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A Cold Sore Named Titan
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1/25/2005
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One night last week I went to sleep with a tiny zit on my lip where my moustache would go if I were capable of growing one and not a genetically mutated manchild. This morning I woke up thinking a giant beetle had laid eggs in my lip and stored a dead otter in there for the larvae to feed upon when they hatched.
Seriously. This is the kind of thing that raises concerns.
Looking in the mirror was like looking at your finger after you pull it from a running garbage disposal. No matter how bad you think it's going to be, you aren't prepared for what you see.
My lip needed its own area code. It was about the size and shape of a lunar probe, and even had a tiny American flag sticking out of it. I named it "titan" in honor of Jupiter's moon. When I smiled I looked like a stroke victim- half of my mouth was all floppy and unresponsive and stupid. For one hilarious second I entertained the possibility that I had "just slept on it wrong." Like I was able to sleep all night with my upper lip slammed in the window. Whatever.
I am retarded.
It wasn't like a gaping wound or anything. It was just big and painful. Having never seen this particular part of my body in this particular condition, I decided then and there to go to the doctor. In addition to being retarded, I am a man of action.
The doc came in and I told him it felt like I slept with a running jackhammer on my face. I was confused and relieved when he told me it was a cold sore. I had tonsillitis the previous week, and this was apparently one fun side effect of having had a fever. See, all this time I thought a cold sore was a little lesion on your mouth. I had no idea it involved so much pain. I was sure this was going to require amputation and perhaps a lancing or two. I imagined leaving the doc's office with some kind of lip drainage bag strapped to my waist. Look out ladies...
He prescribed Valtrex for my hideous disfigurement and I instantly thought of those "I'm living a full life with herpes" commercials. I asked him if I could go ride a bicycle down a shady lane in a carefree fashion. He seemed cool with that, but told me that this wasn't the evil "downstairs" kind. You have to work a little harder to get that kind.
In any case, Valtrex will fix a cold sore faster than a microwaved baby, and I don't even know what that means. So there.
Tonight I am going to my friend's birthday party. He is turning 24 or something, so naturally we are having his party at Chuck-e-Cheese. Expect a write up on that soon. I personally look forward to being way too big to be allowed into that awesome room full of plastic balls and germs. I guess I'll have to find another place to pee.
I am also foregoing my mortgage payment this month in hopes of winning big on the skeeball lanes. I'm expecting a 200% return in the form of vinyl wallets, Spongebob digital watches, and oversized stuffed animals, which I will sell on e-bay at a huge profit.
If nothing else, the music will be awesome and the pizza will be average.
Speaking of awesome music, I am now going to take an opportunity to tell you where to be this Friday for some of the best music Atlanta has to offer (in my infallible opinion). Ballyhoo Orchestra, Jango Monkey, and Lindsay Rakers Band will all be playing at Jakes Toadhouse in Decatur this Friday, January 28th at 8 pm, and this show promises to funk your skull with smooth jams until you either explode or become pregnant with the seed of ROCK, which will ultimately manifest itself in the form of you becoming 90% more awesome.
Come for the good music, stay to throw things at me.
I'm bringing my breast-signing pen just in case. Go to the Toadhouse website for directions. I'd better see you there, or you're all grounded.
 Dusty
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posted by Dusty at 6:00 AM |
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Park it like it's paid for.
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1/18/2005
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I was watching Mtv "cribs" last weekend, and noticed a few things. If you go into a rapper's house, (yes I call them rappers. "hip hop" sounds too much like something you'd order from a Chinese restaurant. "Yes, I'd like the hip hop beef and an order of Chingy...") he or she will tell you how much everything cost, including the clothes in their closet. I'm not sure who this impresses, but all I kept thinking was, "holy shit. You paid $40,000 for a lamp and your financial advisor hasn't bitchslapped you?" If I have anything in my house that I know I overpaid for, I lie about it if anyone asks because deep down I know it was a stupid purchase.
After Cribs, they started showing rap videos in which there were just a bunch of dudes bragging about how much money they had. Throwing fistfuls of cash at the camera, close ups of the ridiculous diamond encrusted watches they wore, pouring $700 bottles of champagne on the five Bentleys in their garage, and all the booty babes they could shake a $2000 pimp cup at.
So I started thinking about what people like myself might brag about if we were given to bragging, and wrote the following awesome rap song:
(Fade into Cube farm, zoom to office with a window, where I am kicked back with my feet on my desk. I jump up and take off my sensible sweater, throw it on the coat rack, and start strutting up and down the hallways, my keycard is around my neck where a normal rap guy would have a seven million dollar item of bling. Cue funky ass bassline)
Keepin' it real, represent, just made middle management.
Try to step to my 401(k), no way, performin' at 22% as of today.
Mad rate, contributions, and employer match, I doubled my money by Q4, beeyatch.
(Waving printed statement from Hartford Life in camera, Little John Screaming in background- "Yayaahh! T. Rowe Price Mid Cap Growth index funds!! Wwwhhhhuuut?!")
