During my lunch hour I was driving like the Bandit and blew past a Jeffco Sheriff going 20 over the posted speed limit. I heard sirens, looked in the rear view mirror, and the bottom dropped out of my stomach like a Rollie Fingers slider as police lights were practically up my tail pipe. I pulled over and the Jeffco Sheriff walked over to the Ghost of War and motioned for me to roll down the window.

"What seems to be the problem, sir?" I said, trying my best to sound like an innocent little girl holding a bunny rabbit and a stick of cotton candy.
"You were going pretty fast back there. I am going to need your license and registration."
"Oh. Okay." I replied, and began fumbling around in my glove box.

He gazed into my eyes and I sensed his bullshit detector jumping like Irish people in a House of Pain video. Without saying a word, he sauntered back to his vehicle and left me assuming that he would return with a speeding ticket and some KY Jelly in order to ass-fuck the fine out of me. Instead, he gave me a warning, handed me back my information, slipped me his card and sent me on my way. Good times, Deputy Pierce, good times.

Labels: colorado, ghost of war, l-i-v-i-n

At the zenith of my barhopping years, I made some bad decisions. Decisions like exchanging phone numbers with seemingly attractive females before the harsh lighting of last call came on to reveal that they had eye patches and an Adam's apple. I think the worst decisions I made were purchasing and eating the $2 burritos from the vendors on the street corners of LoDo. The end result was always me passing those intestinal claymores through my whiskey soaked GI tract hours later in a sweaty, hungover heap atop the toilet, questioning the ingredients of said burritos and praying to every deity I could remember from my religious studies class during my sophomore year of college. I never would have guessed those gut bombs had people in them.

On a related burrito note: Taco Bell has just introduced its new shrapnel burrito.

Labels: burritos, college, denver, drinking, hangover

When the Battle of Fallujah ends, American troops may have AC/DC and Arabic goat herder insults to thank for it.

Labels: music, pop culture, war

An excerpt:

When the singer first learned what the company wanted her to market, she was quite hesitant to agree to the project. UFT, however, explained that the sanitary pads are a cutting edge product that not only gives women that spring-fresh feeling, but also prevents menstrual cramps. Hearing this, the singer eventually accepted the offer.

Labels: pop culture, vajayjay

Jake: Mysterious noises in the street.
Me: The street is evil!
Jake: GEEEEEEET OOOOOUUUUUUUUT!
Me: RUN! FOR FUCK'S SAKE, RUN!
Jake: Next thing you know corpses will be bubbling up out of the swimming pool.
Me: Right. Then Coach Hayden Fox will struggle with ghosts in an epic battle to save his family.
Jake: Poor Coach. He battled and fought and all he wanted was a nice house for his family. Then the damned television sucked up his little girl.
Me: Unfortunately said nice house was built atop an Indian burial ground.
Jake: Coach did not know. It was not Coach's fault.
Me: I know, but Coach should have reevaluated the situation when the walls started bleeding.
Jake: True. But he was already missing his little girl at that point. Once she is inside the television, you are committed.
Me: I say fuck the kid, cut your losses and move onto a nicer suburban street named after trees.
Jake: What? Like Elm Street? Fuck that!

Labels: im convos, jake, movies, pop culture

I do not care if any of these bitches got a tattoo last week, have a cold, were pierced recently, use intravenous drugs, are HIV infected or contracted hepatitis from some skeezy frat boy that looked like Dave Matthews. They better LIE! If I screw this blood drive up my dad may cut me off and the convertible Cabrio will go back to the dealership and the weekly stipend that keeps this house full of ecstasy tablets and Midori will stop. We cannot have that. Now where is Mary Sue at? Gamma Phi Beta is going have an old-fashioned bloodletting.

Labels: college, inner-monologue, stupidity

The United States Justice Department is waging a war on pornography. The campaign is being led by the killjoy John Ashcroft, a devoutly religious man who does not drink alcohol or caffeine, smoke, gamble, dance, have sex past ten on a school night and lost the 2000 Missouri Senate election to a dead guy. If my Skinemax goes away there will be hell to pay. There is nothing more soothing to a tortured soul than some Black Tie Nights or Hotel Erotica.

Labels: politics, porn, skinemax

A new study reports that teenage lesbian or bisexual girls are many times more likely to smoke regularly than straight girls their age. Good to know.

Labels: lesbians, tomfoolery

Get an authentic pencil drawing of yourself or a loved with Stevie Nicks via Johanna's Art Inspired by Stevie Nicks. I am thinking a stylized tambourine of myself, a wolf and Stevie Knicks in a black lace veil would look ideal next to my Appetite For Destruction cocaine mirror that I won in eighth grade at the Arvada Harvest Festival balloon-dart game.

Labels: a-town, art, pop culture

Me: I was at Cheerleaders one night and a stripper was doing her routine in some little panties, twirling around the pole and shit, then she stopped, looked at me and screamed "Matty!" It was a girl I went to high school with. I was so drunk I did not even recognize her. I think her stage name was Glass Tyger or something. Not Tiger with an "I" but Tiger with a "Y."
Kaye: Fucking strippers. I hate all of their stage names. Glass Tyger. What a dumb ass name.
Me: I love stripper stage names. They make me happy. I asked her why she did not go for something like Sindy and spelling it with an "S" because you can take out the "DY" and then its just "SIN." Plus that goes with the Motley Crue song "Same Ol' Situation." Then again, I was always partial to the stage name Erotica.
Kaye: How about Electric?
Me: That is good. There is always an animal in there, too. And a spice.
Kaye: Yeah. Like Cinnamon or Cheetah or something.
Me: If I were stripping I would call myself the Bald Eagle and come out in a bird head-dress, squawk all obnoxious and flap my arms up and down like a dickhead.
Kaye: Ha!
Me: Your stripper stage name could be Raven. That would be a good.
Kaye: Because I am dark haired. Like a raven.
Me: Then have a bunch of babies out of wedlock and squirt breast milk out of your nipples at customers when you are lactating.
Kaye: Okay, that is enough.

Labels: im convos, kaye, strippers