Am upto my neck in crap you wouldnt want to hear about...so cant really write anything. But I just had to post this within 5 minutes of finding it online. It's a rant, it's a pickup line, it's a personals ad, its...genius.
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YOU: GIRL BY YOUR POOL IN MANHATTAN BEACH. I WAS ON THE 747 THAT FLEW OVER - m4w
I was on the 747 that flew over your house today around 3:30pm. You probably didn't notice me in particular, but you might have remembered the plane...a big United 747. You did look up for a minute, but then turned over and gave me a view of what I can only describe as a very perfect, nicely-rounded, well-toned posterior. When you looked up- if you did happen to see me I was the white guy with sunglasses on right in front of the left wing. i kind of raised my eyebrows in a gesture that I instantly regretted as pretty sleazy, but hopefully you didn't notice. You had on a blue shiny swimsuit. We should hang out. I wanted to make contact with you, but it was basically impossible from my seat in the plane. I think you live in Manhattan Beach or something, but it was really hard to tell exactly what "city" we were over. You have brown shoulder-length hair. and it looked like you were reading one of those celebrity magazines, because it had lots of colors like pink on the cover and I think I saw Brad Pitt on there but can't be entirely sure. Obviously I'm not going on personality here, because for all I know you could be kind of bitchy, full of issues, only partially sane, or like one of those girls who only wants me because I produce a TV show, drive a brand-new fully-loaded BMW convertible, and have nearly perfect teeth. Or at least they will be nearly perfect after I finally get this one crown finished this week. It has been a real pain... I had to get a root canal that lasted 4 hours just because I can't catch a damn baseball when the sun's in my eye. So yeah- you might have a terrible personality, or a really annoying nasal laugh, or a psychotic ex-boyfriend. But I'm willing to overlook all that to possibly have a "date" with you. Maybe you can wear that swimsuit on our date? Of course, if you are only 17 or something please do not respond. I am only interested in women over 18 years old, thank you very much. But, say you are like 17 years and 6 months old? Then save this and send me an email right after you turn 18. We can go out for drinks. (non-alcoholic for you of course) Also- since it was hard to tell from the plane--- if you are OVER say 35 then maybe we shouldn't do this. But if it's any consolation you have a very nicely toned body for someone over 35. You obviously must work out. And apparently you don't eat like many of the women I know in their mid-30's, who just CANNOT seem to keep their faces out of a pint of Haagen Daz or a bag of oreos EVERY night. Also please don't expect this to be more than just a one or two-time sexual encounter. If you are incrediblly needy or carry excessive baggage then please just try to keep the drama to a minimum during our "dates" together. I won't mention my overbearing mother or my dog's apparent inability to understand that the appropriate time & place to do his business is NOT right when we are walking by a beautiful woman at the beach. Not right next to her towel. He absolutely HAS to stop doing this. Does he do this to spite me? I won't tell you these type of horror stories if you can keep your drama to a minimum. Also if you are really into numerology, astrology, yoga, veganism, raw foods, or any of those other california lifestyle choices... please just keep it to yourself. I eat meat, smoke, drink too much, smoke pot (not much any more though, as recently it has made me somewhat paranoid. It's much stronger these days than the crappy Mexican stuff we smoked in college. It's like doing acid now. I mean, one puff and you are basically on a different planet) and don't like when self-righteous California do-gooders try to change my life. I don't need the frustration. For my part if the smoking bothers you I will only do it outside, after sex or a satisfying meal. If you are unbearably releigious, like Catholic or born-again Christian or something then PLEASE keep all of that to yourself. I will still be happy to please you sexually, but I don't want to hear about how Jesus has changed your life. I will give you a MUCH more religious experience than your church ever can. If you are Catholic: My experience with Catholic girls is that they ARE incredibly fun in bed once you can convince them to have a few drinks, so if you are Catholic and have repressed sexual desires then I am your guy. But please realize that religion is something made up to control the minds of the weak... and that it is also truly the root of all evil. More people have been killed in the name of Jesus than just about any other cause, so PLEASE get off your horse on this whole thing. And that goes for devout Jews and Muslims too. Your bullshit "god" is not better or bigger than theirs, and you will NOT end up in paradise with a bunch of virgins if you choose to blow yourself up in a mall. Also if you are incredibly conservative and think that George Bush is a great guy then you should definitely keep that to yourself because I will without a doubt have to give you a verbal lashing that will make you regret you ever even heard of Crawford, Texas... A place where this moron we call a president takes month-long vacations and gets into mountain bike accidents while our countrymen die in a poorly-planned and poorly-executed war that has helped plunge the nation into a record national debt of over $500 billion. (And that was a budget SURPLUS of over $250 Billion when Bill Clinton left office!) And don't get me started on gas. You would think there would be at least ONE benefit to having a President who sucks at the teats of the Oil Industry: Cheap Gas! So why the fuck is gas so expensive when Bush has so many cronies in Big Oil and Saudi Arabia? Please, don't get me started. So that's about it. if you are that girl who I flew over in United Flight 120 from New York then please let me know. this is in or around los angeles .
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Current favorite
On every street - Dire Straits
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Doh
I used to think all my problems stem from a healthy mix of cynicism, laziness and a well nurtured inferiority complex. But then I had 1 of these epiphanic moments the dude gets when the dude’s locked in his room with a ton load of work that he has no plans of starting on, and I thought I should put this one down.
The reason for my life being filled with sheepish moments (some1 commented that I use the word sheepish too many times in the blog. Hmm) has to do with an acute lack of being able to do 4 different things with 4 different limbs at a time. I mean, mentally juggling half a dozen thought streams in parallel, no issues…but asking me to pay attention to what my left hand AND my right hand are to do at the same time…that’s a bit too much.
