:
CNN Story -- http://www.cnn.com/2006/US/12/08/oppenheim.sundown.town/index.html
http://www.tmcnet.com/usubmit/2006/12/13/2167699.htm
http://www.rtis.com/reg/bcs/pol/touchstone/april99/vidor.html
It is crazy to think that places like this still exist in this day and age.
In college we had a saying: Don’t fuck with Willie. We said it almost as often as we “Texas Fight” on Saturdays for football and basketball games.
Willie was a big, beef-eating kind of a fuy. His skin was blacker than night and he had a death wish throughout most of our college lives. There was many a weekend when Jimmy, Jason, Willy and I would head out and immediately be up to no good.
One long weekend, we were visiting friends in Beaumont, Texas. Now Beaumont is Cajun country, almost on the border with Louisiana. The night of “the keg incident” we’d gone across the border to Hebert’s Grocery (again, for you yanks, it’s pronounced A-BEAR’S). Back in the back of the tiny store was a window with a guy on the other side making underage boys like ourselves very happy (We were all Freshman or Sophomores in College). This was the place all the kids from Texas and Louisiana within 30 miles would go for beer and wine. Four mega sized beers later we peeled out and headed back to Texas. Kelly and Willie were in Kelly’s latest loaner Mustang and Jason and I were in Jason’s piece of shit pick up that could rattle the paint off a house.
Alcohol does things to a man. Mostly make him stupid. And stupid is as stupid does, that night. Willie decided he wanted to go to the Taco Bell. But not the nearest one, no, no, he wanted the one in Vidor.
Oh, hell no. “You’re fucked up, man. We ain’t going to Vidor.”
“I’m hungry!”
“For a noose?”
I remember looking at Jason and he smiled and shrugged. “The boy wants to go to Vidor, let’s go.”
Shit. It was a fucking bad idea. Vidor is where the Klan is. And I don’t just mean a group of Klansmen residing in the city, I mean the whole god forsaken city. I am not joking. Vidor is the racist city in the world. The Klan headquarters is there. Even the police are world famous for their racism. Fucking Montel Williams did a whole show on the racism in Vidor, which only advertised to the rest of the haters out there that there was a safe haven for them right there in East Texas. Hell, the Klan posts a fucking sign at the Wal-Mart announcing meetings so nobody misses one.
We pulled up in the Taco Bell and Jason opened his glove box. “Put these on. Keep your mouth shut.” He gave me two cheap men’s rings. I put one on each hand. Jason had relatives in Vidor. He didn’t share their views, but it gave him insight on how to handle the mentality.
We were the only ones inside when we ordered, but halfway through the meal, because Willie insisted on eating in the dining room, we had visitors. Three white boys pulled into the parking lot driving a pick up with a keg in the bed. They came inside and immediately set eyes on Willie. That motherfucker I swear nibbled his taco from that point on. “Eat, bitch.”
“Man, my belly is hurtin.’”
Jason balled up his paper and glanced at Willie, then me, then Kelly. He held up three fingers, then four.
Outnumbering them didn’t matter one bit when the cops would arrest every damn one of us. No cop in his right mind would believe we just stopped in for something to eat. Blacks don’t just stop in Vidor. I don’t care if they’re diabetic and chancing a coma if they don’t get some fucking OJ in the next two minutes, they don’t stop in Vidor. Sidebar here -- I remember going to the Sugar Bowl in 1994 or 95. We were piled into a car that was being driven by our friend Tyrone, a Track and Field star at UT. We were beyond empty and needed gas, he refused to stop for gas in Vidor. This was a big athletic dude and he wouldn’t even set foot in that town. We ran out of gas turning off at an exit about 6 miles past vidor. He stayed in the car as my friend Drew and I had to walk to the gas station. He felt we were still too close to Vidor for him to venture out walking. Crazy shit! And it’s like that to this day.
Anyway, back to the story. We got up to leave just as the Vidorians’ order was ready. Willie swore he didn’t move first, but it happened so fast I couldn’t tell. One minute we were almost home free, the next we were ripping one skinny white boy after another off of Willie while he tore into the biggest one who’d been eyeballing him the hardest. The wiry son of a bitch I got stuck with kept drilling me in the chest until I finally got a knee into his gut. All I can remember thinking is “Oh, Jesus, not the face, don’t hit me in the face!” I could hide the bruising on my body, but a busted lip and black eye would generate a whole new shit storm with my parents, who were coming down to visit me in two days.
