04/04/2005 - 1:28 a.m. | Always showing off his Luigi dunk!

I have 60 pages left to read for my test tomorrow, 60 pages of awful, awful information about job training and the selection process criterion barf, but I have decided that I am a Writer (No I haven't) and there is too much writing I need to be doing! There is pageholder entry, this one here, Rolla trip, and the long-avoided zombie misadventure. But first, a joke I read:

What's the difference between John Wayne Gacy and Santa Claus? A: John Wayne Gacy will stop at nothing to kill you.

That is a good riddle! What was fun about today? Well, Kyle's brother came over to fix Kyle's computer and decided to rip open Kyle's 1 lb. bag of internet beef jerky. This was later revealed to Kyle by me (I was informed by the smell of dried meats in the air), and he went more or less insane, yelling "FUCK!" and whatnot as he threw objects around. So, what have we learned? Not to fuck with Kyle's jerky. I had my makeup eMall meeting tonight, but it was actually going to be at the one guy's apartment, and I did not want to go into this potential ass-raping alone, so I got Smacko to come along and placed an away message warning America where I was and who to call (the police) if I did not show up.

You fuckers let me down. So, I dunno if I explained this fully, but the idea of eMall is that I am supposed to be making thousands upon thousands of dollars, right? So we drive to the guy's apartment - somehow I remembered the directions as they were being explained to my still drunk glasses-hunting ass this morning - and it is the middle of Ghetto Hell. We walk in the place, and we can hear screams and unfed babies crying, and the whole place smells like piss (A zoo, in Smacko's words), and we get weird glares from minorities, so on and so forth. So we find the guy's apartment, and you know, it's shitty. The air conditioner's sole purpose seems to be creating noise, and the floor has stains, and the windowsill has My Little Pony figurines, but I am trying to give Jeremy Mancini the benefit of the doubt. I bet they're getting the hell out of here soon enough.

"We just moved in here this week!"

Well, if it isn't George and Weezy.

So we grab our seats and take stock of the rest of potential business partners here. They've never let me down before, and the trend happily continues today (Half of them working on staff at the newly-opened Smokey Bones Bar & Grill next to the mall in Champaign = WINS). In order, we have:

-Rocky, the fat Wal-mart automotive assistant manager who keeps explaining his ASE degree at Lincoln College blah blah blah blah
-Fat bitchy girl
-Hip Hop Pants (That is his name) I can't tell if they were actually in-style or were just really, really shitty thrift store clothing. He is majoring in music!!
-Ugly Ass Jheri Curl Guy. In Suit. - He drove down from Chicago to be with us here today. And he is ugly as sin with his acne scars and is wearing some cheapass Sears suit, but he loooooves introducing himself to people!
-Awful Awful Nose Girl. Awful nose. Honestly. Fuck. It curved like a foot outward, I swear.
-Shawn, the Car Salesmen. This, my friends, was Lucifer himself. He was like my age, I think, but he was like the loudest, most insincere person you can imagine. The type who makes up for their laugh being fake by making it really, really loud. "HA HA! I'm 21, buying a four bedroom house with a jacuzzi, and my mom, who's a masters in psychology, is asking for my help with bills!" This may be true, but there also clear advantages to retaining one's soul as well.
-Andrew, the Austic Boy with No Friends. Smacko knew him in grade school, I guess. When he spoke, it was like daggers in my eyes.
-Surf Burger Deluxe.

So, that's our crowd, and then we have our guest speaker. Not the same one as last time, but he very surprisingly had the exact same speech to give, same examples and all. Some of the stuff about McDonald's and stuff were practically verbatim. And they always ask what kind of car I want. I don't know shit about cars, so I always want to go, "Uh, Honda Civic??" But I dunno, man, the whole thing just gave both me and Smacko the chills. Clearly, this is a blatant pyramid scheme, but all these people seem so brainwashed. And it was like Shelly was saying when I tried to get her to come: If we tried to point out flaws in their plan, they would just act like we were the stupid ones for not getting this great system, that we were wasting their time. So mostly we just sat in awe and watched as the others were sucked in. The first hour was pretty good (We were only supposed to be there for 45 minutes or so), but during the Q & A part, the speaker just kept repeating himself over and over, pounding the shit in to make the spell have its effect. On the plus side was a new anecdote about their own version of the Second Coming: the XS energy drink. I don't know if you've heard, folks, but this shit is better than God's cum. It is great tasting, and it is so good for you, and it won't make you crash like the other energy drinks, and it was invented by the Russian Olympic team, and if you drink it, you can run straight across the country, because of vitamin B12. All of these facts were recounted to my ass. It is already out-selling Redbull and all the other energy drinks, and we are the only ones with the rights to sell it! (Nate wonders as an aside, "Then how is it at the shit ripoff White Hen on Green and 6th? Is that the eMall IRL?!??!?!?OMG1") In fact, King eMall himself was riding on a plane next to a CEO of Coke, and Coke was all like, "You got to this a week ahead of us! This is the best product on the market, and we wanted it soooo bad!" Again, all true.

