Archive for the ‘Every dog has it’s day’ Category

Our Honeymoon And You: The Story of Mark, Future School Shooter

November 10, 2013
See how that car is SLIDING along the ferris wheel which is moving in its customary CIRCULAR MOTION? Important.

See how that car is SLIDING along its own elliptical track AT THE SAME TIME as the ferris wheel continues its customary CIRCULAR MOTION? Important.

Location: Mickey’s “Fun” Wheel. Paradise Pier. Disney’s California Adventure. Anaheim, California. October 2013
Time: Late afternoon? I don’t know. The sun was lowering but it was still light out.
Dramatis Personae: Myself. My husband. Unnamed father (Major Dad). Unnamed younger brother (Lil’ Bro). Mark.

Mark’s face had acne scorched along the sides, right on the opposing planes where women apply blush. His eyes were beady. His mouth was sealed shut in a pale steam shovel. MARK WAS MAD. MARK WAS TERRIFIED AND MAD. He was 13, maybe 14, and seated across from me in the small metal car affixed to Mickey’s “Fun” Wheel. Scotty was to my right. The little guy whom I assumed was Mark’s younger brother was seated between Mark and the father. His eyes were wide but he was dealing. The car’s movement was somewhat sickening as it periodically SLID down it’s own rail and then SWUNG BACK AND FORTH while the main wheel continued to go round.

Dad looked like he had served in our nation’s military. He was sandy-haired, glasses; handsome but clueless when it came to interpreting his children. He was right below “golf” but high above “slicked-down hair at church” and “short-sleeved dress shirt. He probably knew how to catch and clean a fish. You know – a Dad.

Mark did not want to be on this ride. Mark’s headphones, which you knew he had worn defiantly and sullenly during his day here in Anaheim: Birthplace of Happiness, were almost vibrating off his neck due to shivering. Mark’s pasty hand with the long gawky fingers was melded around the door handle to the right of his head. If this car fell or flung us out, they were going to have to BLAST that handle out of Mark’s dead hand.

Looking from Major Dad to Mark, it was painfully clear that Major Dad didn’t know dick about how to deal with his son. To him, his son was an albino monosyllabic string bean who wasn’t going to “do drugs” or get the beatdown at school from the jocks on HIS watch. Let’s toughen him up! Forcing him to go on this ride will surely result in one of those Church of Jesus Christ and the Latter Day Saints commercials that used to run in the 80s. Not “who broke my window?” but the one where the father and son have to run to catch the garbage truck and end up missing it but laughing together about their little slapstick adventure. Bonding!

Major Dad wasn’t The Great Santini. But you know as you get older and lose the ability to detect the subtle intents and emotions of others? Major Dad had that problem in regards to Mark. He thought that Mark would thank him for this in his valedictorian speech at Annapolis. What Dad didn’t realize was that Mark will remember this and eventually –

A) Grow up and move far, far away from him and maybe speak to him via text on holidays and possibly marry someone of color telling himself it has nothing to do with freaking his father out.
B) Bring that nowadays sadly common rifle to first period
C) Stab him in his sleep

This sounds snarky, but this knowledge was predicated on their conversation.

Major Dad: Mark, Mark, see it’s not so bad.
Mark: No.
Major Dad: C’mon bud, it’s nothing. You’re fine.

Mark’s head slowly turned up from staring at the floor, and swiveled to fix his father with such a glare of hatred that my eyebrows crisped. I resisted throwing my hands up in front of my face.

Mark (through gritted teeth): NO.

And there was this one:

Lil Bro’ (concerned): I think Mark’s scared, Dad.
Mark: SHUT UP.
Dad: Nah, he’s fine. You’re fine. Right, Mark? Oh wait, here we go again. Hold on, Mark! WHEEEE!

Meanwhile my husband, who is able to float through any awkwardness on a cloud of semisolid cluelessness, noticed Little Bro was as nervous as his brother. Little Bro’s eyes were wide as we slid, dipped and SWUNG BACK AND FORTH once more. At a very great height. Little Bro seemed to be used to the fact that Dad’s concern was usually with Mark.

Scotty (chuckling): You look like I feel.

Little Bro nodded and smiled, seemingly happy that an adult agreed with him that this ride was fiendish.

