I'm abandoning the Blogger page and transitioning to WordPress. Update your bookmarks and follow me if you're interested:
Tequila and Ink
Thanks for visiting gang, and I hope to see you at the new page.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
SOPA King We Todd Did
To protest SOPA I'm spending the day not having sex with government officials through Craigslist, and I urge everyone else to do the same.
By the way, after you're done calling every government official imaginable, take a moment to browse this list to learn what companies are supporting SOPA, and maybe give them a call as well.
In the mean time, the best way to make it through this Internet blackout is with a real life black out.
Bottom's up.
By the way, after you're done calling every government official imaginable, take a moment to browse this list to learn what companies are supporting SOPA, and maybe give them a call as well.
In the mean time, the best way to make it through this Internet blackout is with a real life black out.
Bottom's up.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Live from... Phoenix?
You know when you spend several months planning a move to Los Angeles, and then two days before the move, you're like, "Maybe Phoenix would be nice, too?"
I do.
I have a few weeks of interviews, freelance projects, and all the other general nonsense I've stuffed my greedy little fingers into before I decide whether I want to live on the coast or in the desert. They're both warm and not in Ohio, so you know, close enough.
The past few days I've been running around mountains, applying and interviewing for work, and keeping up with the few freelance projects I've managed to collect over the past few months.
To make up for the low word count of this post, I've included PICTURES, which I hear say a thousand words, and because apparently this is a Tumblr now.
Stay tuned y'all. I have a feeling celebration tequila is on the way.
I do.
I have a few weeks of interviews, freelance projects, and all the other general nonsense I've stuffed my greedy little fingers into before I decide whether I want to live on the coast or in the desert. They're both warm and not in Ohio, so you know, close enough.
The past few days I've been running around mountains, applying and interviewing for work, and keeping up with the few freelance projects I've managed to collect over the past few months.
To make up for the low word count of this post, I've included PICTURES, which I hear say a thousand words, and because apparently this is a Tumblr now.
 |
| So much cooler when you're there, for serious. |
 |
| Your aunt's boring vacation photos, now Web 2.0 instagangbanged! |
Monday, December 12, 2011
Somebody Drove a Car Into My Bar
I've mentioned before that my hometown consists of a few bars and a gas station, resting flat on the edge of nowhere.
Somebody drove a car into one of those bars.
This is normally the part where one would link to a news story about the incident, but the fine journalists of my hometown haven't seemed to notice yet. The best I can find is the bar's Facebook page, where this fuckery was documented.
I may be leaving the edge of nowhere in January, but I hope I can take that cavalier, "fuck you I'm driving my car into your bar" attitude with me.
For some reason I suspect I'll fit in better if I do.
Somebody drove a car into one of those bars.
This is normally the part where one would link to a news story about the incident, but the fine journalists of my hometown haven't seemed to notice yet. The best I can find is the bar's Facebook page, where this fuckery was documented.
 |
| Car rhymes with bar... I smell a country song. |
For some reason I suspect I'll fit in better if I do.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Vehicular Manslaughter Sandwich
I got my first speeding ticket.
Last Thursday afternoon I was driving to Columbus, where I would be spending the evening before departing for Boston the next day. I was excited, because I had saved a lot of money when my friend in Boston set me up with a discounted flight.
I was driving along a two-lane highway on the edge of nowhere. The car behind me was being driven by a man who, quite clearly, had a mental disability of some type. He was rocking back and forth in his seat, he was muttering to himself, he was sporadically pointing. At one point he attempted to spit out his window, only for the stream of saliva to land on his shoulder. I laughed at this, and I swear, somehow he knew I was laughing at him.
This caused more rocking and muttering, which seemed directly related to how close his front bumper was to the back of my car.
When the car in front of me wasn't veering over to the wrong side of the road, it was suddenly braking for no reason. It was being driven by a girl who I'm convinced was twelve years old, and whose face was never removed from the screen of her phone. She was probably texting a boy she liked, maybe arguing about how she wasn't comfortable giving him a blow job until after her braces were removed. I don't know. It's been awhile since I was a twelve-year old driving down the highway.
Deciding that I no longer wanted to be involved in this vehicular manslaughter sandwich, I decided to pass the girl and leave both drivers behind me, hoping that the twelve-year old girl wouldn't swerve into me as I did so.
I successfully passed her vehicle, only having to increase my speed to about seventy miles an hour. Right as I released my foot from the pedal to decelerate to the speed limit, I passed it, the police car.
As I saw him turn around in my rear-view mirror, I pulled onto a side road. There was no reason to pretend like I didn't know I was being pulled over.
I mean, this was at least going to lead to hot cop sex, right?
No. It didn't. The officer wasn't even attractive in a "I've had a few drinks and the uniform is adorable" kind of way.
It's like everything porn told me was a lie.
This was worse than the time I ordered twenty-seven pizzas and didn't get a single sultry, aroused delivery boy. And trust me, by the time I was finished eating all that pizza, nobody wanted to have sex with me.
I tried to explain to the officer about the deranged man driving behind me, the vehicular manslaughter sandwich, that I fully intended to slow down after I passed the twelve-year old girl that was driving in front of me.
"Twelve?" he asked.
"Well, maybe twelve-and-a-half."
He went back to his vehicle and printed my ticket.
$110.00.
At least it didn't cost more than those twenty-seven pizzas.
Last Thursday afternoon I was driving to Columbus, where I would be spending the evening before departing for Boston the next day. I was excited, because I had saved a lot of money when my friend in Boston set me up with a discounted flight.
I was driving along a two-lane highway on the edge of nowhere. The car behind me was being driven by a man who, quite clearly, had a mental disability of some type. He was rocking back and forth in his seat, he was muttering to himself, he was sporadically pointing. At one point he attempted to spit out his window, only for the stream of saliva to land on his shoulder. I laughed at this, and I swear, somehow he knew I was laughing at him.
This caused more rocking and muttering, which seemed directly related to how close his front bumper was to the back of my car.
When the car in front of me wasn't veering over to the wrong side of the road, it was suddenly braking for no reason. It was being driven by a girl who I'm convinced was twelve years old, and whose face was never removed from the screen of her phone. She was probably texting a boy she liked, maybe arguing about how she wasn't comfortable giving him a blow job until after her braces were removed. I don't know. It's been awhile since I was a twelve-year old driving down the highway.
Deciding that I no longer wanted to be involved in this vehicular manslaughter sandwich, I decided to pass the girl and leave both drivers behind me, hoping that the twelve-year old girl wouldn't swerve into me as I did so.
I successfully passed her vehicle, only having to increase my speed to about seventy miles an hour. Right as I released my foot from the pedal to decelerate to the speed limit, I passed it, the police car.
As I saw him turn around in my rear-view mirror, I pulled onto a side road. There was no reason to pretend like I didn't know I was being pulled over.
I mean, this was at least going to lead to hot cop sex, right?
No. It didn't. The officer wasn't even attractive in a "I've had a few drinks and the uniform is adorable" kind of way.
It's like everything porn told me was a lie.
This was worse than the time I ordered twenty-seven pizzas and didn't get a single sultry, aroused delivery boy. And trust me, by the time I was finished eating all that pizza, nobody wanted to have sex with me.
I tried to explain to the officer about the deranged man driving behind me, the vehicular manslaughter sandwich, that I fully intended to slow down after I passed the twelve-year old girl that was driving in front of me.
"Twelve?" he asked.
"Well, maybe twelve-and-a-half."
He went back to his vehicle and printed my ticket.
$110.00.
At least it didn't cost more than those twenty-seven pizzas.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)