The one guy Jason was pounding had lost his nerve and ran to the other end of the dining room which freed both him and me up to get between Willie and the fucking moose he was brawling with. The cashier told us she called the cops, which was not good news for us no matter who started it. It took all three of us to drag Willie out of there.
Once we got outside Jason, Kelly and I all ran for our rides, but Willie took a detour.
“What the fuck are you doing? Come on!”
Willie had jumped into the back of the white boys’ truck and was pushing the keg out to the end of the bed. Then he jumped down, slid the keg off onto his back and walked it one agonizingly slow step at a time to Jason’s pick up. We dropped the tailgate and he set the keg down, shoved it back and lifted the gate.
“Souvenir.”
Jason called him a name not even I would repeat, but it was the first time I’d ever heard Willie laugh. I mean laugh hard. When we got out of there and hopped back onto the highway I told Jason. “I’m fucking glad he’s on our side.”
Jason looked at me in all seriousness and said, “Can you tell my pants are wet?”
Reflection: As I look back on this, I am sad to say that Vidor is still a messed-up place. I have some friends from there and I will say that not everyone in that town is a racist, but there seems to be a higher than normal percentage. CNN and several other news shows have done recent stories on the town. Here are the links to a couple:
CNN Story -- http://www.cnn.com/2006/US/12/08/oppenheim.sundown.town/index.html
http://www.tmcnet.com/usubmit/2006/12/13/2167699.htm
http://www.rtis.com/reg/bcs/pol/touchstone/april99/vidor.html
It is crazy to think that places like this still exist in this day and age.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Roppongi -- Japan's Answer to Bourbon St.
Thought I would start postiing some of my travel adventures. I have been to South America, Central America, Asia, the Middle East, and parts of Africa. I was one of those backpacking crazies right after I graduated from college. This is one I wrote in 1997 after I got back from Asia.
Love it, hate it, loathe it, leave it: Roppongi is undenialibly a people magnet. Perhaps it doesn't attract the most savory of characters, but it cannot be denied that all walks of life rub elbows and more in Roppongi unlike anywhere else in Japan. To me, this is the Asian version of New Orleans' Bourbon Street. Wild, Crazy, Sexy, and Sultry.
What is Roppongi. Roppongi is Tokyo's little den of sin for ready-to-go gaijins and adventurous Japanese. Its humble origins date back to 400 years ago when it was a quiet little temple town with nary a vice to its name. Tragedy seems to be in Roppongi's blood as it has faced ravaging fires, WWII bombs, and drunken foreigners puking all over it during its long questionable past. Its party reputation began a hundred years or so ago, when Japanese soldiers were quartered there and, as it usually happens around young men with money and testosterone to spare, a sordid night-life sprung slowly into life. The US military continued this fine tradition in Roppongi after WWII.
These days, a night in Roppongi can be spent fending off the lusty advances of horny Nigerians, frustrated sailors, and pent up marines, and those are the guys. The girls there are crazy. Some are prostitutes, trolling for their next trick. Other women go there to find a tourist and have a little fling. For the young male out on the prowl, he has to run the alluring but annoying gamut of the massage girls. Shouting: "Massagee! Massagee!", they love to rush out to grab any passing single male and not let go until their victims have either given in or brutally fought them off. There are nightclubs that have nothing but "working women" in them. Then there are the legit clubs where the young and horny crowd go to hook up for free. There are gay clubs, transvestite clubs, clubs for old people. You name it, you can find it.
The night is a friend to Roppongi and its inhabitants of party-goers and pleasure-seekers. The streets are seemingly filled with beautiful people stumbling about in a wonderful haze as they hop from club to club. In rich rolling Nigerian accents, club hawkers call out to the passing crowds inviting them to clubs that promise to be packed with fun and people. Perhaps its the blinding flashing lights, the blaring music, or the alcohol but the insides of the popular clubs do seem to boast a population of the most incredibly good looking charismatic people who simply personify the word "cool".
Some nights, however, just aren't a good time to visit - though some sour critics would say that there is never a good night to visit Roppongi. I went there for the first time on New Years Eve 1996. Nearly the entire crew contingent of the USS Kittyhawk aircraft carrier was there to meet, compete, and throw-up on me. It was wall-to-wall testosterone. Roppongi on that New Year's would have been a lovely place to go if you were female or gay. Unfortunately, I was a single male. Bad Luck!!
I went club hopping with some friends I had met up with. A couple of them were from Japan, the others were Europeans. I got incredibly drunk and had repeated run ins with the Navy Guys. They were being assholes to everyone. I understand they are cooped up on a ship for months at a time, but they need to chill out when they come to shore. They were only looking for poontang or to get in a fight. I did stay out of any fights that night, although I probably saw at least 7 or 8 different fights throughout the night. Around 3 AM, I met some girl at a club and we started dancing. We decided to hook up, but she lived about an hour away and my hotel would not allow foreigners to bring women in (Stupid rule!!!)