New fiscal year, no fear, tax return coming near. 35% by Uncle Sam's instructions, (Little John- Whhhhhutt?!)
Saved receipts, charitable donations, got deductions...ductions...ductions...(Little John- Oookayyy!)
(Musical interlude, montage of me driving home, waving to kids at bus stops and stuff. Cut to me sitting on my stoop with my Honda parked in front of my house, freestyling like I always do when I get home from work)
Interest on the mortgage comin' back quid pro quo. House worth ten percent more than I paid eight months ago, appreciating like a Van Gogh. Paying off my last loan with the money I get back, throw the extra jack back in high interest stacks earnin' the max. No fancy rims, ice dripping from my limbs, no borrowing flow to buy shit on a whim. No need to desecrate with gold plate like dead weight. Not putting a buck into a damn thing that won't appreciate. It's about the ROI, That's my battle cry, no need to scrape by, watching the balance come up like Jewish rye. Whip's paid off, insurance is down, it ain't pretty but it gets me across town, same reason I keep bitches around- park it like it's paid for, treat it like a whore, won't run anymore, then give it away- that's what write-offs are for.
(Music slows to a sweet, sweet R&B groove, cut to a local bar, where I am drinking beer out of a frosted pimp mug with hot, conservatively dressed women on either side. I start the low pitched sexy talking part, the women start swaying and singing backup, as one would expect)
Baby...I've never been married. I got no baggage to speak of. I'm stable and responsible, and I have no arrest record or tattoos. Now, I know that's not the kind of guy that you want to date, but probably the kind you want to marry. So here is my promise...(tear off my shirt and fling it onto the ground, start crying, and then it mysteriously starts raining in the bar, making my body glisten) I'll still be around when you tire of dating all of those interesting, exciting, good looking men. Those men who will treat you wrong and still be in the same tax bracket at age 50. That's right baby, I'll be over here, silently investing in our future, the future you don't even know you want yet...whenever you give up hope and your good looks fade, I'll be here...your silver medal...and my 401(k)...
(I fall to my knees and start screaming "BAYYYBEEEEEEE" and "Whoaaoooohhooohhoooaahhhoooaahhooo" as the backup singers add harmony. Fade out)
See you at the VMA's.
Dusty
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posted by Dusty at 5:08 AM |
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This Abstract Idea of Bigness
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1/11/2005
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So...web traffic has incidentally gone up a bit since the tsunami, due to my moniker being what it is and all. Not sure how to feel about that. I'm also seeing a mega-surge of natural disaster/terror related features on the picture tube which strike me as less than sensitive. Sensitive being my middle name and all of that...
I saw the lineup for Saturday night (yes I stayed home Saturday night and watched Discovery and built a model airplane. Wanna' fight about it?), and it was roughly as follows-
Discovery channel presents: Horrible water-related mass casualty night.
7 pm- Killer Waves
8 pm- Salt Water Murder
9 pm- Terror from the Seas of Death
10 pm- An Interview with a Wall of Water (of Death)
11 pm- Water Wave Mega-Killer Death Hour
12 am- Girls Gone Wild- Thailand Exposed
Of all of the facts and figures that were thrown at me, two things kept sticking in my head-
The first was Discovery's constant use of obscure quantifiers for the scale of disaster. They are never satisfied with simply saying "A 30 foot wall of water traveling 200 miles per hour". I can imagine that in my head, and it's really frigging scary. Especially since my mind's wall of water contains sharks, jellyfish, and at least one giant squid. Discovery has to make it weird by saying something like "Imagine forty four Boeing jetliners full of salt water, headed for your face."
Okay. Got it. Now my wall of water has seat cushions that can be used for floatation. Plus, who can imagine the volume of a Boeing jetliner, much less forty four of them? It just becomes this abstract idea of bigness.
Their favorite such comparison is to compare anything violent with the bomb dropped on Hiroshima. Everyone knows that if you remember that event, you weren't there. They said that the meteor that killed the dinosaurs released energy equivalent to that of 30 billion Hiroshima bombs. Why not just say that it made a wave twice the size of the universe? Having never been blown to hell by a two megaton atomic device, I really can't imagine what 30 billion of them would do aside from kill everything on the planet, and frankly, that's all I need to know. Hey Discovery, drop the A-bomb references and use something that we can relate to...like monster trucks.
The second thing I couldn't get over was the fact that rescue workers haven't found a single animal carcass in the rubble. The animals can tell when shit's about to go down so they stop throwing their poo long enough to prove that they are smarter than all of the humans combined by hauling ass to higher ground. I wonder what the exodus looked like. Was there a big parade of monkeys and ligers and aardvarks all leaving town at the same time? Because that would freak my ass out, but I don't know what conclusion I would draw. I'd like to think I would follow them just in case. Aardvarks really don't like to be followed, though. Trust me- never follow an aardvark.
