A Halloween Story

Okay.

As you all know, I, THE MACHINE, continually strive for lower standards on this blog by insulting your intelligence indirectly. Short of posting something that's outright illegal (don't ask me because I won't do it), you keep coming back for more abuse. So tonight, I have a special treat for all you jack-assy viewers out there who should've quit a long time ago. I give to you:

THE NIGHT BEFORE HALLOWEEN.

It was a dark and stormy night.

The Machine Reezus was driving home alone after attending some stupid office party at a nearby Messican restaurant. The food was awful. Shitty. Some fat smelly bastard who couldn't read a lick of English was the main chef and personal hygiene was out of the question. Looking at this fat sack of pig shit was just as revolting as his body odor on a hot summer day - NAUSEATING. He hadn't seen a a shower in days, nor had his hands been washed in that long a time. If the hair on his back didn't gross you out, the hair coming out his nose certainly did. Was that Tortilla Soup or a shit sandwich you just ate? It looked and smelled about the same regardless. Still, Reezus didn't want to be some complete asshole and not attend.

It was Hector's birthday. Hector, the office idiot savant, wouldn't lift a goddamned finger at work all day unless you got some fire under his ass, and Reezus was the guy always busting his chops to file shit. Do reports on time. And not to give him any grief about it. Anycase Hector liked the La-Can-Kill-Ya La Cantina Messican Restaurant since it reminded him of home cooking the way his mother used to make it. FUCKING HORRIBLE and because it was his birthday, he demanded everyone show up there.

Reezus knew the moment he ate that lizard chicken chimichanga, it wasn't properly cooked. He could taste the Salmonella bacteria growing inside as he swallowed the first mouthful down - and that's when he knew it would only be a matter of time before it would come back up, which was right about now. On the road, in the rain as he's driving home.

"Oh holy fucking Christ" he muttered. "Not now. PLEASE not now!"

He started feeling nauseated and was about to shit his pants. He was still a while from home and there were no nearby stops that had a place to take a dump. The greasy spoon restaurant was at that point of no-return now, and he was better off trying to make it back home than to turn around and chance it.

He passed some residential area to include some local stores that had closed up for the night. GODDAMMIT! I'VE GOTTA TAKE A SHIT NOW!

Still nothing.

He started driving faster, yet with the decreased visibility and the road being wet, didn't want to go too fast. FUCK. He continued driving on.

Out of the blue he noticed a construction site off to the side of the road that he hadn't noticed previously. "Eh? When did this thing pop up?" he wondered. It was then he caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a port-a-potty. This was the break he was looking for. As he pulled up to the side of the road, a sign clearly marked 'OFF LIMITS - DO NOT ENTER' was blocking his way. Now was not the time to argue with some stupid sign. It was to the port-a-potty or bust.

Getting out of the car, the rain hit his face like nails on concrete - his feet sunk in 6 inches of mud from all the water - FUCK - but that wasn't going to stop him anyhow. Running towards the shitter Reezus decided it was worth the hassle of cleaning mud out of his car versus having to explain the perpetual faint whiff of having shitting the car's upholstry to the dealer when taking it in for a cleaning.

Prying the door open, he noticed some graffiti spray-painted on the side - what appeared to be a skull with some weird kinda scribbling all over it. Some stupid inner-city kids made a mess of it most likely - painting their gang name or whatever on it, but that didn't matter now. In just a matter of seconds he could shit his guts out for all he cared since that damn chimichanga would quit wreaking havoc on his bowels once and for all.

Once inside, he dropped his pants and took care of business.


AAAHHHHHHH. RELIEF.

He felt better. But once that was out, the Hershey Squirts began! Oh no! Fuck that Hector for making him eat at the La-Can-Kill-Ya! Why not have your birthday party at McDonalds where you know the food is safe? More chemicals than a batch of toxic waste we're talking.

Squirt squirt squirt.



Ugh.


Squirt squirt squirt.


No.


Squirt squirt squirt.


GODDAMMIT.