My engg friends have no problems recounting the absolute cluelessness of my being during those carpentry workshop days when I’d be asked to turn a block of wood into some not so random shape. You were expected to keep a foot on the pedal to regulate the machine speed, you were to keep both hands on the chisel to dig into the wood, now turning at speeds of bout 100 rpm, and you were to keep an eye out for the emergency stop button. Also dodge incidental wood chips. Keep in mind that you don’t cut too much or too little. Ignore the carpentry prof sneering at his new village idiot.
Got worse during 2nd year, when we had full blown 8 hour slog sessions on the lathe. The lathe is a high precision machine used for turning raw steel blocks into cylindrical components of exacting dimensions. They come in the average size of a small car, and they’ve got a zillion things to align and tighten and rotate and control with both hands while the steel’s being ripped into by sharp cutting tools, at speeds of bout 400 rpm. Steel chips are hot and sharp and they fly off without warning. The liquid coolant has to be fed constantly and in the right amount. There’s a set of wheels for moving the tool into the steel, and another for moving it along the steel. Both have to be co-ordinated manually and continuously, to get the cut you would want. All this while you’re wearing heavy protective overalls in a place that is muggy at the best of times.
Of course, once you get the hang of it, people need to physically hoist you off the machine to get you to stop and go home. But until that happened…it was hell. There were guys (and well…girls too) who worked as if they were born to do that machine. I was the uncoordinated Yeti who’d get a good ear twist from the supervisor every 5 minutes. There’s always something I forget to do, or something I could do in isolation, but not alongwith another 7 things.
This pattern resurfaces when trying to learn the bike too. Gears, clutch, front and rear brakes, accelerator, indicator lights, other idiot motorists, idiot pedestrians, traffic lights…too much to look out for. I know…you smug folks have done it already. My co-ordination levels just aren’t upto it. Notice I play football, not cricket. Combining footwork with balance, ball length, pace, swing, spin and field positions….please. Give me random running and thumping the football any day.
The Yeti does see a new spatio-kinetic problem appearing on the distant horizon. All his life he’s been hoping it wouldn’t be as distant as it were, but he could use the time now to sort this out.
Women. Them and their seven erogenous zones. You see, what triggered this epiphany was the Friends scene where Monica does the whole female body mapping scene for Chandler on how to get Joey’s ex gf (the short haired brunette girl) all pleasured up…the scene where she goes a 3, a 4 and a 6,a 3 and a 1 , a 5 and a 2….all the way upto 7! 7!! 7!!!.
My money says the girl’s going to give me the village idiot sneer before 10 minutes.
Current favorite :
Carry on my wayward son
Kansas
The reason for my life being filled with sheepish moments (some1 commented that I use the word sheepish too many times in the blog. Hmm) has to do with an acute lack of being able to do 4 different things with 4 different limbs at a time. I mean, mentally juggling half a dozen thought streams in parallel, no issues…but asking me to pay attention to what my left hand AND my right hand are to do at the same time…that’s a bit too much.
My engg friends have no problems recounting the absolute cluelessness of my being during those carpentry workshop days when I’d be asked to turn a block of wood into some not so random shape. You were expected to keep a foot on the pedal to regulate the machine speed, you were to keep both hands on the chisel to dig into the wood, now turning at speeds of bout 100 rpm, and you were to keep an eye out for the emergency stop button. Also dodge incidental wood chips. Keep in mind that you don’t cut too much or too little. Ignore the carpentry prof sneering at his new village idiot.
Got worse during 2nd year, when we had full blown 8 hour slog sessions on the lathe. The lathe is a high precision machine used for turning raw steel blocks into cylindrical components of exacting dimensions. They come in the average size of a small car, and they’ve got a zillion things to align and tighten and rotate and control with both hands while the steel’s being ripped into by sharp cutting tools, at speeds of bout 400 rpm. Steel chips are hot and sharp and they fly off without warning. The liquid coolant has to be fed constantly and in the right amount. There’s a set of wheels for moving the tool into the steel, and another for moving it along the steel. Both have to be co-ordinated manually and continuously, to get the cut you would want. All this while you’re wearing heavy protective overalls in a place that is muggy at the best of times.
Of course, once you get the hang of it, people need to physically hoist you off the machine to get you to stop and go home. But until that happened…it was hell. There were guys (and well…girls too) who worked as if they were born to do that machine. I was the uncoordinated Yeti who’d get a good ear twist from the supervisor every 5 minutes. There’s always something I forget to do, or something I could do in isolation, but not alongwith another 7 things.
This pattern resurfaces when trying to learn the bike too. Gears, clutch, front and rear brakes, accelerator, indicator lights, other idiot motorists, idiot pedestrians, traffic lights…too much to look out for. I know…you smug folks have done it already. My co-ordination levels just aren’t upto it. Notice I play football, not cricket. Combining footwork with balance, ball length, pace, swing, spin and field positions….please. Give me random running and thumping the football any day.
The Yeti does see a new spatio-kinetic problem appearing on the distant horizon. All his life he’s been hoping it wouldn’t be as distant as it were, but he could use the time now to sort this out.
Women. Them and their seven erogenous zones. You see, what triggered this epiphany was the Friends scene where Monica does the whole female body mapping scene for Chandler on how to get Joey’s ex gf (the short haired brunette girl) all pleasured up…the scene where she goes a 3, a 4 and a 6,a 3 and a 1 , a 5 and a 2….all the way upto 7! 7!! 7!!!.
My money says the girl’s going to give me the village idiot sneer before 10 minutes.
Current favorite :
Carry on my wayward son
Kansas
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