Joker and Biking at 0430

And so here we are again. I am going to embrace the name of this blog, and get Random as fuck. Because I like chaos. Why? Because it's fun. You don't know what to do with it. Why was Joker one of the best villains? Because he gave zero fucks about anything. In fact, he harvested fucks. He had fucktosynthesis, and went with it. Pure, unadulterated, impulse. He was that guy that went into a Walmart and bought $100 worth of candy, while going through the check-out. I can imagine it now. He sidles up to the counter, gun draped across his shoulder, and starts picking out different gums. He looks through, "Ooh, Payday!....Ooh, Heath Bar!....Ooh, Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs!..." And he grabs ten bags of the eggs. Except he has zero shame or regret. After checking-out, he pulls a credit card to pay. Why? Because it's ironic that the King of Anarchy is following the rules. Of course, after being asked to sign the card reader, he takes the gun and shoots the card reader. Why? Because fuck it. And yes, I know I listed names of candy, and not gum. Fuck you, it's my story. I also want to eat those candies.

Speaking of which, and completely unrelated, I have a serious issue with bicyclists. I understand that the law states you ride your bike in the traffic lane. With that said, if you have a 3 foot (1 meter) shoulder to ride in, RIDE IN THE GODDAMN SHOULDER! Just because you have skin tight clothes and a padded butt-seat doesn't mean that your goddamn Lance Armstrong! All it means is that you won't have a chaffed ass after biking! Seriously. I understand riding in the traffic lane, if the shoulder is negligible. But if you have enough room to stay off the road, then get off the fucking road. Otherwise I have to veer into oncoming traffic to get around you. Why? Because it's 6:30 AM, I need to get to work, and you are riding 10 MPH on a 50 MPH road. If you cannot maintain at least 50% of the posted speed limit, you should move your candy-ass over. And you know your sore-ass is going to become a sorry-ass, when the time comes to go home.

I want to add a special little fuck you, on behalf of all your office mates that will have to share a cubicle with someone that smells. You cannot tell me that you can bike to work in 80-90 degrees (Fahrenheit) and 70-90% humidity, and you don't have terrible body odor. There is no level of Old Spice or Axe body-spray to cover that up. And if you do find enough fragrance to cover the smell, it will be so overpowering that everyone you share a meeting with will come out smelling like a High School kid on their first date. And not the cool kid, but the one with braces, glasses, a pocket protector, pants hitched up to his nipples, who asks the girl out as a date and she looks at it as "just friends". You know the one. He uses the body spray because the commercial makes him think he will be irresistible to women. Instead, the kid is irresistible to mosquitoes. Next thing you know, the kid has Zika and dies. Congratulations Mr. Bike-In-The-Road guy, you just gave a kid Zika and he died. Now you're both a dick and a murderer. Call Netflix, they just got their sequel to Making A Murderer.


On a different note, we have two or three bunnies living in the forest behind our house. I must say, it is always refreshing when you get ready for work and see animals. I know rabbits are not particularly special, but they are a nice change of scenery from the standard cats, dogs, and crows. Speaking of getting up, I was awake at 0420 this morning. Not only that, but I was alert. Now I know what you're thinking. "Who the fuck gets up at 0420?" I'll tell you, not me. I got up at 0430. Why? Because I like to lift heavy things. And if I get up at 0430, I get to move a lot of weight and start my day with an accomplishment. And guess what? It's worth it. In the course of 29 days, I've added 120 lbs to my deadlift. My goal is to hit a 400 lbs deadlift this year, on my way to a 500 lb deadlift, in general. And the best part? I'm lifting that shit multiple times. There's something magic and weird about the fact that I consider 300 lbs to be "light weight".

On a different note, I feel compelled to say something about Russia, Israel, Canada, and China. So..."something." On another note, my father has started reading my blog. He was talking and said he started reading something online. He then said, "I think you would like this blog. The author basically says what he thinks, and if people disagree, then fuck 'em." On that same note, my mother has been recommending my blog to various people. Sometimes I think, "Should I write this? My folks will likely read it." I then answer myself, "Self, that shit's funny. You bet your ass you should write it. Don't be a punk-bitch." And speaking of punk-bitches, my wife's cat has been staying with my mother-in-law, while she is in town. I went to visit, and the cat ran and hid. It's good to know that I still have Alpha status with him. It should also be noted that my mother-in-law feeds him a LOT of food. He has, in turn, gotten a much larger jelly-belly. He is one beard and red suit away from being Santa Claws. And now I want to find a red suit and beard for the cat. Why? Because I want to see that cat's face when he's in the suit. You want a "fuck you" face, that's how you get it.