By this time Reezus had empty his insides completely and was about to take care of the paperwork, only something odd happened - the port-a-potty began to shake. Tremble like it was caught in an earthquake. Reezus braced the sides of cabin while it violently rattled. The shit inside the holding area splattered on his ass. GODDAMMIT! NO! He went to grab for some T.P. only there WAS NO T.P. around. WTF? It continued raining, so running back to his car for a newspaper was out of the question - it would get soaked and he'd have butt-juice running down his leg.


Squirt squirt squirt.


OH NO. NOT AGAIN.

A moment later the port-a-potty shook once more, only more violently. "Someone must be outside playing a joke on me" he thought to himself. "HEY ASSHOLE! KNOCK IT OFF! WAIT YOUR TURN ALREADY" he yelled from inside. But who would do this in the rain?


Squirt squirt squirt.


AGAIN.


By this time he started feeling light-headed. Was it the loss of fluid or the smell going to his head that was making him woozy? He couldn't tell, but distinctly heard a deep growl come from beneath him, scaring the shit outta him (literally) once more.


Squirt squirt squirt.


UGGH. MAKE IT STOP ALREADY.

Just then a bright red light started glowing beneath his ass on the port-a-potty, and a scalding heat rose to the surface - what some might consider to be magma from beneath the earth's crust. A vacuum pressure started to suck Reezus' ass to the toilet lid so he couldn't get up to escape. OH NO! What's GOING ON! He fidgeted and pushed to get off the commode, only the more he tried, the more the vacuum took hold. Just then a sinister laugh bellowed from the depths of the bowl as hellfire shot up, consuming Reezus once and for all. The skeletons of sinners mixed in with shit circled the inside of the cabin leaving no inch uncovered, and then in a split second everything sucked back into the hole from whence it came, without a trace of the person it had vanquished.

The very next day the rain had stopped and the sun was brightly shining. Reezus' car was still parked inside the construction site, keys still in the ignition. The Day Workers came to start their shift when one of them looked at the port-a-potty with terror on his face. It looked as if some monster had regurgitated its evening meal inside there. Jorge couldn't peel his eyes away from the sight but knew not to stare too long, lest he be stricken with paralysis of the butt.

"Hey hombre" - his friend Enrique said. "Whatchoo see here is an old legend that comes true, essay. My grandmother - she's crazy - she used to tell me when I was a little boy about El Demonio de la Mierda to make me behave. She tell me that every so often, usually around Halloween, he would attack those who violate his sacred ground, and the graffiti you see spray-painted on the bano here is his marking. You don't go there after dark, especially. I thought she was full of shit, but it turns out she was right after all."

Jorge shuddered as he grabbed a shovel and started digging. He felt lucky that he had avoided a fate so horrible as that of THE PORT-A-POTTY FROM HELL.


(Mwa ha ha ha ha ha ha ~ !)


Heh.

Raging Bull

DID YOU FUCK MY WIFE?!?!?!?!?!?! Heh.

Altar Call of Nature

I need a new altar.


A Satanic altar.


Something that reflects the user, is personalized, yet at the same time is worthy of even the most sinister of demons and most pious of angels alike. Something that if someone were to see accidentally, wouldn't even realize its true purpose unless they had a discerning eye.

Of course all the pussy Wiccans and Pagans running around out there think that you can use a rock or a bunch of trees or some shit and that's perfectly suitable for what you wish to conjure up. Or perhaps a bonfire (how original) and dancing naked in subfreezing weather when it's the middle of February outside. FUCK THAT.

Lucifer, Satan, B.L.Z. Bub or any name you can call the Man Downstairs, has style. Taste. Panache. He's the guy who really knows how to do it right. Get down to business and get the job done.

So where's one place you can take care of business?

Work?


FUCK NO!


HOME!


And on your very own SATANIC TOILET ALTAR.

Just think about it for a second - Anton LaVey makes all sorts of potty references in his essays and seeing how he was the 20th Century mouthpiece for Satanism as we know it, was imparting esoteric wisdom to the casual reader unknowingly when writing such diatribes about the Dirty Hermit and Toilet Bowl Meditation. Why else would Manuke the Shit Demon plague me with such bowel problems in the middle of the night?

