Gunracks and Cruiseships

Gawwwd, THAT was embarrassing!

2008-12-04T08:51:00.003-06:00

Can you imagine my astonishment when I walked into another wonderful North Tulsa home for an assessment, and look up on the living room wall to see the EXACT same artwork that I just bought for my home?!

AARGGHHH!!!

I was so angry. I can't believe I let the woman at Kirkland's lead me to believe that my print was a one-of-a-kind.

Man, what a lying bitch.

This Week on HGTV

2008-10-24T10:04:00.006-05:00

On this week's edition, we take you into one of Northeast Tulsa's most palatial estates, and show YOU tips from the pros on just what it takes to get YOUR HOUSE noticed. We'll discuss current trends and tips, along with the "what to do's" and "what not to do's" of putting your house on the market and MAKING THE SALE.

(Theme music cue)

First off, one of the most effective and easy ways to get a potential buyer to notice your home is to make sure it's free of clutter and can allow a buyer to envision themselves in your home.....

Also, every morning, make sure the bed is made and that the bedrooms have a general "cozy and warm" feel to them.

When it comes to a sale, it's the little details that make a BIG difference. When you leave for the day, try filling the room with the warm, inviting scent of vanilla or lavender. If these are not available, the scent of 4 day old burned hot dogs festering in their own grease will work, as well

Once again, it's all about the details! Take a little time each day to clean off smudges and fingerprints and make those stainless steel appliances sparkle like new!

And last but not least, give the carpet a "once-over" and remove any year-old fecal stains or lingering vomit traces.

With these tips and a little bit of luck, your house will be sold before you can say, "DESIGNED TO SELL!"

Coming up next,

We show you simple tips to freshen up your flower beds and how to make a fucking crime scene look more inviting.

Careful, Ma'am. You Might Go Brind.

2008-10-03T09:42:00.002-05:00

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I swear to God, I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.

It's like the entire neighborhood is the Land That Time Forgot. No one ever seems to be rushing home from their job to meet us for the house assessment in the middle of the day. And I know that not everyone works the night shift at Wal-Mart. I mean, Wal-Mart's a large store, but it can't be that big. The majority of the people seem like they have a routine during the day that WE seem to be interrupting.

Case in point: We arrive at a home. A crazy little Japanese woman answers the door. Her creepy-ass American husband then proceeds to do all of the talking while she tends to matters in the kitchen. He seems bitter they we're offering free home improvements, and like clockwork, starts questioning our motives and looking over the contract with a fine-toothed comb. I'm standing there listening to him spew his retarded logic, and then I notice something behind me.

THIS:

(Yes, no none seemed to notice that I took out my cell phone and took a photo.)

Let's break down the game film of this for a second if you're having trouble understanding. This is an adult Asian woman who seemed very nice, didn't seem like she was mentally challenged or anything.....sitting 2 fucking feet away from a TV console from 1964. Give me ANY other time in your life that this scenario will EVER be presented to you again? Well, guess what. IT WON'T. This fucking neighborhood is the most ridiculous place I've ever encountered. It would blow my mind if she didn't turn it to Sponge Bob as soon as we left the house.

....Yeah.....I'm a Pretty Big Deal Down at Magoo's

2008-09-26T09:44:00.005-05:00

At no point during last week's inspections did I plan on arriving at the house of one Fast Eddie Felson, winner of the 1978 Q-Spot Invitational......

Holy hell.

Huh?

2008-09-24T14:57:00.003-05:00

Honestly.......the best part about doing C&S Houses, is that I can't make this shit up if I tried.

Just in case you're confused, let me clarify. That's a serving tray. Not just any serving tray, but a tarnished, old-timey serving tray. On top of that tray, there is a salt shaker. Next to it, is a little container of spreadable butter. Behind the tray is a loaf of generic white bread. Oh, yeah. And on the tray is also 2 pieces of RAW FUCKING CHICKEN. One of which looks like it's been attacked already.

So now it's time to guess as to who the home owner was where this photo was taken.

OR

OR

Yup. You guessed it. It was the Crazy Old Lady. Shocking, isn't it.

