I find it quite funny that I was going to have a post today regarding the Militant Homosexual Agenda that is being rammed in the back-door, so to speak, of our public schools, when out of the blue, my friend Leo, or "My Buddy Gun" called from his new town and my old town of Chicago. Interesting. I think "borderline hetero" and the phone rings AND it's Leo. Hmmmm. I need to further my psychic talents. Let's see what else I can do.
I'm thinking of a shiney Rolex........
Damn, guess I'll have to buy my own and tell my wife that Heather Graham bought it for me. Nah, that's been done to death. Besides, I have about as much desire for a Rolex as I do for a colostomy bag. What a pathetic waste of money that could have gone to do some real good for someone. No offense to those that cherish them. I'm flattered that you feel that you have to impress me and the rest of the world with that, but really it's a watch, a mere thing. Same goes for Harley's, cars, diamonds, etc. as far as my wife and I are concerned. I had a client that I was doing a loan for. The property was worth $2,000,000.00, the others he owned around town and in Florida, totaled another $4 million. When we got to the part of the application where I ask about what kind of car he owns, he says a 1984 Buick. Wagon. I had seen it in the driveway and thought it was the hired helps. When I looked at him puzzled, he responds, "That's it. That's all I drive. Who the hell do I have to impress and who the hell are they anyways? I'm the same guy I've always been even when I was broke. It's all just materialistic crap." It's been 4 years ago, and I still remember the goose-bumps I got. What a wonderfully humble (and extremely wealthy) man. Of course, it helps to have a few million laying around semi-liquid to help put things in the right perspective, too. Since then, I've been wearing the same piece of crap Swiss Army watch, and buying most of my non-work clothes at Target. I just don't care.
Anyhow, Leo Gunderson (Not his name, but should be) wanted some assistance with abusing some of the old college boys. In case you are wondering what they look like, go here: http://www.mulletsgalore.com/ or try the link to the left and go to classification 34 on page 4. Good looking bunch of fellas, huh?
Anyhow, I'll need a little time to work on that project. I have to be honest, though, it's been a long time since I was "cool". By "long time" I mean, never.
I've never been cool. I wasn't then and I'm certainly not now. I've just been fortunate to be funny enough that the truly cool guys didn't kick my ass, but rather they let me hang loosely on the periphery and ride the coat-tails of their coolness. It worked for most of my college career. All 6.5 glorious years of it. No, you don't have to call me "Doctor", but thanks.
Before I get to thinking about the abuse, just one more thing about being cool, or in my case, not being cool.
Cool stops at age 28. Period. Anyone or anything trying to be cool after that age, needs to get a serious grip. Take my buddy Juan (not his real name), for example. He was cool. But not always. Ever read "Flowers for Algernon," where Charlie the "retard" gets some new medicine and it makes him wicked smart, but then, he's so smart he learns that it only lasts for a little while and then he goes retard-stupid again? Well John, I mean "Juan", was like Charlie. When I first met him, he was a big dorkus like me. He was into spelunking caves and wearing cowboy boots and watching, reading, going to, and living for INDY, with his "companion" Bruce. Then one day Juan met Hadji (not his real name). Hadji was a real cool cat. All the ladies loved Hadji. Almost overnight, Juan was like a cool butterfly coming out of his nerd cacoon, fluttering around the glitter and glam of the porch-light with his new cool buddy, Hadji.
But alas, like Charlie, this was not to last forever. For you see, now, according to any person between the ages of 15 and 25 (the truly cool), we are all just old pathetic dorks trying too hard to hang on to a past which has fallen woefully out of our grasp. The harder we try to hang on, the faster it slips away, mocking us, with one single wirey grey hair standing defiant like a China-man in front of a Tienoman Square Tank.
To illustrate how truly lost my cool case is, let me talk like the actual youth of today.......
Yo, you see that shirt that chick had on? That was whack, Gee, gnome sayin? Word, bro, that was Fly. I thought she was gonna pop a cap in my ass, Holmes. Gnome sayin? That was dope when she came to where you stay, gnome sayin? Yo, aw-ight, I gotta go pick up my baby's mother down at the Check Cashin' place, gnome sayin?
Now, anyone my age that is still trying to look cool, actually looks just as stupid as if he were still trying to talk like that with the young fly skimmies, waheenies, and holmies. The same goes for anyone that still says, "Piason" and "Kapeesh" and/or has or had one of those annoying "Caesar Haircuts" while over the age of 28.(You know who you are.) I mention all of this because, once again, I don't care if people think I'm a dork or a nerd or call me a Jesus Freak. Like a Rolex and all the other stuff, it's not important to me. Peoples opinions are just not important to me. Never have been. Had I ever given a rat's ass of anyones opinion of me, I don't think I would've ever striped down butt naked and slid down a hallway in front of too many people to count. Cool, not cool, don't care. There's no side door to Heaven, where God is gonna let you sneak in because you were cool and "basically a good person" with a nice watch. There is one door, and Jesus stands in front of it, he wants you to knock on it so He can open it.
