Author: Sharkey

Hey, lookee what I found in my inbox! A slice! From Peaches! And I have no idea who she is, but she’s fucking caliente! Have some Leonor Varela.

So now you can all stop your crying. Except those of you who’s father did run out on you when you were 4, in which case, I’m sorry.

…sorry that your father sired such a fucking whiner. Stop living in the past, man.

So it took awhile, but one of the lovely virii (of which there are hundreds daily) that have been fired at my main machine broke through the firewall borders and antivirus cannons and struck hard. Now with the lexan windows and super-trendy glowing lights and fans, my machine has effectively become the prettiest, most expensive, and least energy efficient dual monitor paperweight in the county. That, coupled with my lack of broadband at my place in HB, makes the inner Shark want to cry like Harry Knowles when the Sizzler’s all-you-can-eat buffet closes. Thankfully I can still make the twenty minute commute back to the old place with my laptop, so that I can once again browse in harmony.

The real bummer is on your hands, however, as the new slices for the next month or so are now trapped in virus Hell. So until I can get a free moment to cleanse the scourge of evil from my machine, you’ll have to make due by yourself. I know, it’s sad, but at least you can go play Solo’s Fuck/Marry/Kill game. It’s fun, especially if you even for one second let your pathetic mind beleive that you could ever possibly have a chance to do any of those three things to any woman on that list. Although for some, I wish you could accomplish the latter, but we all know that you wont. You big fucking pussy, your Daddy was right to run out on you when you were 4. Going out for milk, my ass.

Oh stop crying, you big baby. That’s why Daddy drank in the first place.

Can’t talk long. Forgot cord, laptop battery dying after 30 minute virus-riddled SPAM download. So on to the important stuff:

Moved to temporary digs down in Huntington Beach for the next two months. Literally five minute walk to hot chicks in strings that they like to call bikinis. Also live in an apartment community stuffed to the brim with said trim. (ooh, wordsmithy)

No internet access at said apartment, hence the hurried posting and lack of communications. Fixing that ASAP.

Oh yeah, this is pretty funny, and sad, and then funny again. The officer in question probably took one look at the guy and figured that nobody would really miss him. And with that piece of karmic damnation, I bid you adieu.

It would be even funnier if this was one of those fat camps: [ Summer Camp Turns Into “Fight Camp” ]

Police in Virginia are investigating claims from about two dozen kids that summer camp counselors arranged fistfights between young campers and even charged admission to see the brawls.

Franklin County Sheriff Quint Overton said this week that kids ages 9 to 13 were told to lie to their parents about the fights after several campers suffered black eyes and one broke his hand at a 4-H summer camp. The counselors allegedly also allowed betting on the fights.

My summer camps weren’t anywhere near that cool. We just sat around playing freeze tag and shit. Although you shouldn’t knock freeze tag, it is a game of superior kickassness. But I’m sure that you’ll all agree that between learning to trounce a kid twice your size and the ability to freeze in place like an asshole for minutes at a time, the mighty beat-down is going to be more useful in junior high.

What’s really sad is that I can hear hundreds of you nerds cracking your knuckles out there, daydreaming of going back to the bully who terrorized your childhood and knocking his teeth in after an 8-week trip to Camp Kickass. It’s sad, because all you would’ve learned at Camp Kickass is how to take an effective beating. I mean I know David & Golliath is a popular story, but I’ve got news for you: David had a rock, all you’ve probably got is asthma.

So basically, Stonehenge is a stone vagina. But now that they’ve identified it, scientists are going to have to take it out to a nice dinner every once in awhile to get any results from it. And about once a month, I’d reccommend that tourists steer clear.

I’m making that necessary trip to the local Jiffy Lube again, and as always, the mechanics here are giving me my weight in bullshit. After the eightieth time getting hassled about shit that I know isn’t in need of a fix, I have to wonder whether or not these guys are on commission. Here’s what went down:

