Author: Sharkey

Lord almighty. I go and do my civic duty by voting, and attempt to put on some headphones so that I can ignore the world for the next 48 hours. Why oh why can I not escape the ensuing flood of bullshit for just a short time?

I think Im going to hit the gym, have a few beers with the homies, and play videogames until we have a President.

The other day I mentioned life’s little “Don’t leave the fucking house” message, but I never did elaborate. One thing I will share with you is my altercation with the law, which was a primary source of headache for the holiday weekend.

Picture our hero, having dropped off Bolt after a Halloween-party decorating session up in LA, driving to meet the current girl at the donut shop (its the only thing open in my town at 2:30 AM) for a coffee. About one block back from the intended destination, a cop is spotted in the rear view mirror. Considering the expired plates (laziness!) there was little doubt that this was going to result in being stopped. Sure enough, this is what happens. And that’s where the fun begins.

You see, I’ve been pulled over a few times since my registration expired. I’ve been meaning to get it up-to-date, but business and laziness have conspired against me in this effort. So by this point, I’ve racked up a couple of fix-it tickets and know the drill: hand the officer the tickets, let him inspect them and remark on my bad luck in getting two, and letting me on my way. But not tonight. After handing over the standard identification, I sit and wave to the girl, who is parked directly across from me, nervously awaiting an explanation. Then a light flashes in my face.

Cop: “Sir, you mind stepping out of the vehicle with your hands over your head?”

Sharkey: “Uh… sure.” (*opens door*)

Cop: “Whoa, keep your hands on your head. Do you have any dangerous weapons or anything in your pockets that I should know about?”

Sharkey: (*puzzled*) “No sir.”

Cop: (*grabs my left hand and restrains me*)

At this point, I notice a calm, collected senior officer behind him, and another plainclothes officer farther back taking notes and making afferming nods to the officer who now had my arm pinned behind my back. I figured out fairly quickly that this guy was new, and the plainclothes was his trainer/evaluator.

After a lot of rigamarole and bluster, they finally start answering my questions again.

Sharkey: “So what’s this all about, sir?”

Cop: “You have any explanation as to why you’re driving with a suspended license?”

Sharkey: (*raises eyebrow*) “Ummmm… because my license isn’t suspended?”

Cop: “Yeah. It is. Any weapons in the car I should know about? Drugs? Anything of note?”

Sharkey: “Not unless you count my new putter. And why would my license be suspended?”

Cop: “Sounds like it was a failure to appear. Was suspended back in July.”

At this point, I considered telling him that I didn’t want him going through my car, but there was nothing of interest in there anyways, so I figured why piss him off? The senior officer started chatting with me about random bullshit, obviously trying to keep my attention as the other officer rifled through my belongings. I told the newbie that while he’s in there, he should figure out what the new, puzzling odor coming from the backseat stems from.

By now the girl and I are sitting on the curb, watching the police do their business. The cops are pretty friendly after I prove to be non-threatening, and even let me out of the car impounding that I am fully entitled to. I thank them for their time, and ask the girl for a ride home.

Now, the next day was all kinds of fun. I wake up (after three hours of sleep) and the site is down. Clients are bitching. And I have to go down to the courthouse (I was told to bring a good book by the cop, since I’d be there awhile) and the DMV. On top of the millions of things I had to get accomplished, I was in a fun mood.

The courthouse actually took three minutes, since my ticket for driving on a suspended license will not be on the docket for a few weeks, so I cannot go in to contest it. I did, however, settle up with the court regarding my failure to appear, giving me the ability (and priveledge, I’m sure) of going to the DMV. I also found out what ticket I possibly could have ignored, coming back to bite me in the ass a whole year later. That ticket? Improper wearing of a seatbelt. That took what little starch I still had left in my sails and threw it into the Pacific. A $35 infraction had now ballooned to about $300, and caused me many many hours of grief. And to top it all off, I can’t even remember getting the Goddamned thing.

After an uneventful DMV visit, (to be followed by another one tomorrow, and my court date in a few weeks) I finally have my (temporary) license back. I’m glad that it’s all working out, but I’ve had this nagging thought in the back of my head since Friday: when the fuck did I get this seat belt ticket? How could I forget about it? And why?

The answer, of course, is right here on BAMF.

Of course, the reason I forgot about the ticket is because the ticket in-and-of-itself was a victory. One might point out that this is yet another burden stemming from the evil that is women, but that person would be an asshole. A $300-lighter-in-the-wallet asshole.