SO, I need to buy some cartoony devil stuff since it's still Halloween and decorate my commode in the most gaudy of fashions possible. Plastic spiders, rubber bats, a plastic skull or two - maybe even a plastic pitchfork or something to get those hard-to-reach dingle berries out when paperwork alone won't finish the job. I could draw a Satanic pentagram on the top of the toilet bowl lid and on the inside when you lift it up, it will read "HAIL SATAN" with a COOP cartoony devil stick smoking a cigar stuck on it. Place some black candles around the water basin since they will serve for lighting purposes (and will burn off any really raunchy gas when you're taking a dump), and of course some READING MATERIAL (primarily The Satanic Bible and The Satanic Rituals) for your daily devotional, it will be worthy of the most hellacious of bowel movements known to man. It would SO FUCKING ROCK.


Of course it would stand to say that SOMETHING would happen as a result - hairy ass, zits, kling-ons or hemorrhoids might happen if I'm not too careful. After all, some demons get real jealous and wouldn't be surprised if Manuke was one of them. I better stock up on lotsa bran and rough toilet paper to keep him preoccupied.

If I hurry and buy everything I need this weekend, I can have it done by Monday at the very latest and just in time too. This is gonna be the best Halloween yet.


Heh.

Das habe geZhombie

Heh.

Zhombie.


Here he is, whining and crying like some loser, that he can't get laid to save his life, when he has some little hottie practically eating out of the palm of his hand. Some chick that he's been "just friends" with for the past year or so.

In a nutshell, she uses him as a crutch and cries on his shoulder and he doesn't get shit back in return. Not a beej, not a hand-job, not even a friends-with-benefits clause. "She's like a sister to me" he insists - the whiney fucker. Shit. If that's the case, then why isn't she hooking you up with some of her hottie friends? At least get SOMETHING on the return investment.

I kept bugging the crap outta him all weekend about this when we went to go see THE DEPARTED. Good flick by the way - Leonardo DiCRAPio actually does a good job of acting this time - perhaps his career is back on the rebound finally - who knows - who cares. Anycase, he tells me today that he's been thinking about what I've been telling him all weekend - that at the very least he should hit it and quit it if he's any sort of a man. He's not gonna hurt my feelings by getting laid and in turn it might boost his confidence level some. Shit I know every time I get laid I'm 10 times more impossible to deal with than I normally am, I'm that megalomaniacal. I even told him to go out and get laid since at least one of us will be getting some ass for a change.

Eh. Whatever.


Think I'll go light my pubic hair on fire or something. I'm bored.


Heh.

Do not operate machinery

While listening to the new MASTODON CD.

Heh.

If Ken Kesey, Willy Wonka, and H.R. Pufnstuf all got together and made a CD, it would be an acid trip without ingesting any psychotropic substances, and it would be named BLOOD MOUNTAIN.


Heh. More like Ass-todon.


Heh.

Fatherhood

Heh. Perhaps I am ready for fatherhood? Today I had to go do something at the BX across base, and outta the blue some kid started jumping up and down trying to get my attention. Why I don't know, but I was completely blocking it out. She started singing and dancing and I was completely oblivious to it all while I was completing some necessary paperwork. My co-worker looked at me, some what perturbed, that I hadn't warmed up to the little shit-stain by applauding its efforts. Sorry but THE MACHINE's time is precious and I don't really care if some 5 year old is having an ADD moment and wants attention. Take some Ritalin and go play in traffic or something. For some reason kids always come up to me. I have no idea why. Perhaps it's some ingrained sense these little demons have - they instinctively know which adult wants nothing to do with them and then they go bother the piss outta them. I tell them to go find their mom and to leave me alone but they don't listen. However, I think if I were to sire an illegitimate child, I would be just like every other dad in America - I'd ignore the little bastard while I'm playing video games or watching TV. I've come to the conclusion that I really don't want kids, but if an accident were to happen, I'd be prepared. Completely. I'D HIRE A BABY-SITTER. Heh.

Too much shit to do and not enough time to do it in

Eh.

It's Sleazy

Heh.


One thing I've always enjoyed in the music scene is the amount of originality that stems from musicians.


No, no, no - not the corporate bullshit rock you hear on the radio, nor the generic street thug screaming obscenities into an open mic - yah seen one of those assholes you've seen them all - and you asshole continue to support that music (and you still wonder why it is commercial radio sucks)!