Damn, I couldn't think of any good abuse for the old college dorks. Bunch o' Mullets. But, there are my bunch o' mullets and I love every one of 'em. Especially Leo. And Hadji, and John, I mean Juan. No, this does not make me gay. The naked thing in the hallway comes close, but, not close enough.
I'm thinking of a shiney Rolex........
Damn, guess I'll have to buy my own and tell my wife that Heather Graham bought it for me. Nah, that's been done to death. Besides, I have about as much desire for a Rolex as I do for a colostomy bag. What a pathetic waste of money that could have gone to do some real good for someone. No offense to those that cherish them. I'm flattered that you feel that you have to impress me and the rest of the world with that, but really it's a watch, a mere thing. Same goes for Harley's, cars, diamonds, etc. as far as my wife and I are concerned. I had a client that I was doing a loan for. The property was worth $2,000,000.00, the others he owned around town and in Florida, totaled another $4 million. When we got to the part of the application where I ask about what kind of car he owns, he says a 1984 Buick. Wagon. I had seen it in the driveway and thought it was the hired helps. When I looked at him puzzled, he responds, "That's it. That's all I drive. Who the hell do I have to impress and who the hell are they anyways? I'm the same guy I've always been even when I was broke. It's all just materialistic crap." It's been 4 years ago, and I still remember the goose-bumps I got. What a wonderfully humble (and extremely wealthy) man. Of course, it helps to have a few million laying around semi-liquid to help put things in the right perspective, too. Since then, I've been wearing the same piece of crap Swiss Army watch, and buying most of my non-work clothes at Target. I just don't care.
Anyhow, Leo Gunderson (Not his name, but should be) wanted some assistance with abusing some of the old college boys. In case you are wondering what they look like, go here: http://www.mulletsgalore.com/ or try the link to the left and go to classification 34 on page 4. Good looking bunch of fellas, huh?
Anyhow, I'll need a little time to work on that project. I have to be honest, though, it's been a long time since I was "cool". By "long time" I mean, never.
I've never been cool. I wasn't then and I'm certainly not now. I've just been fortunate to be funny enough that the truly cool guys didn't kick my ass, but rather they let me hang loosely on the periphery and ride the coat-tails of their coolness. It worked for most of my college career. All 6.5 glorious years of it. No, you don't have to call me "Doctor", but thanks.
Before I get to thinking about the abuse, just one more thing about being cool, or in my case, not being cool.
Cool stops at age 28. Period. Anyone or anything trying to be cool after that age, needs to get a serious grip. Take my buddy Juan (not his real name), for example. He was cool. But not always. Ever read "Flowers for Algernon," where Charlie the "retard" gets some new medicine and it makes him wicked smart, but then, he's so smart he learns that it only lasts for a little while and then he goes retard-stupid again? Well John, I mean "Juan", was like Charlie. When I first met him, he was a big dorkus like me. He was into spelunking caves and wearing cowboy boots and watching, reading, going to, and living for INDY, with his "companion" Bruce. Then one day Juan met Hadji (not his real name). Hadji was a real cool cat. All the ladies loved Hadji. Almost overnight, Juan was like a cool butterfly coming out of his nerd cacoon, fluttering around the glitter and glam of the porch-light with his new cool buddy, Hadji.
But alas, like Charlie, this was not to last forever. For you see, now, according to any person between the ages of 15 and 25 (the truly cool), we are all just old pathetic dorks trying too hard to hang on to a past which has fallen woefully out of our grasp. The harder we try to hang on, the faster it slips away, mocking us, with one single wirey grey hair standing defiant like a China-man in front of a Tienoman Square Tank.
To illustrate how truly lost my cool case is, let me talk like the actual youth of today.......
Yo, you see that shirt that chick had on? That was whack, Gee, gnome sayin? Word, bro, that was Fly. I thought she was gonna pop a cap in my ass, Holmes. Gnome sayin? That was dope when she came to where you stay, gnome sayin? Yo, aw-ight, I gotta go pick up my baby's mother down at the Check Cashin' place, gnome sayin?
Now, anyone my age that is still trying to look cool, actually looks just as stupid as if he were still trying to talk like that with the young fly skimmies, waheenies, and holmies. The same goes for anyone that still says, "Piason" and "Kapeesh" and/or has or had one of those annoying "Caesar Haircuts" while over the age of 28.(You know who you are.) I mention all of this because, once again, I don't care if people think I'm a dork or a nerd or call me a Jesus Freak. Like a Rolex and all the other stuff, it's not important to me. Peoples opinions are just not important to me. Never have been. Had I ever given a rat's ass of anyones opinion of me, I don't think I would've ever striped down butt naked and slid down a hallway in front of too many people to count. Cool, not cool, don't care. There's no side door to Heaven, where God is gonna let you sneak in because you were cool and "basically a good person" with a nice watch. There is one door, and Jesus stands in front of it, he wants you to knock on it so He can open it.
Damn, I couldn't think of any good abuse for the old college dorks. Bunch o' Mullets. But, there are my bunch o' mullets and I love every one of 'em. Especially Leo. And Hadji, and John, I mean Juan. No, this does not make me gay. The naked thing in the hallway comes close, but, not close enough.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home