For Halloween, a bunch of us dressed up as superheroes/villains that we created. Needless to say, there were a lot of bad guys in the mix. To accentute the costumes, I quickly threw together a series of trading cards (which each of us passed around at the party like business cards) which seemed to go over really well. Figured you might want to take a look at ’em.

Just for the breakdown, Bolt was Captain Radical, Killbot was Baron Von Wrong, Heywood J. (the bailiff from Trial Of Raygun) was Dr. Ironfist, I was Supremo Colombio, Finn was Facial Disgracial, and Da5id was Uber Deutchman Overlord. And we were all very, very, very drunk.

Hilarity in the mail this morning:

From: David Chappelle

https://www.cnn.com/2004/SHOWBIZ/Movies/10/31/box.office.reut/index.html

Check out this quote:

“Foxx has generated a lot of early Oscar buzz for his accurate portrayal of the blind pianist, who saw the film shortly before he died in June of liver disease.”

Umm, I don’t think so.

That is horrible.

As in horribly funny.

So the site is back, I guess. This ancient PERL business has got to go. The new BAMF homegrown system should be in gear soon, since I started rushing my ass off to finish it just so you poor bastards could have tits n’ funny.

[ Nose-To-Tail Petsitting Services ] – I randomly passed this guy in his truck today, and based on his seemingly unwitting innuendo of a business name, I had to check out his website. And I’m glad I did.

Just from a designer’s standpoint, I can deduce the following things at first glance:

• His home system has 800×600 resolution, and he runs IE. Or perhaps AOL.
• He designed this himself, or his woman did. That’s why the font is comic-sans and the whole thing looks like ass in Mozilla.
• His business name still makes me chuckle, not to mention the logo.

Now, as it stands, he’s had 392 visitors to his website. Hopefully, I will change that. Now, I’m not trying to be a dick and flood him with shitheads, that would be mean. No no, my friends, I’m doing a public service to the Internet with this gesture. You see, I’m calling out on anyone in the Irvine/South OC area to hire this guy. Make him and his lady some extra cash. They seem like good people. That way, maybe the guy can afford to pay a college student 50 bucks for a layout that has line breaks, or proper usage of table columns/cells.

See, I’m helping local businesses prosper, in an attempt to clean up the internet. I’m like a humanitarian and a gigantic asshole all rolled into one. Now go visit the guy’s site, dickhead.

You know, it’s sad that slices have to get older. Nicole Kidman has always been one of my favorites, and I find it really unsettling that one day she’ll be looking like a slighly more elegant Bea Arthur.

Oh well, we can always watch Eyes Wide Shut and remember what the funbags looked like when they didn’t touch her knees, right?

Nicole is going to be in this “controversial” flick called Birth, which has some sort of naked scene between her and a little kid. But you’ve gotta realize that she was married to Tom Cruise, who has the stature of a ten-year-old boy. For her, this is old hat.

Lord almighty, there’s nothing like capping off a drunkened (and sleep-deprived) birthday weekend than with some 5AM web fixes. Except, perhaps, for posting some pie prior to going back to sleep. So here’s a little taste of Brooke Burke.

Brooke here is in the current issue of Playboy, wearing a stunning lack of clothing. Good for her. Better for us.

Sleep now.

Considering it’s my birthday tomorrow, I’m only interested in posting slices that interest me. So I’m going to strap on the little party hat, grab my fork, and dive into a slice of my wife Katie Holmes. Oh, and what’s this? Even more Katie Holmes.

Hey, if you’re looking for an excuse to send in slices, now is the time. My birthday is tomorrow, and in the immortal words of Dave Chappelle: “Come onnnnnn titty!”

Bolt found this game yesterday, and we are going to turn it into the greatest drinking game ever conceived:

Amazing. A board game that teaches little Jewish children the proper way to keep their lives kosher. Never before have I seen a game so destined for boozery. Bolt, Killbot and I are going to grab a few bottles of Manishevitz and some pork chops for me, and hammer out the rules for this bad boy. If anybody is looking for a last-minute birthday gift idea for me, this is it. This is the be-all-end-all. Especially if it comes with a bottle of Jack Daniels.

I was trying to come up an even better game idea, perhaps something with a Kwanzaa-theme. But the idea of a board game based on robbing your neighbors’ freshly-opened Christmas gifts just seemed like a downer. Although I am in talks with Parker Bros. regarding a game based on Mexican immigration. I don’t want to spill too much, but there will be bonus points for impregnating blonde high-school girls and running out on child support.

What? If you can’t be racist around your birthday, when can you be racist? …fine. I’ll make up a board game filled with honkey stereotypes. But what could be the theme? Hmmmm….

Happy now?