random TK's

[mustynutz]

Right now, I'm sitting here alone. A few minutes ago, I was surfing the web and came across an ad banner that stated that if I "shoot the bad guy", I win a free I-Pod. Sweet. I pulled my mouse pointer over the "bad guy". He just sat there. I pulled the trigger. He went down. A popup window stated that I won my free I-Pod.

If you're going to give away free I-Pods, at least make the game harder. It was like one of Electro's games. I could beat it in 1 minute-- twice.

So, I've finally gotten into the swing of living on my own (with a roommate). Although a bit strange, I think I can handle being on my own. I have to get used to a few things, first.

For example, my dirty clothes hamper just keeps piling up and hasn't been washed yet. Usually, every Sunday morning my towels and clothing will be washed, dryed, and neatly folded on my bed when I come home. Not recently though.

The food situation isn't any better. When I lived at home, I used to hate Ramen Noodles with a passion. Now that money is a bit low, I'm acting like a parent in a last minute Christmas frenzy to get to a Tickle Me Elmo doll before they're gone. I have literally become affixed with Ramen Noodles.

You know what's sad, though? I have to resort to buying generic Ramen Noodles. That's right, cutting back to the fullest extent. I took my lunch to work everyday this week. You know how much it cost me? Around the area of $1.25.

Speaking of my job, my duties sometimes require me to travel to different ATMs to fix them if something may arise. Since working with money in public by myself is not very safe, the company has equipped me with a 357 Magnum to carry on my waist. Let me ask you a question: If you see a white company truck parked at an ATM, several orange cones AROUND the ATM, a huge sign on the back of the truck stating to stay within 150 feet, wouldn't you stay away?

Of course, there are more signs that you should stay away. Usually when I'm working on an ATM trying to fix a problem with the computer system, I'm looking around nervously with my right hand always on my gun. Not only that, but the ATM is busted open, the safe is wide open, and several thousand dollars is inches from me.

Would you approach me at a jogging rate of speed with your hand in your jacket?

Didn't think so.

I'm still somewhat new to the job, so I'm not comfortable with being involved in a line of business that has just as many robberies a year as banks do.

One day in particular, I'm trying to fix a problem with an ATM. Cones are out, flashers on the truck are on, the sign is up, I'm looking around nervously every few seconds. Sure sign that you should stay the hell away from me. Next thing I know, a Mexican is approaching me at a jogging pace. I place my hand ON my gun that is still in the holster.

"Sir, please step back. This ATM is not working."

He keeps walking. I only have to give one warning, then if they keep walking, then I'm allowed to shoot. But I'm a nice guy.

"Don't come any closer, please."

He keeps coming. I decide to bust out the attitude.

"You come any closer and I'll be forced to shoot! Back away, NOW!"

The idiot keeps walking. At this point, I draw my gun and point it downward, not aiming just yet.

"I WILL shoot. Back away!"

The idiot keeps walking, albeit a bit slower. He's now within about 50 feet. He eyes the gun, then looks up at me. He then did something that almost scared the crap out of me. He reaches in his jacket with his right hand.

Logically, I'm going to assume that he's reaching for a gun. Being afraid for my life, I lift my handgun up and point it at him. The idiot hits the ground and starts screaming like a little girl. He screams something in spanish, so I have no idea what he's saying.

"No! No! <Insert spanish gibberish>".

I approach him fast, my gun still pointed at him. His hand is still in his jacket.

"Remove your hand from your jacket SLOWLY."

He understands. Go figure. So, he takes his hand out of his jacket to reveal-- a debit card. I breathe a sigh of relief and do a mandatory pat-down before letting him go on his way.

The aftermath of the incident sucked, because I had to go through several interrogations to find out if I was in my line of right to pull the gun. It was determined that I was. No shit. I had my SLED license suspended temporarily for a week while the company held their "investigation". During the whole process, I was being interviewed like I was a piece of shit convict. I told them that next time, I'd just rather get shot than to put up with the bullshit policies of the company. The whole charade was caught on tape.

I don't understand what was wrong with the Mexican, though. I put my hand on my gun and started yelling at him to back off-- he kept walking. I pulled my gun out and pointed it to the ground. He kept walking. I point the gun AT him, and THEN HE FUCKING UNDERSTANDS?! Fucking moron. I should just punch myself in the face before I go to work every morning, just to bring myself to the IQ of the people that I'm involved with on a daily basis.

 

[mustynutz]

If Pretending To Be Gay To Get Free Drinks Is Wrong, Then I Don't Wanna Be Straight


After working 70 hours during the week, my plan was to sit on my ass all weekend and watch HBO movies wearing the same pair of boxers from Thursday and eating microwaved pizza. Well, it's not exactly microwaved pizza. My neglect to bake it in the oven like the directions say to have reduced it to be a microwaved pizza. Although, after it's finished microwaving, it's so flacid and soft that it's now conformed into a pizza burrito (pizzarito).

My roommate, who makes twice as much money as I do, is always in and out. He's always bar hopping, club hopping, and coming home drunk at 3 in the morning when he has to be at work 3 hours later. I don't know about you, but I can't do that. My line of work puts my life on the line daily, and coming in drunk with thrownup spaghettios all over my half-tucked in uniform would definitely raise some red flags.

So, last Friday, I got home from work. The first thing I did was strip my uniform off and dig through my hamper for a pair of boxers strong enough to last the entire weekend-- because big daddy isn't removing himself from that couch unless he's hungry or has to use the bathroom; even then under extreme circumstances.

Daryl (my roommate) finally convinces me to go after some very convincing persuading (putting me into a bearhug and sitting on my face and farting until I gave in).

