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Current mood:  accomplished
So, my roommate Joe likes to make fun of me for not having a "real" job, which is apparently this thing where you have to wear uncomfortable clothes, drive somewhere every day, and do all your work on someone else's schedule. He thinks that because I don't do those things, I don't do anything all day.
Meanwhile, it takes him a maximum of 3 minutes to answer any and every email I send him while he's at his "real" job. Below is an example of our daily exchange. Blue is Joe. White is me.
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Dude, it's a real life version of The Shield, except instead of Vic Mackey, it's the guy who owned Perdue chicken.
http://www.cnn.com/2006/LAW/11/02/sheriff.indicted/index.html
That is the oldest, weakest, least intimidating corrupt cop I've ever seen. When he goes to jail, somebody's going to eat him inside two days.
I agree. ... I bought Open Range by the way. Left it on the table.
I noticed. I, in turn, built an additional room on our house out of greasy engine parts and meat.
Well, it wasn't a competition, but I still win, my move involved Robert Duval, unless of course one of the meats was beef ripped off of a live cow, then it's a tie.
It was ripped off a kodiak bear that I killed with my hands, marinated in my own blood, and smoked over redwood chips from a tree that I kicked over while training with Van Damme.
And the greasy engine parts are from a big rig that was driven by Michael Chiklis and was hauling porno, beer, guns, missile launchers, dead communists, and Rambo.
So unless you come home tonight with either Tombstone, Full Metal Jacket, Lethal Weapon, or Die Hard, I think we're even.
-Steve
( P.S. They're shutting down the 105 at Imperial tonight to film Die Hard 4. No joke.)
...By the way, my shoes are made out of the skins of one thousand commie-nazis all of whom I killed with my left testicle and a bag of dried banana chips. They are tanned with the blood of Joseph Stalin after I resurrected him and then chopped his head off and using only my thumbnail. The rubber souls came from Marshalls.
Arnold Schwarzenegger wasn't born. He crawled out of my shit after I ate the last of the Siberian Tigers.
Well, I don't shit at all, I crap miniature werewolves who combine to form a huge werewolf which I have to hunt down and kill every fortnight.
I taught Steven Seagal how to snap necks.
I taught Van Damme how to do the splits.
I taught Chuck Norris the roundhouse kick.
I taught Jet Li how to fly.
I taught Jackie Chan how to make it funny when you beat the hell out of fifty guys at once.
I taught Dolph Lundgren how to be a walking joke.
I taught Hulk Hogan how to call people "brother" and do the Atomic Leg Drop.
I taught Mr. T how to growl.
I taught Vin Diesel how to talk with a deep voice.
I taught Andre the Giant how to look big.
I taught Bruce Lee how to terrify Burt Ward.
I taught Macho Man Randy Savage how to do everything.
I taught Atilla the Hun how to be mean.
And I taught The Rock how to beat Hulk Hogan.
I taught you all of those things. Then I taught Kris Kristoferson how to eat his own beard while he talks.
I saw that while I was teaching Dog the Bounty Hunter how dress scary and make Ozzie Osborne do stuff for him.
I taught a young Theodore Sabastian Nugent to become Ted Fucking Nugent.
I've watched the Passion of the Christ four times. Twice by myself.
That beats me, I'm only 2 and 1
Sweet. I win.
11:08 PM
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