Just When I Thought I Was Out...

2008-09-24T14:31:00.006-05:00

...They PULL...ME...BACK...IN.

All I wanted to do was make a living supporting my family. I grew up knowing the difference between wrong and right, but I had no choice in the matter as time went on. I have to accept the fact that this is my destiny.

I am the Goddamn Michael Corleone of Northeast Tulsa.

Every time I feel like I'm in the clear, and I'm officially out of the "Mob" known as C&S, those Mother F'ers call our office and need another round of assessments. We do our damndest to try and find someone to hire to spare me of my misery for just a while...And really, who would have thought that signing an apparently LIFE-LONG contract with the Airport Authority and C&S would have really lasted so damn long.

Seriously, you fuck tards, that neighborhood is NOT that large. How could we STILL be doing houses after God-knows how many years? Really? AAARGGHH. FUCK.

But honestly, who wouldn't want to work in this for an 11-hour day?

So.....yes, I was subjected to another round of houses last week.
The good news: I only did them for 2 days.
The bad news: I had to do them for 2 days.

It's okay. They welcomed me back as only they could.

That photo is kind of a metaphor for the entire neighborhood. Someone is trying to flush out the neighborhood like water, but the white trash just WON'T let it happen........like an ash tray blocking the drain.

And kiss my ass for even trying to amuse me with the "Pro Health" toothpaste on the edge of the sink. There's a reason that tube looks untouched. Because it fucking is.

Writers Block for a Non-Writer

2008-08-22T10:56:00.008-05:00

I've received a few editorials lately that I haven't written anything too exciting in awhile. Well, first off, we hired someone again to do the Airport Houses for our company. That meant I was off the hook and could concentrate on the job I was actually hired to do. It's refreshing to know you're actually doing what you were hired for, instead of being paid to wallow in shit all day on East Independence.

Now, don't get me wrong, just because I'm not involved in assessing crap all day doesn't mean that my life with Gunrack is suddenly a Yawn-fest. It's still so action packed, it would make you want to vom......

The problem is, most of the time, I lose interest in writing any of this crap down. My writing attention span is that of a 2-year old. I didn't know that stories about cockroaches and retards at Subway would be so enthralling. It's really put pressure on me. I wonder if Hemmingway had this issue after writing his first blog about fat people at Chessecake Factory?

See, here's the problem. I'm not a writer. I know, shocking, isn't it. I like to complain about white trash, how ridulcous most people are in public and usually have to use photo illustrations as a crutch.
Plus, I like to make sure the story is somewhat interesting. I can't think of anything worse than someone whos "blog" consists of nothing but surveys and crappy stories about how wonderful their children are.

So for awhile, I figure the best method is to just start discussing the normal conversations that Gunrack and I have on a daily basis. She's my wife for a reason. We work well together making conversation pieces.

So for today, I'll leave you with something we talk about pretty much every time we go to Cain's.

The people that show up to concerts......yeah, what the fuck do they during the day? Seriously. I never see these fucktards anywhere, and they suddenly show up in drones every time a show rolls in to town?

I mean, there are only so many Food Pyramids, so where do the other 75% of these assholes work?

Absense

2008-07-14T13:56:00.002-05:00

Yeah, I know, I know.......I haven't given out any good tidbits lately about Airport Houses.

Sorry....My other "real" job has been keeping me busy. These womens shoes aren't gonna sell themselves. Am I right, or am I right?! Ahhhh.......get outta here

Do Yourself a Favor.

2008-06-10T11:46:00.003-05:00

Gunrack and I discovered something when we went to Mexico. It was something I had a sneaking suspicion about after doing Airport houses for a long ass time and tended to just ignore it. But after the trip, it became impossible to ignore.

Americans are fucking retarded.

I could spend the rest of the day listing reasons why American tourists are fucking retarded, but one stood out to me at the Airport.

So for anyone reading this, do yourself a favor.