Meanwhile, I’m sharing the opposite end of the car with ole’ Mark. Mark seems to have gotten paler. I want to reach out to him and say something fitting which will translate as “it’s ok that you’re scared, heights are the worst, and your Dad is kind of a dickus for making you go on this. You don’t need to toughen up;  you just need to know it’s ok that you don’t fit in. It’s your Dad that needs to toughen up. Also, please don’t shoot up the school. Get into some bands, make some friends, and roll your eyes a lot.” That’s not me, though. I would try to fit that into something small and witty and it would come off completely unintelligible. Like I was as clueless as his Dad or hitting on him. That’s just me. In my head, I’m 16 and get it but in reality I’m almost 40 and entirely lame. Maybe I should get some cards printed up to pass out to sullen teens.

The ride seemed to take forever. We made small talk with Major Dad in-between bellowing at the slightly sickening motion of the car. We discussed Gravity and he informed us that the “World of Color” show later on that night was comparable to the fountain show at the Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas. Watching the show that evening, it was evident that he lacked a degree in Comparative Watershow.

Meanwhile, I prayed inwardly that Mark didn’t have a butterfly knife in his backpack. And Dad just kept egging him on!

Major Dad: How we doin’, Mark?
Mark: *silent*
Major Dad: You wanna ride it again?
Mark: NO!

That’s when my husband leans over to whisper “he’s going to shoot up his school” in my ear, despite the person in question sitting maybe three feet across from us. Scott’s convinced that “people don’t listen”, and I’m convinced that someone in the future will reveal themselves to have perfect hearing and ugliness will ensue.

We pulled into port. Scotty and I disembarked quickly and quietly, our notes waiting to be compared. Mark moved to a corner, QUIVERING in rage and hatred, fists clenched, even his backpack seemed to clench, his cap’s brim pulled over his eyes and his sweaty skate company t-shirt soaked with fear and humiliation. He was pale and he hated, HATED his father right then.

Major Dad: Aw, c’mon, it wasn’t that bad. Calm down..

I didn’t catch Mark’s reply but it sounded like it was shrill and from a place of powerlessness. I felt for Mark. I felt for Major Dad, too. Talk about an impasse. How did we all grow up again? When did we become cynical monsters? I know how the assumption become “possible school shooter” when faced with a certain type of disenfranchised adolescent. It’s just sad.

I would like to think that they watched the “World of Color” show again that night. And even though Mark was off to the side glowering, his Dad at one point pulled him to his side (Disney is family magic) and Mark let him.  And he might have even unstiffened his spine for a minute realizing his Dad loved him in his stupid way.  Lil’ Bro ate too much fried dough and puked.

Oh, and…

I’m Totally Pissed At David Boreanaz

July 23, 2010

I assume this was taken before he shot on her in the Mini-Cooper.

Listen to me. Joss Whedon shows are the nearest and dearest to my heart. It feels like yesterday that I was watching and streaming salty tears at Buffy having to shank Angel so that Acathla wouldn’t swallow the world (you are a complete and total geek if you understand what I’m typing). Actually it was yesterday, right before I had to sell my Buffy box set for food and Percocet. What I am trying to say is, if you are part of the Joss Whedon company of actors – you keep your sexual crazy on LOCKDOWN. He is trying to get The Avengers together, you don’t embarrass him this way! David Boreanaz (aka Angel) is being sued by a Bones extra for sexual harrassment. And she’s claiming he did some JACKED-UP shite. And say hey and by the way, Boreanaz publicly confessed to effing around on his wife Jaime Bergman back in May

Actress Kristina Hagen (the woman with my hairline who is NOT Angel’s wife in the picture above) claims that it all began on the set of Bones last August when David began sexting her ass. Then shit got REAL according to her suit, via TMZ.

The suit also claims David was driving with Kristina in September, 2009 and told her he was “the boss” and that he could “make things happen for her.”

The suit claims David then parked his car, and “attempted to kiss her and touch her breasts but she pushed him away.” The suit then alleges Boreanaz “unzipped his pants, pulled out his penis and began stroking it until he ejaculated.”

She stayed for the denoument?!? “Yeah, I gotta go, there’s some Turtle Wax interior wipes in the glovie if you get any on the dash.” Did he threaten to kill her if she told? Didn’t Jackie Earle Hailey pull (literally) that shit in the best scene in Little Children in front of the chick from Hung? Great movie. Anyway – Cordelia, Fred and Lorne are giving Angelcakes the side-eye for this!