Anyway, the Roppongi district has this covered. They have a number of seedy little hotels that rent rooms by the hour for horny party-goers. Being New Years, there was actually a line at most of these. We waited about 25 minutes for a room, and went in and had our fun. We stayed there till about 6:30 AM.
The danger of Roppongi, and there are many, is staying too long. If you do not hook up early and get out of there or you miss your last train, you will be in danger of seeing the horror that is Roppongi in the morning. Although I found my girl, the sun was already peaking over the rooftops when we left the hotel. She went her way and I stumbled to find my way to the subway station.
MY GOD!!! My first thoughts were that I had stepped into a disaster area. The morning is not a friend to Roppongi. In fact, its downright cruel. Daylight hits Roppongi with all the gentleness of a sledgehammer wrapped in barbed wire. Morning shatters all the glamour, egos, and illusions that was given by the night.
In the morning, the beautiful cool people you were just grooving with are suddenly replaced by a bunch of haggard hung-over hags and trolls. Rushing out into the streets doesn't save you either as the streets are choked with packs of shambling, stumbling walking dead. In the shadows, pale party-goers avoid sunlight like quaking vampires by seeking the darker recesses of the subways lest they explode in a noxious cloud of bone and dust. The sidewalk is covered with piss and vomit. The area smells like a sewer.
I stumble to the subway station, all the while holding my sleeve over my nose to block out the noxious fumes. In the bowels of the subway station, the survivors of the night are huddled like war-weary third world refugees as they await the train that will carry them away from this hell. Very few are capable of standing. Most are passed out in theirs or somebody else's filth. Those few who are conscious stare into the void with bleary, blood-shot eyes like shell-shock war veterans who have been too long up at the Front.
I told myself: "Never Again!" as I lurched for the train along with the rest of the wretched masses yearning for escape. Of course, I caved the next night and went straight back to this crazy purgatory of pleasure.
Love it, hate it, loathe it, leave it: Roppongi is undenialibly a people magnet. Perhaps it doesn't attract the most savory of characters, but it cannot be denied that all walks of life rub elbows and more in Roppongi unlike anywhere else in Japan. To me, this is the Asian version of New Orleans' Bourbon Street. Wild, Crazy, Sexy, and Sultry.
What is Roppongi. Roppongi is Tokyo's little den of sin for ready-to-go gaijins and adventurous Japanese. Its humble origins date back to 400 years ago when it was a quiet little temple town with nary a vice to its name. Tragedy seems to be in Roppongi's blood as it has faced ravaging fires, WWII bombs, and drunken foreigners puking all over it during its long questionable past. Its party reputation began a hundred years or so ago, when Japanese soldiers were quartered there and, as it usually happens around young men with money and testosterone to spare, a sordid night-life sprung slowly into life. The US military continued this fine tradition in Roppongi after WWII.
These days, a night in Roppongi can be spent fending off the lusty advances of horny Nigerians, frustrated sailors, and pent up marines, and those are the guys. The girls there are crazy. Some are prostitutes, trolling for their next trick. Other women go there to find a tourist and have a little fling. For the young male out on the prowl, he has to run the alluring but annoying gamut of the massage girls. Shouting: "Massagee! Massagee!", they love to rush out to grab any passing single male and not let go until their victims have either given in or brutally fought them off. There are nightclubs that have nothing but "working women" in them. Then there are the legit clubs where the young and horny crowd go to hook up for free. There are gay clubs, transvestite clubs, clubs for old people. You name it, you can find it.
The night is a friend to Roppongi and its inhabitants of party-goers and pleasure-seekers. The streets are seemingly filled with beautiful people stumbling about in a wonderful haze as they hop from club to club. In rich rolling Nigerian accents, club hawkers call out to the passing crowds inviting them to clubs that promise to be packed with fun and people. Perhaps its the blinding flashing lights, the blaring music, or the alcohol but the insides of the popular clubs do seem to boast a population of the most incredibly good looking charismatic people who simply personify the word "cool".
Some nights, however, just aren't a good time to visit - though some sour critics would say that there is never a good night to visit Roppongi. I went there for the first time on New Years Eve 1996. Nearly the entire crew contingent of the USS Kittyhawk aircraft carrier was there to meet, compete, and throw-up on me. It was wall-to-wall testosterone. Roppongi on that New Year's would have been a lovely place to go if you were female or gay. Unfortunately, I was a single male. Bad Luck!!