When you're standing waiting for your bags to come around on the conveyor so you can pick them up and head back to your trailer park in Nowata County, stand back from the conveyor about 6 feet. There is nothing better than standing behind a sea of idiots that stand right up against the carousel waiting for their Hello Kitty suitcase and you can barely see yours. And THEN you have to practically push them out of the way in order to grab a suitcase that's half the size of their fat ass. And they seem inconvenienced that you ask them to move, only so they can stand there like a fucktard for another 10 minutes waiting on theirs.

So here's a novel approach: if everyone stood about 6 feet away, then when your bag comes whizzing by, you can easily move forward, grab your bags and then get the fuck out of everyones way. Now I know that the bags move at an incredible amount of speed and it's very tricky to hold your 3 children in one hand and try and grab a bag zooming by at 30 mph, but please............just give it a try.

I can't count the number of times I've stood at a conveyor belt and watched a bunch of hillbillies crowd around each other fighting for a spot at the front like a bunch of hogs at feeding time to watch NOTHING.

Yup, that's you, conveyor pig.

Time To Play Catch-Up

2008-06-03T08:21:00.002-05:00

....back from Mexico.

....still (somehow) doing the Goddamn Airport House inspections, just not this week.

....and it just occurred to me just how long I've been doing these miserable inspections. It's like a neverending visit by an annoying relative that insists on coming to visit every 5 months for the last 2 years.

But the point being, is that I realized how many photos I had that I took before this glorious blog came to fruition. And here's the deal: I had to visit these piles of shame in person, so now you have to suffer through a string of photos describing the worst of the worst.

3.)Honorable Mention: The Chevy Astro-tard

Semi-truthful conversation that occurred when we showed up at this home:

Us: So......who decorated the, uh, car?

Crazy Old Guy: Ohhh.....my wife did that a while back, and she seemed to like it, so I guess we just kept it.

Us: Was she retarded?

2.)Runner-Up: Trying to Mold A Healthy Lifestyle

I used to wonder to myself why people in the neighborhood were always coughing? I stand corrected. Let me take this opportunity to reiterate something. Just because you're fucking poor doesn't mean you have to be fucking filthy. Homeless people have an excuse: They have no fucking house. You, you piece of garbage, have no reason that your walls should look like that. Holy fuck, a gigantic vein of anger just popped out of my forehead.

1.)First Place Winner: The S.S. You've Gotta Be Fucking Kidding Me

Holy Hell, I had completely forgotten about this house until I looked through the archives. Where the hell do I start?

Yes.....in technical terms, that's the hallway looking right up into the goddamn attic. Brilliant.

This is a fine detail above the kitchen entrance. I honestly feel that a home's character lies in it's details. I once saw on HGTV that a simple way to cut down on utility bills and to prevent water damage in your kitchen was to FIX THE GODDAMN MASSIVE HOLE IN YOUR HALLWAY, YOU FUCKTARD.

And the motherload:

Just in case you don't see it, that's a HOT TUB in the living room. They have no ceiling in the hallway, yet have a HOT TUB in living room. And it obviously looks like it's used quite frequently. I think I see a dead body somewhere underneath all of the junk. So we walk into this house, see a HOT TUB, and ask the guy why he has a hot tub in the living room. His answer? "Well......it wouldn't fit in any of the other rooms?"

You pretty much just walk away after that.

Until he lets us know that they also had trouble keeping it clean and they need to "let the water out of it soon." Oh......so there's been water in that there HOT TUB in your living room for years.....

Oh, and why not, you know? Why not have a festering tub of tepid swamp water sit in your living space for a long period of time. You're obviously not concerned with much of fucking anything.

I'll go ahead and mention that we didn't end up adding this house to the assessment list due to the excessive cockroach problem.

Oh, and one more thing. The wife of the house was late for the appointment because she was "running late at the hospital." Yep. This wonderfully immaculate house is the home of someone in the nursing industry.

So enjoy your next tetanus shot, good sir. And be sure to have the nurse go ahead and put on another pair of gloves. Trust me. Then kill me.

Hold My Calls, Gringos.

2008-05-22T15:50:00.003-05:00

Gunrack and I are officially packed for Mexico. We have our urban sombreros and burro feed, and will be back June 2nd.