Me: “I see you have your yellow checklist there. Lets get this over with quickly. I just have the time for an oil change today, so no extraneous services, alright?”
Him: “You sure you dont want a car wash?”
Me: “No, just the oil please.”
Him: “Looks like your air filter is pretty dusty and cracked. You want us to…”
Me: *picks up air filter, shakes it a bit* “No thanks. Just the oil.”
Him: “Well we’re running a special on engine cleaning. It gets all the gunk and dirt and stuff out and it’s normally 89.99 but today it’s only fif…”
Me: “No time. Just oil.”
Him: “How about your tires? Do you get them rotated someplace else or…”
Me: “Look man, I don’t want to be rude but I don’t even have time for the oil change now, so can we please just get on with this?”
Him: “OK man, sure thing. …. you know, your fuel filter is supposed to be changed every sixty thousand miles and you still have the factory one. See the fuel filter gathers all of the gunk and dirt that comes…”
Me: *places face in hands* “I know what a fuel filter does, and I can replace it myself, just like I’m seriously considering doing with the oil, so please, Please. Please.
Him: “How about your windshield wipers? 18 bucks to replace those, they’re pretty thrashed.”
Me: “I SAID..uh…hmm… well shit, yeah, why not. Now that you’ve upsold me, can you change the oil?”
Him: “Sure man, no problem. Now if I knock five bucks off the price of the engine cleaning, would you…”
Me: *walks away*

Now why would I even consider the windshield wipers on a hot summer’s day? Well, considering the fact that I’ve been meaning to put new ones on since last winter and still haven’t gotten around to it, I can stand to pay the five bucks labor charge to have them do it instead. Although you have to wonder what kind of a lazy prick would pay to have his wipers installed, but balks at the idea of someone else replacing the fuel filter? Just me baby, just me. Well, me and all of the other lazy sociopaths out there.

So I’m in the checkout line getting ready to purchase my laundry detergent, comestibles, and a couple of those Krispy Kreme doughnuts (fuckers get me every time) and the chick in front of me is a cute lil’ asian with a couple of juice bottles. I notice as she picks up one of those weekly horoscope booklets that they put out specific to your birth sign or whatever. Personally I couldn’t give a shit what my sign is, I only know it so I can spew it out whenever a girl asks because they seem to believe that shit has something to do with whether or not you are someday “marriage material”, which is the magical key into their pants, no matter what they say.

So back to the story. As I sit and ponder why the stupid fuck in the front who can’t figure out the credit card machine isn’t already dead, cremated, and fed to the rest of us via SPAM, I notice out of the corner of my eye that the lil’ asian cutie is getting a little shifty. She looks left. She looks right. She looks straight up as she deposits said horoscope book right into her purse.

A trifle baffling to me, as I would imagine that the whole “horoscope” bullshit would carry with it some semblence of karma. How exactly do you put so much faith into that superstitious crap that you feel the need to shoplift a 99 cent booklet? That’s kind of like stealing a bible, I think somewhere along the line it’s going to bite you in the ass, provided that you have chosen the right path.

So uh… I’d like to take this moment to plead with whatever forces control the outcome of the film industry (besides money, I hear that it’s either the liberals or the Jews, so I love all of you for the moment) in order to make League Of Extroardinary Gentlemen into something that does not resemble feces thrown by angry monkeys at strips of celluloid. I have my own monkeys, thank you, I can see that at any time. Or, I can go pick up Daredevil when it hits DVD.

Anyway, I just want The League to do well because for one, Sean Connery movies should never, ever suck. And secondly, we would most certainly get more hot pics of today’s slice, Peta Wilson. So pray with me children. Pray hard.

What th… I said PRAY, you punks! I can see what you’re doing, and God wouldn’t like it! Nobody wants to see that!

Have you guys heard about the french fry that sold on eBay for $200 because it was “the longest”? Yes? No? Either way, you’re going to read about it right here:

Simon Holland found the 6 3/4-inch fry during a meal at a Wisconsin Rapids Culver’s on June 24. Instead of eating the spud, he immediately froze it and put it up for auction on eBay.

The winning bid $202.50 from a bidder known only as “Culver’s Fan” was announced Wednesday afternoon. Restaurant owners Greg Giese and Brad Prohl celebrated by giving patrons complimentary pieces of custard cake.

*places head in hands*

*muffled* And of course, here comes the voice of dissent, in eBay form of course.

Why our existence is allowed to continue, I’ll never know. Perhaps God likes collecting antique figurines. Or those little Jesus statuettes.

Thanks to everyone for letting me know that Raygun had been arrested… again.

Do I smell a Trial Of Raygun sequel? A cookie goes to the best sequel title posted in the comments.