The suit goes on to say that David also “grabbed, kissed, and fondled her — and then masturbated in front of her” in his trailer that September. Angel’s camp (basically Harmony with a briefcase…MORE GEEK REFERENCES) denies Hagen’s claim.

“The allegations concerning any alleged inappropriate conduct by David Boreanaz are totally fabricated and absurd. There is no validity to this lawsuit.”

What in hell is going on in TV Land lately? Is Caligula an executive producer at Fox?

Remind Me To Start Watching ‘House’ Regularly

July 22, 2010

Do drugs with us. Or get out. Here's your throwing knife.

What the devil is going on over at the House set? It sounds like a non-stop sadomasochistic cocainya disco party! I will say that a friend of a friend used to work in the costume department over there and claims Cuddy is totally seeing people next Tuesday with demands for flunkies to be available to tie her shoelaces. True story. Bend over like the rest of us do, hooker! TMZ is reporting that a former assistant prop master for the show named Carl Jones is suing producers and other people on the set over some CRAZY shit. He was fired in March.

In the suit, Jones claims he was harassed by two of his supervisors for refusing to engage in “visits to strip bars, participation in getting drunk, stoned or intoxicated on cocaine, to participate in sexual conduct at the trailer, and other dangerous conduct.”

Jones claims the supervisors would often refer to him — and other employees — as “fags, pussies, bitches, slaves, dummies, retards and idiots.”

Jones also claims one of his supervisors brought a gun to the set “several times”

Sounds like my last job. Carl also says there was knife-throwing on the set while drunk on tequila (Party! You know that Jennifer Morrison ho is good with a shank) and that his complaints to an executive producer were what got him blackballed and then fired. He says that this left him massively depressed and somehow physically injured. He is suing NBC Universal for a cool million. House’s masters are saying that the suit is “without merit.”

I always knew the dude from Dead Poets’ Society would slap me in the face with “fag!” and demand I blow some coke off a stripper’s hey nanny nanny if I ever partied with him. You know he’s got a freaky secret.

And if I may impart my view on House. I’ve watched the show a couple of times, and it’s entertaining. But if that twat with the cane started giving me sarcasm and shade when I was laying there dying? I would rise up and hit that bug-eyed slut in the face with my IV pole! Not cute.

Fast Forward To 4:27 For The Schadenfreude Of A Lifetime

July 6, 2010


Before the fall...

If you’re unaware what that is, here you go.
It should be my middle name because I am a bitch. But not in this case because that entitled cokehead snotty skank known as Lindsay Lohan is GOING TO JAIL. Can you feel a brand new day? Someone call out the Lollipop League and wheel in the keg, cuz’ it’s party time.

Can you think of anyone more deserving of jailtime than this fake-ass delusional ho? For going on years now, she has evaded prosecution for numerous offenses, managing to weasel out of just about every charge brought against her. She has repeatedly made the Los Angeles court system seem like the most dickless and ineffectual provider of justice since George Clooney starred as Batman. And why? Because she’s a cokey actress who was briefly relevant? But now you might want to send an Edible Arrangement to Judge Marsha Revel because that stand-up lady of the cloth (wait…robe?) just sent Lindsay Lohan to jail for 90 days. Huzzah!

Skeezy Lohan will reportedly be going to jail for 90 days and then entering rehab (I’m sure that will take) for another 90 for violating her DUI probation by skipping out on her booze classes. Finally, someone with a real set of pendulous low-hangers (sorry, Judge) just smacked that bitch upside her dried-out crackie face. Let’s complete this slash and burn on Lindsay’s entitlement by driving to Long Island and slapping her friggin’ whoring cokemom, family apologist Dina Lohan. Hell, why stop there? Kick ole’ Ali in the ass, too, and don’t even get me started on that douchebag father with the desperation to be on camera and the cellphone on his belt and the turtlenecks. I could go on for hours.

So enjoy the sentencing. Right after Lindsay gives this simpering, bullshit plea for mercy (the lawyer must have shook her roughly immediately before court and said “bitch, you betta say this or you are screwed, you crawl under her robe and kiss her ass, now!”), the judge ignores it, gives her 90 days in the clink, and Lindsay bursts into tears which cleansed my soul. Good. Next! We’re looking at you, Charlie Sheen.

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