So you, my pretties, will have to wait a few weeks until I can update you on the most recent house assessment visits. But they're worth the wait. They involve a cardboard box used as an area rug and rabbit ears on a television that are bigger than most small countries. Yeah......just another week in the shitter.

That's Gold, Jerry! GOLD!

2008-05-15T08:11:00.007-05:00

Let's see........

The most spectacular Rick Astley song of all time? check.

Rick Roll has been around for awhile on the World Wide Ultra Web. If you're not familiar with it, look it up. I'd explain it, but my name is not Juan Wikipedia. (Although, it would be awesome if it was)

I just stumbled upon 2 videos for which I have not seen before, and they are all I would hope they would be.

.....If only this had really happened. The world would have been a better place.

Unfortunately, this next spectacle really did happen. Continue to do the Lord's work, Mr. Zonday........

Thank God I'm getting a vacation next week. These posts are becoming ridiculous.

Eat Fresh? Kind of, I Guess.

2008-05-12T15:39:00.008-05:00

Went to Subway for lunch today. Gunrack enjoys her Subway, so I'm usually just along for the ride.

Umm......so, why do all Subways smell like a dirty butthole?

I understand that they bake their own bread, and it's all part of that "Eat Fresh" attitude that made Jared walk his fat ass there every day for 6 months or whatever.

But really, it's a formidable scent that stings the nostrils. We all know what I'm talking about and I just don't get it.

You can walk into Merritt's Bakery, and it smells like Heaven. You can walk into anywhere that has the words "bakery" in the title, and your taste buds will send you into a spiral of delight. But you pull up in a Subway parking lot and have to stand for a second and take a deep breath at the reality that you will smell like stale taint for a good hour afterwards.

There is no way to eat Subway for lunch and then lie about it. If you lie, people will think you just have horrible personal hygiene.

But anyway......they are running a pretty good special right now for a $5 footlong.

See you there!

How DARE You, Cheesecake Factory.

2008-05-05T09:32:00.009-05:00

Our quiet Sunday afternoon stroll yesterday to Cheesecake Factory exemplified everything that makes me want to punch strangers in the face..........

Things started off on the wrong foot. I'm sure you're all familiar with the "bistro" style seating at The Factory, where one side shares a big long bench and the other side have their own little individual seats, and so you basically feel like you're sharing a long, last supper-style table with 14 strangers. You sit way too close to your eating neighbor and can hear every word from the table next to you. I don't know who came up with this concept, but it sucks. When I go out eat, I don't want to eat so close to Tardo McTardson and his crappy family that I can hear every word. I want a little space.

Anyhoo..........the hostess sits us down next to 4 incredibly fit adults. And by "incredibly fit," I mean that the older man was so fat he needed a walker, and the older women could have been a stunt double for Anne Ramsey.

Since we were close enough to hear every word of the table's conversation, we could easily follow along.......it was a mom and dad eating lunch with their son and his wife. The son, while larger, was very outgoing and seemed to have a head on his shoulders. His wife said nothing the entire meal, so we've disregarded her. Then there was Mom and Dad. They were the type that have never had a single meal that didn't involve the words Grand Slam or Rooti Tooti. Their idea of Italian is Olive Garden, but only the standard menu. The little leaflet of specials confuses and frightens them.

So, naturally, Pops orders the fish and chips. He was literally sweating just saying the words "fish" and "chips," so why not get to the grave THAT much sooner.

And, of course, Mom orders the Monte Cristo. I'm sure their son was looking forward to years ahead of having to roll his parents over to clean their rolls. Look, I'll eat the shit out of a Monte Cristo, just not every meal. And I'm also not 400 pounds.
But if that was the only issue, we would have said nothing else about it.......

Fast forward to the grand entrance of food. The waiter sets down the Monte Cristo, and the old lady seemed completely stunned. She says, "what is this? I thought a Monte Cristo was fried?" The waiter says, "Oh, no.....here, we bread the sandwich. It's just breaded, not fried. Is that alright?"