The whole idea of animals knowing beforehand is unnerving to me because I have a cat who may or may not choose to warn me when something bad is about to happen, and I'm all hyper alert for any sign that something is wrong. Now every time she meows in the middle of the night I run out into the parking lot and scream to my neighbors to get out of their houses, clutching my confused cat to my naked chest...
Better safe than sorry, right? One day there might be a wall of water the size of six billion dinosaurs from Hiroshima...
Dusty
RELATED LINK: www.americares.com
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posted by Dusty at 1:15 PM |
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So Good I Forgot to Get Drunk.
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1/4/2005
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I've never been an attender of big New Year's parties. Not until this year. This year I went to the big par-tay, and I think I will make it a habit from here on out. Have you ever had one of those nights where everything just went perfectly? So perfectly that you forget that you are supposed to be getting drunk?
My friend Judd came out from Denver and we hung out all weekend. Friday night we went to a huge New Year's Eve party, and our dates were two of the most gorgeously hottified women there. Possibly anywhere.
You know what I love about going somewhere formal with a girl? They get all dolled up with manicures, pedicures, suntans, haircuts, new outfits, and all sorts of other stuff that either looks or smells good. It's awesome and I love them for it.
I, on the other hand, went to the trouble of changing the blade in my razor and washing my hair with shampoo instead of bar soap. I may have even powdered my taint, but it's none of your business.
The beers we are holding are called "Skullsplitter", pronounced "SKULLLSPLI--AHH!!" Practice it at the top of your lungs. Good beer, but I'll admit I only bought it because the 4 pack holder has a totally bitchin' picture of a Viking on it and tells the story of Thorfinn Hausakliff or something (his friends call him Skullsplitter, much like mine will if they know what's good for them) and how he ruled the Orkney Isles and was a kickass berserker who wore live badgers under his armor to toughen himself up for a lifetime of destruction.
Number one lesson learned- when attending a party with hot women, any time you get more than five feet away from them they will be approached by another dude. You can't really blame the guy for talking to an attractive girl, so the best course of action is probably just to be cool to him. One such conversation that I slaughtered handily went a little like this-
Me- What's going on, I'm Dusty. *shake hand*
Nick- Hey man, I'm Nick. Love the kilt. (I guess he said Nick, since I'm sure he knows what his own name is, but I swear to god he said Dick)
Me- Nice to meet you, Dick. Did you come to this party last year?
(insert about three more lines of smalltalk)
Judd- So what do you do, Dick? (this is the question that replaces "what's your major" after you get out of college)
Nick- I purchase lumber for Lowe's.
Me- (ever the charmer) So your name is Dick and you buy wood? Are there any jokes you haven't heard along that vein?
Nick- No, it's Dick with an "N".
Me- Dickn?
Judd- hahahahahahahahaha(sneeze)hahaha(cough).
Nick laughed too and turned out to be a decent guy. I even bought him a free beer at the open bar to show my appreciation for his sense of humor.
Second lesson learned- Never underestimate the power of the kilt. Ever. In a sea of dudes in slacks and dark jackets, a kilt is the only way to go. Some of the fellas made comments about them being skirts and stuff, and got their wee skulls split for their trouble. One guy kept riverdancing every time he saw us. Interesting since riverdance is IRISH, and we all know that if it isn't Scottish IT'S CRRAPP.
That was the last thing he saw.
I lost count how many times I was asked if I was wearing anything underneath. Every girl there asked that question, so in fairness I asked them the same thing. It's good to be wearing a conversation piece- especially one with good air circulation. My favorite exchange was this one-
"So what's the answer?"
"To which question?"
"Is there anything under there?"
"Depends on what you are looking for."
Then there was a dude who tried to impress his girlfriend by lifting it. Very bad idea. I managed to preempt that one as he reached for it and then told him to find the other guy in a kilt and try it on him because he surely wouldn't mind. I heard some screaming a few minutes later, followed by sirens and stuff.
After the countdown, everybody blew noisemakers and made out with each other, and I got champagne up my nose. Not advised. It hurt a lot and made me cry. That was the closest any part of the evening came to sucking. I couldn't have had more fun that night if they were handing out porn and free airplane rides.
We headed home and crashed out in various places around my house, and then posed for the "after" picture the next morning. Notice a few things here- Judd seems to be undressing himself while checking out Ashley. At least I hope it is Ashley he is checking out and not me. Crystal, who was twice as drunk as the other three of us combined the night before looks like she just got off of a photo shoot somewhere (this is due to the location of my hand when the picture was taken). I feel fine in the picture but look like I have a mouth full of vomit (also because of where my hand was when the picture was taken), and all I can say about Ashley is that she is wearing high heels, flannel pants, and a fur coat. Oh, and enjoying a tasty frozen treat she found in my freezer. Completely fabulous.
So I bet you are all wondering what the answer to the question of the night is. You'll just have to come to the next party and get me wasted enough to answer you. OR SPLIT YER SKULL.
Merry New Year.
Dusty
RELATED LINK: http://www.epinions.com/content_14279347844
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posted by Dusty at 2:39 PM |
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