Category Archives: I suck

Sex vs Fireworks

Welcome back for a new comparison on 2 fun events.

Sex and Fireworks

Over the summer I had the opportunity to help set up and set off show grade fireworks with a friend. I don’t mean the sparkler grade fireworks you buy at the store, but the ones you can’t buy and can only see if there is a celebration somewhere.

Hopefully after this you will have a better respect for what those “shooters” have to do just for you to see that beautiful display of dancing lights and BOOMS. First you get up at about 5-5:30 am, drive to a warehouse and pick up a box truck. Then you go to the loading dock, and load up the padded boxes of firework shells and boxes of what’s called “cakes” (smaller fireworks that are linked together in a pre-assembled box with one fuse). After those are all loaded and secured as to not move, you go over to the other side of the yard and load up all the tubes and “racks” (those are the tube that the shells go into and are shot out of), and when you have all that set it’s time to figure out where you’re going. By now its about 7 am and it’s time to get this party started!

^^^ PREPARATION = THE FIRST FEW DATES ^^^

      Just like in dating, once you have PERMISSION TO PROCEED the setting up begins. You unload the truck and put together the racks using strapping to bind the tube making sure there going in the right direction. One false move and it’s all over–nothing shoots right, there’s no show and DEFINITELY no finale. Now that the tubes are tight it’s time to prep the shells.

Each shell must be placed just right or the show will NOT be pretty. You delicately place each shell in it’s right spot, caring for it as if it could kill you. You wire in the fuse in snug, assuring good contact. Now you are ready to shoot your load. Mind you, this has taken all day and it is now about 8 pm and starting to get dark just as all the shells are set.

After 14 hours of baking in the sun, assembling something to make it beautiful for about 20 minutes of fun leading up to one grand finale, just to be left with a great big mess that needs to be cleaned up. And if all went well, you’ll be asked to come back and do it again.

So the moral to the story is: 14 hours of set up, 20 minutes of oohhh and aahhh, one grand finale and then home to sleep.

See ya’ll later.

 

5 Comments

Books and Blue Balls

A friend of mine thinks she’s some slick shit posting a conversation she had with her mother. Fuck that. I’m posting the conversation I had with her. XXXXXXXX is a buddy of mine who would kill us both if we said who he really was in the book.

HER: I’ve got an idea for a book I want to write.

ME: Really? What’s it about?

HER: It’s about guys (and girls) who grew up like we did. I’ve already got most of it written and one of the characters is XXXXXXXX. There’s another character I want to base on you. But don’t worry, it’ll only be a little bit. So…can I use your name?

ME: My name? But my name sucks.

HER: That’s why.

ME: Fuck you.

HER: Come on. I’ll make you awesome!!!

ME: Oh yeah? How?

HER: I’ll make the hot girl from the book fall in love with you.

ME: Do I get laid? Because no deal if I don’t get laid.

HER: I promise you’ll get laid in my book. Just trust me on this.

ME: Can you swear this book will get me some pussy?

HER: FUCK YEAH IT WILL!

So…I said yes. Cut to six months and about 200 Kinkos made novels later:

RANDOM CAMPUS HOTTIE: Are you the Jeb from that book?

ME: Why yes I am.

RANDOM CAMPUS HOTTIE: Oh…ok. Hey, is that guy River real too? Me and my friends think he’s hot. So if he is can you hook me up?

ME: Uh…did you read the book?

RANDOM CAMPUS HOTTIE: Sure, why?

ME: So you know River’s a dick.

RANDOM CAMPUS HOTTIE: No he’s not. He’s just misunderstood.

ME: Yeah, River’s real. He works over at the Rathskellar. But River’s not his real name. Ask for Doug (Doug is the jacked up drunk who sleeps on a cot out back and earns his keep cleaning the toilets).

Cut to me two years later with blue balls and a bunch of numbers for River.

6 Comments

MY WOMAN HATES MY MUSIC

We listen to HER music in the car.
We listen to HER music at the house.
We listen to HER music in bed.
Now that’s where I draw the line. Especially when I hear this:

I don’t know about you, but this is bullshit. How the fuck am I gonna get the job done listening to this estrogen fest? Dude, I’m not. Do you think she listens to anything I’m into? I’ll answer for you. No, she doesn’t.

Disturbed is too scary and Godsmack is too loud and there’s nothing romantic about Metallica. There’s something sad and wrong about a man who knows every word to every song PANIC AT THE DISCO ever recorded. But that’s the price of pussy in my life. My woman wins. Every damn time.

9 Comments