Well let me introduce you to the biggest has-been band that never made it big:


GWAR





Yes. GWAR. Some people think it stands for GOD WHAT AWFUL RACKET while others think it means GAY WOMEN AGAINST RAPE, or even possibly GREAT WHITE ARYAN RACE - unfortunately the band members say that their name has no meaning, but I like the first idea the best since it has the funniest response. Heh.

They have this movie out that I picked up when I was in San Antonio the other month, that I finally got around to watching - IT'S $LEAZY - where their manager - SLEAZY P. MARTINI does some rip-off talk show that's a cross between Springer, Ricki Lake, and Geraldo. Of course it's a slap in the face to these toilet bowl somantics you see people do for ratings, and these guys play it to the hilt.

For example, one nervous mother comes on stage, saying how GWAR influenced her 5 year old to turn into an evil version of Beavis - and eat his dad. He comes out on stage, eats her, and then Sleazy P. shoots him in the face with a shotgun. Another part of the parody, some former M-TV VJ (I couldn't figure out who it was they were making fun of) comes out as a Trans-sexual midget, cuts off his penis before the audience, and then throws it at them. But the weirdest thing that happens is when some dude named SCRODA MOON comes out, claiming to be the long lost cousin of GWAR, and has some ancient tablet that will bring about the end of the world if broken. Sleazy P. decides to capitalize on this by having the band come busting through the wall like the Kool-Aid man, only they bust through the wrong wall, and break the tablet instead! What happens next is kinda hazy....I was laughing so damn hard I couldn't help myself - this is in no specific order.

There's a giant demonic raisin that gets fought.

There are ads for freshly-squeezed butt juice. And sheep tampons.

Elvis Presley comes back from the dead and GWAR kills him. Then they steal the drugs left in his stomach and get high.

Sleazy P's All-You-Can-Eat Crab Shack has a morbidly obese woman with pubic lice, and all these dudes feasting.

In the spirit of the Groovy Ghoulies, there's F.U.C.K. - what it stands for I dunno, but they have all the horror monsters living beneath the same roof - and they're a bunch of stoners. CRANKENSTEIN, KING TOKE, CRACKULA, THE HEROIN and the AWARE-WOLF MAN all have a cameo bit, waiting for their dealer to show up. (side note: Come to think of it, I can't help but to compare watching GWAR to the old Hanna-Barbera cartoons from the late 60's and early 70's, such as Josie and the PussyCats, Scooby-Do, The Flintstones, and of course - Captain Caveman).

GWAR fights the JAEGER MONSTA - a skeletal monster, who when you look at him, you automatically become drunk. They fight him, rip his head off, and drink his Jaegermeister blood.

An interdimensional talking toilet - something you'd find in Pee Wee's PlayHouse has all the tablets and once GWAR brings out a giant toilet plunger, he coughs them up - usually with someone (or something) attached to it.

Tons of body parts getting hacked, slashed, and fake blood going everywhere.

In the end, GWAR succeeds to piece the tablet back together, and a giant monster resembling EDDIE of IRON MAIDEN popularity comes out, and they fight it. By this time, Sleazy P. has had enough, and decides to call it a show.

Of course it's kinda late to be getting into GWAR - but what the hell - BETTER LATE THAN NEVER, right? I have a few of their other films plus one of their CDs - WAR PARTY - if I like them enough I'll start buying more of their music off the internet. I can see they're right up my alley already.




Heh.