Speaking of truth, I dunno if you knew, but the FTC requires us to only give you minimum dollar amounts here, not averages. So I'm saying, at the very least, you will earn $34,000 a month. It was at this point that the car alarm in our guest speakers' vehicle began blaring, as a gang of local street kids had just tried to break into it. How could this get more perfect? Smacko and I were just itching to run out, but we feared we would have been tackled and beaten, our $150 membership fee grabbed from our bloody remains. We were finally able to get out the door with some invaluable pamphlets and DVDs (reviewed shortly) as well as the promise that we would come and meet with them Tuesday night at Steak and Shake. Oh, I'll be there with bells on, baby.

See, Smacko seems to be experiencing the same problem I have. I know this is stupid, and that I will never ever do it, but how can I just walk away? The second they ask for money, I'm gone, but it's like watching a ship being eaten by a whale. I have to watch this shit go down. So there's a good chance I'll be there on Tuesday. Except I really do need to work a real job, and work has already been canceled because of the game.

I guess I'll just have to figure out my priorities.

After more studying, it was off to bingo. Shelly seemed in a pretty lousy mood about it, though, and her suspicions were fairly confirmed. We had to see how this new bingo person was going to be, right? So we get there, and there are people sitting in our table. This does not bode well, any sexist biases I might have about women not really being funny pretty much ever ever ever aside. Thank God for the Wild brothers, though. The rest of us, doomed by homework and blind fear of getting another random drinking ticket from the city, sat idly by, sort of realizing how awful bingo truly is if you aren't full of rum. But those Wilds! Kyle was doing quaffer shots practically without realizing them when we left (although he did pose nobly each time), and Jevon was drunk as fuck as well, so pretty much they didn't stop yelling the whole evening. Kyle was in top form, wearing this gross ass Pucker wifebeater (making him look all the more Mexican) he won with Tootsie Roll socks on his hands and these ridiculous crab goggles on his forehead (sort of like Elton John). He could barely stand, but he still found time to stumble about and making drunken passes at Shelly, grabbing her boobs pretty much all the time. And to yell at the assholes who took our table time and again. And to occasionally ask for another tequila rose shot. And do mental math. Like I said, top form. The night was filled with gracious people, though. Kyle had me come up to demonstrate the Shambo, and although he just narrowly lost in the final round, the girl who won gave him the prize anyway. And then he and Jevon pretty much yelled too loud for anyone to hear any more bingo calls for the rest of the evening. So, all-in-all, they salvaged what would have been a pretty terrible evening.

Touchdown continues his downward spiral into full-on dementia. Despite the fact he still calls Shelly "Elizabeth" half the time, his love remains as strong as ever. Over spring break, Shelly finally put a gentle end to Touchdown's phone calls, leading to another sign of his upcoming crack. "She had the gumption to say she doesn't know me! She knows me! No one calls me!" You don't fuck with anyone who uses "gumption" in a sentence correctly. Half the time, he isn't talking to anyone in particular, but he keeps trying to catch my eye as he spouts random factss, and I can't handle it much long, and what the hell, let's probe deeper into your horrifying obsession with female bodybuilders, how about it? "I'd love to go down into the meat locker!" It's funny to actually watch the fear wash over Kyle's face, the drunken contentment transforming into confused terror, as Touchdown actually proves that he has memorized Kyle's number.

Due to a full-up car, Kyle rode halfway home in the trunk, swearing wildly, getting his head caught in things, and opening an umbrella again and again. Last seen, he was still tumbling around, alternately trying to seduce Shelly or tell her her breath was like kissing a turd on the lips. Honestly, I wish I had a tape recorder on hand, as some of his speeches just cracked me the hell up. I can't even remember what they were about, his typing speed mostly, but I guess you need to experience that for yourself. Mostly he spoke of flipping over a Buick Century tomorrow after the game. In Sunnycrest (the retirement community) because "no one would suspect there."

Here is a charming image from quaffer.com. I also recommend looking at the "Party Pics," as they will help reflect the dregs of society I must so often encounter:

I like the callouses that form when your burn your hands slightly. They are fun to rub together. Oh God, I sound like Salad Fingers.

Ask me what sound really irritates me sometime.