I went club hopping with some friends I had met up with. A couple of them were from Japan, the others were Europeans. I got incredibly drunk and had repeated run ins with the Navy Guys. They were being assholes to everyone. I understand they are cooped up on a ship for months at a time, but they need to chill out when they come to shore. They were only looking for poontang or to get in a fight. I did stay out of any fights that night, although I probably saw at least 7 or 8 different fights throughout the night. Around 3 AM, I met some girl at a club and we started dancing. We decided to hook up, but she lived about an hour away and my hotel would not allow foreigners to bring women in (Stupid rule!!!)
Anyway, the Roppongi district has this covered. They have a number of seedy little hotels that rent rooms by the hour for horny party-goers. Being New Years, there was actually a line at most of these. We waited about 25 minutes for a room, and went in and had our fun. We stayed there till about 6:30 AM.
The danger of Roppongi, and there are many, is staying too long. If you do not hook up early and get out of there or you miss your last train, you will be in danger of seeing the horror that is Roppongi in the morning. Although I found my girl, the sun was already peaking over the rooftops when we left the hotel. She went her way and I stumbled to find my way to the subway station.
MY GOD!!! My first thoughts were that I had stepped into a disaster area. The morning is not a friend to Roppongi. In fact, its downright cruel. Daylight hits Roppongi with all the gentleness of a sledgehammer wrapped in barbed wire. Morning shatters all the glamour, egos, and illusions that was given by the night.
In the morning, the beautiful cool people you were just grooving with are suddenly replaced by a bunch of haggard hung-over hags and trolls. Rushing out into the streets doesn't save you either as the streets are choked with packs of shambling, stumbling walking dead. In the shadows, pale party-goers avoid sunlight like quaking vampires by seeking the darker recesses of the subways lest they explode in a noxious cloud of bone and dust. The sidewalk is covered with piss and vomit. The area smells like a sewer.
I stumble to the subway station, all the while holding my sleeve over my nose to block out the noxious fumes. In the bowels of the subway station, the survivors of the night are huddled like war-weary third world refugees as they await the train that will carry them away from this hell. Very few are capable of standing. Most are passed out in theirs or somebody else's filth. Those few who are conscious stare into the void with bleary, blood-shot eyes like shell-shock war veterans who have been too long up at the Front.
I told myself: "Never Again!" as I lurched for the train along with the rest of the wretched masses yearning for escape. Of course, I caved the next night and went straight back to this crazy purgatory of pleasure.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Only the Crazies Live Anywhere Else
There he goes again, that fucking redneck. Always bragging about Texas, like any of us give a damn. And if I had anything else at all to do right now I'd move the fuck on. Lucky for him I'm almost as big a loser as he is.
Beaumont to El Paso: 742 miles
Beaumont to Chicago: 770 miles
El Paso is closer to California than to Dallas
World's first rodeo was in Pecos... July 4, 1883.
The Flagship Hotel in Galveston is the only hotel in North America built over water.
The Heisman Trophy was named after John William Heisman who was the first full time coach for Rice University in Houston.
Brazoria County has more species of birds than any other area in North America.
Aransas Wildlife Refuge is the winter home of North America's only remaining flock of whooping cranes.
Jalapeno jelly originated in Lake Jackson in 1978.
The worst natural disaster in U.S. history was in 1900 caused by a hurricane in which over 8000 lives were lost on Galveston Island.
The first word spoken from the moon, July 20, 1969, was "Houston."
King Ranch is larger than Rhode Island.
Tropical Storm Claudette brought a US. rainfall record of 43" in 24 hours in and around Alvin in July 1979.
Texas is the only state to enter the U.S. by TREATY, instead of by annexation. (This allows the Texas flag to fly at the same height as the US flag.)
A Live Oak tree near Fulton is estimated to be 1500 years old.
Dr Pepper was invented in Waco in 1885 and there is no period after Dr in Dr Pepper.
Texas has had six capital cities:
1. Washington-on-the-Brazos
2. Harrisburg
3. Galveston
4. Velasco
5. West Columbia
6. Austin
The Capitol Dome in Austin is the only dome in the U.S which is taller than the Capitol Building in Washington D.C. (by 7 feet).
The name Texas comes from the Hasini Indian word "tejas" meaning friends.
Tejas is not Spanish for Texas.
The State animal is the Armadillo. (An interesting bit of trivia about the armadillo is that it always has four babies. It has one egg which splits into four and it either has four males or four females. Fuck you, I thought it was interesting anyway.)