Friday the 13th blows

Hard. Like Zhombie's mom on 2-for-1 night. Fuck me running. I wake up this morning, as most any other morning, getting ready for work and getting ahead of the power curve for once. I have my shit ready as I am going out the door, when I get to my garage and put the key into the ignition of my car. As I go to crank it over, NOTHING HAPPENS. WTF? So I try again. Again, NOTHING. The engine doesn't turn, nor does the power come on the dashboard like it does automatically, yet when I turn on my parking lights and CD player, everything is fine. So what the hell is going on? I start thinking what the hell it could be wrong with my car. Dead battery? Spark plugs need changing? Alternator going bad? Distributor cap fucked? I gotta get to work and this shit SUCKS. BAD. It is then I decide to call ZHOMBIE on my cell phone and ask him for a jump. That way I figure at the very least if my battery did go tits-up overnight, the jump should revitalize everything. After explaining to him what's going on, he makes it over to my place. By then I had managed to push my car out of my garage and into the street a little and for him to hook the jumper cables up. About the third or fourth try everything works although it's not until I take it to the dealership today that I found out what the problem really was. The fucking IGNITION BOX where the key makes contact with the starter fucking wore out of all things. Of all the parts of a car WHEN does that fucking piece of equipment ever fail? Hardly ever!!! Yet on today of all days, my ignition decided to fucking throw a temper tantrum and not cooperate. Needless to say yet again I have to dump more fucking money into my piece of shit CHOKESWAGON now that I have taken it out of storage and have been using it on a regular basis yet again. WTF? I have had to dump more cash into this high-maintenance bitch of a car it's like having a girlfriend practically. Both might look good but they fucking cost an arm and a leg to maintain and of course both depreciate with age. I'm better off riding a fucking 10-SPEED BICYCLE to work and back at this fucking rate, regardless of the weather outside. Anycase, most Friday the 13ths are good because it's payday for us military assholes, however today was the exception to the policy. Perhaps it's because it happened in October and 13 in reverse is 31? Who knows. Heh.

UFO Review

Well.

Apparently someone reads this blog aside from UNCLE SAM, people searching for SATANIC HIP-HOP references and BUM FIGHTS material.

Feast your eyes on this kids:


The Star Trek geeks at UFO REVIEW decided my CRAP CIRCLES essay was worth a few shits and grins (pun completely intended) and decided to link it to their report of shame and disgrace. Although I refute the evidence and still believe it is my colon demon possessing me to take a crap in the middle of the night, I guess some people find the answer to the stars on the good earth below.

Listen guys - save whatever respectable names you have made for yourselves and distance your website as far as possible from this blog if you know what's best for you! I cannot and will not be held responsible for anyone's I.Q. suddenly dropping 20 points as a result of reading what I write here!

Heh. But I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth - I'll gladly take whatever attention I can get. I guess you haven't made it in the blog world unless one of two things happen:

A - Someone links your material

and

B - You get laid by some internet psycho as a result of it.


Until yesterday, 1 outta 2 ain't so bad now izzit?


Now that the word is out, I'm waiting for the UFO aliens to come abduct me and perform an anal probe KLINGON STYLE. I'll even eat Mexican food tonight before going to bed, so I can give them something to brag about for light years to come. MY CAPTAIN'S LOG that is.


Heh.

Conclusion

After thinking about it for a day, perhaps I was wrong with my conclusion about a cat taking a dump on my back lawn. I mean, look at the size of that first log. It's pretty damn huge to be a cat turd.

No.


After careful consideration, I am convinced that MANUKE THE SHIT DEMON who resides within my bowels, POSSESSES ME to sleep walk in the middle of the night and take a shit on my own lawn. The idle threats of giving myself an enema with holy water or taking communion again to cleanse me of his unwanted presence was not taken lightly, and as a result, he is taking his revenge on me.

So. This is my cross to bear. This is my punishment for eating that hot dog on a stick so many years ago at the LAWSON MINI MART in Misawa Japan.



Lawson. You are the gateway to Hell. THE BAD ONE.

Naze desu ka? Wakara nai.


Heh.

Crap Circles

Okay.

Some of you people out there believe in the recurring formation commonly known as CROP CIRCLES. Some people think they are the works of the angels, sent as a message from heaven above to reassure us that there is more to this life than meets the eye. Others view it as the direct opposite, as them being part of some grand deception by Lucifer and his fallen angels, echoing some kinda End Times bullshit phenomenon. Some people think it's the work of some kinda Earth Goddess while others believe it is the work of UFO aliens trying to communicate a higher level of consciousness and enlightenment through the use of symbolism and abstract ideas. Others are just skeptical all together and think it's the work of some pretty talented, albeit bored people with too much time on their hands.

Me personally I think it's the world government fucking with us from outer space, by testing new satellite plasma beam technology, as a means of perfecting it through the process of trial and error. Call it a hunch.

Anycase tonight's blog has nothing to do with those stupid fucking designs but it does have to do with something that I found today in my backyard. Much like the farmer who minds his own business, I go out to mow my lawn when I find


CRAP CIRCLES.