Moral of the Story: Joker eats Reese's peanut butter eggs, road bicyclists suck, and I want to deadlift 500 lbs. Oh, and our cat is going to be Santa.

High School Reunions and Sneezing

Everyday, when I sit down to write, I have the same thoughts run through my head. Usually, its "I'm hungry....What am I going to write.....Did I already finish my coffee.......Why did I drink all my coffee.......why am I too lazy to make more coffee........What am I going to write.....Well, shit. I might as well start writing and hope something comes together.....Fuck it, let's go."

So what am I going to write about today? A whole lot of random shit. First of all, I love my wife. She is absolutely the best. And she always keeps me on my toes. The other day, we were watching a movie on the couch. She had a blanket, because the air conditioning was on. I was not under the blanket, because it's summer. Out of the blue, she takes the blanket and holds it over my head. I look over to her, while my head is under the blanket, waiting for her to remove it. The blanket has a big ass fish (Bass?) on it, so I imagine it looked like the fish was looking at her. When she takes the blanket off, I ask why she felt the need to hold the blanket over my head. Her response was, "Practice." I then realize that she was holding the blanket the same way one holds a pillow, before smothering a person. On an unrelated note, I have removed my wife as the beneficiary for when I die.

But speaking of my wife, she and I saw the movie Central Intelligence. I won't give details, except that it includes a High School reunion. This was interesting timing, because I just received the Facebook invite to be part of my high school reunion next year. Now, I don't want to go. I was talking to a friend, and we each agreed that the biggest reason to go is to see who is on drugs, in jail, or dead. Or how many people have kids, payments, and one or more ex-wives/husbands. And that's what I realized is the fucked up thing about high school reunions. Nobody ever goes to see how everyone else is doing. They go to see how fucked up everyone's life has become. Nobody goes back thinking, "Gosh, I can't wait to see Tom, and Sally, and Mike, and Sheri! I sure hope they fulfilled their potential!"

No. Fuck that. You go back to say, "Hey, Tom! Hey, Sally! Oh, you got a divorce? Mike is in jail? Sheri is a crack-whore?! You don't say! Well did you see that I have an awesome life with a shit-tonne of money and happiness? Good! That's right, fuck you d-bags for being assholes in high school." Next thing you know, Sheri is trying to trade party favors for some blow, and Mike is using his 5 minute phone call to call Sheri, telling her to score some extra money for bail. And all the while, you can't stop staring at Sheri and her crack teeth. I mean, seriously. You want an anti-drug commercial? Show what drugs do to a person's oral hygiene. Nobody likes meth mouth, nobody.

If I went to my reunion, I would want to do so from a observation deck. Knowing the people I went to school with, and knowing how some of them turned out, I would want a sneeze guard between us. You don't want to catch anything contagious. Especially if broken dreams and regret are contagious. And now I have an image in my head of an imaginary world. And in this world, you walk around with a shiny gold collar holding a thick-ass sneeze guard in front of your face. Because you don't want to catch the "Dumb". And then you have people talking, and someone sneezes. The first person goes and they sneeze and hit their head off the sneeze guard in front of your face. You are nice and clean, but that fella has a bruise. They then turn and sneeze, and it lands right in the second person's face. And just like that, they caught the "Dumb". Otherwise, they'd have been smart enough to bring the sneeze guard.

Speaking of sneezing, have you ever noticed how people sneeze? Or even worse, have you ever tried to change your sneeze? Some people sneeze and it comes out like a little squeak. Others sneeze, and they try to stop it, and you can visibly see the pain as the pressure floods into their head and the vein in their temples starts throbbing. Then you have the violent sneezers. You know the ones. They sneeze and they put all their weight into it. You can hear that sumbitch sneezing across town. And heaven help you if you are in the line of fire. They sneeze and everyone in front of the person gets a free shower. They sneeze with food in their mouth, and suddenly it looks like the Exorcism. Suddenly rice turns into buckshot. Sneeze inside a car and it looks like a shotgun went off. You spend your life picking the rice out of every vent, off the windows, steering wheel, everything.

But back to the reunion, I think my wife would like me to go to the high school reunion. Not because I would enjoy it, necessarily, but to show off how great she is. And to be fair, I did not date in high school. In fact, I'm guessing people questioned my orientation. It would be nice to be able to say, "Ha! See?! I did meet a girl. And not only that, but she's awesome! And smart! And look at her! You see? I'm not going to die alone. Fuck you, Tom and Sally. Suck it. No, not you Sheri. Don't touch me. Go back and visit Mike. He's probably lonely. Unless Tiny visited him, in which case he may be busy being the inside spoon."

Moral of the Story: My wife is practicing how to smother me, and I have a high school reunion next year.