The first domed stadium in the U.S. was the Astrodome in Houston.
The University of Texas are the defending NCAA Football Champions.
Beaumont to El Paso: 742 miles
Beaumont to Chicago: 770 miles
El Paso is closer to California than to Dallas
World's first rodeo was in Pecos... July 4, 1883.
The Flagship Hotel in Galveston is the only hotel in North America built over water.
The Heisman Trophy was named after John William Heisman who was the first full time coach for Rice University in Houston.
Brazoria County has more species of birds than any other area in North America.
Aransas Wildlife Refuge is the winter home of North America's only remaining flock of whooping cranes.
Jalapeno jelly originated in Lake Jackson in 1978.
The worst natural disaster in U.S. history was in 1900 caused by a hurricane in which over 8000 lives were lost on Galveston Island.
The first word spoken from the moon, July 20, 1969, was "Houston."
King Ranch is larger than Rhode Island.
Tropical Storm Claudette brought a US. rainfall record of 43" in 24 hours in and around Alvin in July 1979.
Texas is the only state to enter the U.S. by TREATY, instead of by annexation. (This allows the Texas flag to fly at the same height as the US flag.)
A Live Oak tree near Fulton is estimated to be 1500 years old.
Dr Pepper was invented in Waco in 1885 and there is no period after Dr in Dr Pepper.
Texas has had six capital cities:
1. Washington-on-the-Brazos
2. Harrisburg
3. Galveston
4. Velasco
5. West Columbia
6. Austin
The Capitol Dome in Austin is the only dome in the U.S which is taller than the Capitol Building in Washington D.C. (by 7 feet).
The name Texas comes from the Hasini Indian word "tejas" meaning friends.
Tejas is not Spanish for Texas.
The State animal is the Armadillo. (An interesting bit of trivia about the armadillo is that it always has four babies. It has one egg which splits into four and it either has four males or four females. Fuck you, I thought it was interesting anyway.)
The first domed stadium in the U.S. was the Astrodome in Houston.
The University of Texas are the defending NCAA Football Champions.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Just Back from LA -- Idiot Drivers
HI!! Sorry I have been out of touch. I had to get away and so we all went to LA for a week. Nice city, great beaches! I had been in LA in January for the Rose Bowl. HOOK EM HORNS!!! But I was only there for 2 days and didnt see much.
I did get pissed off the second day there. I am driving on the freeway and there is alot of traffic, but it is in the right two lanes since they are merging with another freeway. So I am cruising along at about 65 to 70 MPH in the fast lane, when all of a sudden, I come upon a car going 55 max. In the fast lane!!! WTF!!! This is LA!! Everyone knows you go with the flow of traffic. Cops arent going to give you a speeding ticket if everyone is going the same speed.
Then I notice the driver is an idiot. I get up on the car and it is a porsche 911. COME ON!!! If you have that car, you drive it fast and furious. No one was in front of him for at least half a mile. You don't buy a Porsche to go the speed limit.
Then, about 15 minutes later, the same thing happens, but with a Ferrari. One of those testarosas that Sonny drove on Miami Vice!! There is a whole line of cars trying to pass him. Note How absurd that sounds: A line of cars trying to PASS A FERRARI!!!!! WTF Los Angeles. If you cant handle the horses under the hood, buy a minivan!!!!! UNBELIEVABLE!!!!
Anyway, I am back and I will start getting the blog going again. Take care and enjoy!!!
I did get pissed off the second day there. I am driving on the freeway and there is alot of traffic, but it is in the right two lanes since they are merging with another freeway. So I am cruising along at about 65 to 70 MPH in the fast lane, when all of a sudden, I come upon a car going 55 max. In the fast lane!!! WTF!!! This is LA!! Everyone knows you go with the flow of traffic. Cops arent going to give you a speeding ticket if everyone is going the same speed.
Then I notice the driver is an idiot. I get up on the car and it is a porsche 911. COME ON!!! If you have that car, you drive it fast and furious. No one was in front of him for at least half a mile. You don't buy a Porsche to go the speed limit.
Then, about 15 minutes later, the same thing happens, but with a Ferrari. One of those testarosas that Sonny drove on Miami Vice!! There is a whole line of cars trying to pass him. Note How absurd that sounds: A line of cars trying to PASS A FERRARI!!!!! WTF Los Angeles. If you cant handle the horses under the hood, buy a minivan!!!!! UNBELIEVABLE!!!!
Anyway, I am back and I will start getting the blog going again. Take care and enjoy!!!
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