THE GODDAMNED NEIGHBOR'S CAT LEFT 4 CAT TURDS ON MY LAWN. Motherfucker! There are at least 2 cats that roam the street I live on, and figure I need to buy a BB gun and sit in wait for those little shits to come back on my lawn. I don't have any pets and there are no dogs in my neighborhood so I know it's process of elimination. Besides, THE PHANTOM SHITTER only strikes at work and does not know the whereabouts to where I reside.

Any case here's the proof I'm talking about:









As you can tell, I ran over the last one with the wheel of my lawnmower when I was alerted to the presence of cat turds within my immediate vicinity. Worse than stepping foot in a minefield, you get shit caught in between the treads of your boots and that smell ain't coming out for weeks. Damn.

So - ALL YOU FUCKING CAT LOVERS OUT THERE - NOW YOU KNOW WHY IT IS I HATE THEM.

Why can't they just go crap in a kindergarten sandbox like all the other cats instead?


Heh.

The Long Lost Weekend

Heh. I could bore you about how much work I've been stuck with lately, only you don't come here to read about that. So, instead I'll show you what I've been preoccupied with since I've got this Long Lost Weekend on my hands: Yup. Oldie but a goodie. Chances are you're looking at this shitty cover art and thinking to yourself "What the fuck is THE MACHINE talking about?" Heh. Here's a better link to what I'm talking about. Gorgeous artwork included - just mind the French. I've always had this love/hate relationship with the Castlevania series ever since it first appeared on the original Nintendo Entertainment System. The games improve with each new title, however they become more and more time consuming. Some weekends I don't even leave the house - thankfully this is not one of them. The only thing that would make the series top-notch is if they included a death metal soundtrack, or if they would allow you to modify the existing soundtrack the way X-Box does with some of its games. Unless someone is broken, bleeding, or dying, don't interrupt me when I'm playing Castlevania. Heh.

A case of mistaken identity

Before you is a hot chick. A hot chick from CHairforce.com I look at the website from work everyday when I should be working instead (unlike all those military people who read my blog from work, I actually stick to the less "controversial" websites since Uncle Sam tracks that stuff) and I always get a kick outta what people send in for jokes. Take case in point: The hot chick. Let's call her "Airman Hottie" for tonight's session. AIRMAN HOTTIE captured my lust from the moment I laid eyes on her. Holy shit amigos! No way could some chick THAT gorgeous be in the military (with the exception of RUCKUS and CRAZYGIRL) but she takes a shit like everyone else nonetheless. Dudes go crazy for hot chicks but I've learned that it's all about timing and of course, PERCEPTION. I go to our supply section to change out some equipment I have when I see this chick who resembles Airman Hottie. I swear - almost a complete fucking likeness, only more sun and the eyes are lighter blue. I start chatting her up to see what her angle is and whether or not THE MACHINE can get a piece of it. Hey fuckers I might be old, but goddammit my DICK still works just fine! And besides, I have a thing for girls in their early to mid-20's so I'm always on the prowl. Why else do you think I take college courses at night? To learn something? Fuck no! Anycase, I figure I'd chat her up to see what her M.O. was all about.... ...And it sure as shit wasn't about ME. Some black dude she knew called when I was talking (I know this because she said his name when telling her friend to take the message) since nobody in the 'hood names their kids "Peter" or "Walter". So right then and there I knew my chances of hooking up with this mega-babe had been significantly reduced (but not at zero all together just yet). She continues to process my order when I get the shit, trying to keep her entertained with small talk when I finally hit her with the question: WILL YOU MARRY ME? Huh? What? You'd think I'd say something SO FUCKING GAY AND SO FUCKING RETARDED like that? Fuck no! No. I asked her straight out if she knew about CHairforce and whether or not it was her pic of her faking the funk like some wanna-be ghetto rat. What is it with white people trying to be something they're not, even if it's in jest? Anycase she denied it straight out, however mentioned the name of some other chick she gets mistaken for quite frequently that could resemble Airman Hottie. So. Now that I have been armed with this ammunition, I will officially start THE QUEST FOR AIRMAN HOTTIE. I know you're all probably thinking that I've sunk to a new level of lowness, even for myself, but you know what I say to everyone? FUCK YOU! I'm doing this regardless! You all know how much I hate people generally speaking, so this means I have to leave my house at night and go to the nightclubs in hopes of bumping into this broad. This means I gotta keep my eyes peeled everywhere I go, with my Sony digital camera in hand, in case I do bump into her! I'll even do you morons a favor too - I'll take her photo with me drooling like the window lickers I take care of every day and possibly post it here - otherwise I'll share it with a select few whom I know I can trust. So there yah have it. Chances are she's not even here in Germany but I figure I might as well give it a shot. I just might meet someone in the process of this quest for the hottie grail and get LAID for a change, instead of jerking off in the basement while cutting myself with rusty barbed wire. Heh.