I glanced a peek into the country club/bar and noticed I was the only one without a cowboy hat. I handed my ID to the bouncer and got a special wristband that states that "this guy can legally get fucked up from overpriced drinks tonight", and I was in.

Daryl and I grabbed some stools right in front of the dance floor and watched about 50 mediocre girls with flesh intertubes do the same line dance to every single song. What are flesh intertubes? Well, you know when an overweight chick wears shirts that are a little too short? Flesh sticks all the way out from all sides, resembling that of an intertube.

Daryl and myself are about ready to call the night quits, when we came up with the idea to play a shot game similar to "Where's Waldo?", except it was "Where's Antoine?"-- basically everytime you spotted a black person, the other person had to take a shot. We kind of cheated, because we kept spotting the exact same black guy over and over again.

After spotting the same person over and over again in a really crappy drinking game, we both were ready to leave-- when suddenly two very attractive 19 year old girls sat down at a table beside us. Daryl, being the confident pimp (i.e. drunk idiot), stood right up, adjusted his belt buckle and walked right over to the table.

He started talking to the brunette, when she put her cigarette out, took his hand, and headed out to the dance floor. What the hell? No way in hell he's going to get some action tonight and leave me hanging. So, what did I do? I asked her equally attractive friend to dance. After several dances and a long conversation later, I mustered up the courage to offer the girls a chance to come back to our place and drink some more.

The girls agreed to-- after their friend Jon arrived so that he could come along. Just great, I have competition. I remained quiet until Jon arrived.

And then he did, in all his feminine, hip shaking, arm swinging, waxed eyebrow glory. YES! HE'S GAY! Score!

My ego soon turned to full power again as he sat at the table and crossed his legs like a princess and started complaining about his hair.

"And who is this?..." he said to the blonde girl, whose name is Kerry.

"This is Justin, Justin-- Jon".

"Why hellooo there, hotstuff!", he winked at me.

I nodded my head and looked around. "Yea, that's what they call me."

He looked over to the dance floor as a slow song blasted over the speakers.

"So, cutie, do you wanna dance with me?", he smirked at me.

I looked at Kerry, who was too busy talking to her other friend. Okay, she couldn't get me out of this one. I pondered a response--

"No thanks, I'm straight-- I'm sorry."

"Oh, that's okay. Maybe later."

What? Did I not just tell him that I'm straight?! As in a lover of the cooch, bajiner, pootie-tang, pootie-poo, etc? And he stills leaves open the option to dance with me later? I don't think he's comprehending here.

As 2 am neared, the place was getting ready to close and one of the girls was contemplating not coming back to my place because she was too tired. Daryl, at this point, was already drunk and passed out in the bed of his truck, so he didn't care either way.

Jon looked at me as she pondered not coming... "Well it's okay, I can still come even if the girls don't!"

Heh, if he's coming, I had better get one of the girls to come.

After much convincing, both of the girls....

..and Jon decided to come back to my place.

We sat on the couch, drank a bit more, watched TV. Kerry and Jon somewhat cuddled up together, but she did keep complimenting my looks, so I didn't take any offense-- after all, he's gay. It's obvious that these two are close.

By the end of the night, everyone was getting ready to leave, then Kerry informed me that Jon was her best friend, and if I wanted to get close to her, I'd have to get close to Jon. Okay, no problem there. In fact, Jon invited me to go to a club with him this weekend. I can get close to him, after all, he's a cool guy.

Jon and I stood in line of the club last night talking. After we were finally let in, I looked around and noticed what I had gotten myself into. This was a gay club. Now, if I had known I was coming to a gay club, I would have worn my customary "I'm straight, I'm just here for shits and giggles" shirt. But there I was in line with tight pants, tight shirt, and my beautiful hair flowing over my pretty feminine eyes.

Ah damnit, I didn't dress straight tonight. So, I'm a metrosexual. Sue me.

I stayed next to Jon all night. I didn't want any strange guys hitting on me, so I yelled out drunken comments all night to cement my straightness.

"Where are all the bitches at?!"

And just in case anyone wasn't sure I was gay or not, "I don't do the deep sea anal diving!".

30 minutes into it, I was somewhat warming up to the place. The music was loud, the fog from the dance floor was calming. Suddenly, someone tapped on my shoulder. I turned around and a tall, lanky guy was standing there.

"Hey, mind if I buy you a drink?"

"I'm straight, but thanks."

"Oh come on, here! Bartender, one beer for the new guy!"

I finally realized that I when I was saying I was straight, these people were translating it into "No, I'm fine.", not "No, I'm hetero."

This guy buys me a beer. I drink it. Then more beers come. Then more. Wow, this idiot is getting me drunk and he's not getting any ass tonight. I finally realized what it was like to be a woman. I kind of like this.

Next thing you know, I have my arm around Jon singing sailor songs. This continued outside of the bar, as our drunken rendition of Mary Had A Little Lamb echoed throughout the parking lot.

I sat in the passenger seat of his car, making drunken comments and being a complete moron.

Then, it happened.

My first gay experience.

This sicko takes the opportunity to sneak in a kiss on me! He was aiming for my mouth, but I dodged and he caught my chin. But regardless, a guy kiss me. I wiped it off and screamed out "What the hell are you doing?"-- He got out of the car and ran off crying. I shrugged it off and went home.

Am I gay now? I didn't want the kiss, but I got it. Am I bi? I didn't enjoy it.

Should I remove my bikini posters of Heidi Klum and Jessica Alba and replace them with bikini posters of famous gay icons such as Richard Simmons, Elton John, and Vin Diesel?

Decisions, decisions.

Maybe I should call Kerry.