When a joke goes wrong

Heh.





Zhombie.





ZHOMBIE as you know, is a perpetual rain cloud of a person. His reputation precedes him. It could be the best fucking day outside that you have ever experienced, yet he will find something negative to criticize about it. Why the fuck I hang out with him is anyone's guess, but perhaps it's because he's more of a loser than I am and it gives me comfort knowing this. Who knows.



Anycase, Saturday night he's being his usual pain-in-the-ass self by wanting to come over and hang out with me. I'm not about to have any of it since I have other plans (read: jerking off, crying, and playing video games) but he's remaining insistant nonetheless. So after about 2 minutes of arguing with the fucker on the phone, he decides to come over anyways, only it's getting dark and it's starting to rain. He's going to be late.



All this time I'm thinking how I can torture the poor bastard even more than I normally do. AH HA. I KNOW. I have an old FREDDY KRUEGER GLOVE that's collecting dust that I can scare the fucking bejeezus outta him with, PLUS the original FREDDY KRUEGER MASK right along with it. I decide to dig it out of the huge pile of junk that's occupying what's supposed to be my guest room, and put it on. Zhombie's gonna shit bricks when he sees this! The look on his face is going to be fucking priceless!



So I get ready - I've got the glove and the mask on and I make sure that my houselights are dimmed. He said he was gonna show around 8pm and sure enough when 8pm hits, the doorbell rings.







"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!"



I scream REALLY FUCKING LOUDLY so everyone can hear, as I open the door, waving my gloved hand in the air with the finger blades going every which way. Expecting to see Zhombie there shitting his pants and running away like a scared little girl, is instead A FUCKING PIZZA DELIVERY BOY who got the wrong address by mistake.



He shits his pants but keeping in the traditional German straight-faced mentality does not show it one bit. When I realize what it is that happened I take off the Freddy Krueger glove, take off the mask, and apologize to the kid profusely.



"Sorry man! I thought you were my friend! He's supposed to come over any minute!" I exclaimed repeatedly.



Turns out my landlord's daughter ordered a pizza, and since their house is right behind mine, he got confused. It happens more often than not, especially with their lingerie catalogs and other bits of junk mail. I even recieved some weird package once that a delivery boy put in my garage while I was at work, in hopes I would get it when returning home. Perhaps it was some weird sex toy or something - I didn't bother opening the package either way.



Anycase the pizza boy figured out what was going on and started laughing too, and then left to drop off the pizza. In reality the kid is traumatized for life and will never deliver pizza again or start packing an uzi or something. Heh.



In the meantime, Zhombie shows up 5 minutes after the said incident, and no sooner do I put the mask and glove back on, does fuck-nuts ring the doorbell and I scream at the top of my lungs once again as I open the door. He proceeds to shit his pants and runs away as I laugh my fucking ass off, only to realize what's going on. He calls me a douchebag for being so juvenile and we go out to eat at some shitty Italian restaurant instead.



Heh. Perhaps Zhombie's purpose in my life is to take whatever sadistic punishment I can think of. Scaring the shit outta him is just a start. Before all is said and done, I want to get some fucking HE-SHE DUDE tranny stripper for him, and hire the walking freak of nature to give Zhombie the "Bachelor Party of his life". Considering he doesn't even have a girlfriend it will be a real fucking hoot to see the expression on his face.





"My name's 'Secret' - what's yours?!?"





I'm definitely going to Hell for that one.





Heh.