She takes a bite............"Umm.....No. That is NOT good. Just take it back."

"Oh, I'm so sorry ma'am. Would you like something else?"

"No. Just take it back."

So, her son actually says to the waiter, "Just bring her this (referring to his cashew chicken)...."

He treats her like she's his 4 year old daughter. That bitch had a look on her face like you just splashed mud on her. She just kind of sat there and pouted because her Monte Cristo wasn't fried. She wanted a delicious, flat sandwich with burn marks, like the grilled cheese your mom used to make with a flat iron.

And the Cheesecake Factory had the NERVE to try and make it their own with breading and filthy, fresh ingredients. Those bastards probably tried to add some brocoli on the side. BARF.

So she finally got her cashew chicken and we actually sat there for the rest of the meal while she picked at it like a little kid who hates her meatloaf.

Holy crap, we were furious watching this whole fiasco. We were so angry that we got up, left our tip and took a dump on her cashew chicken.

Why I stopped watching MTV?

2008-05-01T09:31:00.004-05:00

....because no one makes kick ass videos anymore.

Armi & Danny knew of a little thing called a blue screen. And that blue screen is spectacular......

This video is a little uncomfortable because it has all of the qualities of a porn I watched from 1984 once. And I do not want to see Jan Terri in this adult movie.

Reh Dogg has feelings, too. Why do you people let him cry? You all are assholes.

Even if I have a new born baby in my life someday, they will never be as awesome as this video....

Man, I have got to find something else to work on at my job. I am running out of shit to do.

Pioneers of Convenience.....

2008-05-01T09:01:00.005-05:00

I have noticed a growing trend among the Airport House neighborhood...... they truly do whatever they can for convenience in their own homes.

Take this snapshot, for instance:

I've been wasting time making sure there's always room in the pantry or medicine cabinet for all of my vitamins, prescriptions and antacids. Boy, do I feel like a tardo now. These pioneers of convenience said, "No. We don't need to waste valuable cabinet space that could be used for Family size bags of Cheetos and cans of Vienna Sausages. Charlene, just leave the dang vitamins on the counter. I ain't gonna be havin' to go through the pantry e'rytime I need somethin' for ma' belly."

And my favorite part, if you look closely, are the Sam's size bottles of Vitamin B and Niacin. Really? When we came to the door, these lazy fucks barely got off the couch to let us in. Something tells me the bottle is still full.

But the real winners of the 2008 Convenience Olympics go to this fantastic couple:

Yeah, I know. They're obviously not actually using these washing and drying machines in their living room. But the best part is the fact that their garage was EMPTY. And I don't mean that they had everything organized on shelves off of the floor. No, they had nothing. Nothing hanging up. Nothing sitting around. NOTHING. An empty garage and an old washer and dryer in the living room. No mention to us about a Salvation Army pick-up time. And I have a feeling the ol' Army won't be making any pick-ups anytime soon.

Oh........that crazy neighborhood and their wacky antics. Always making my head hurt.

This was NOT on my Registry.

2008-04-25T16:59:00.003-05:00

.......The months of planning are finally over. Gunrack and I are finally recognized by the State of Oklahoma as life partners. Overall, the entire wedding weekend couldn't have been any better. Everything was pretty much perfect. But one odd thing about getting married is the registry. You go to a store, pick out a bunch of things you want, and then people celebrate by buying you these things and it completely overwhelms you. We even received gifts from people who didn't attend. That's even crazier! God didn't attend our wedding in person, but he did end up giving me the gift of a swift punch in the genitals in the form of "Airport House Inspections."

I haven't even been on my mother f'in honeymoon, and somehow, I've already had to do ANOTHER week of inspections. Here's the best part. The engineering company (in their infinite wisdom) decided it would be easier to forget to inform our offices that inspections were this past week and just call me on my cell phone on Sunday night and tell me. Oddly, I didn't answer the phone. I know, it's baffling. Then they tried to call me Monday morning in a panic because no one from our offices were out there to help them. They could have.....I don't know.....called my office, but no. They called my cell phone. Then leave a message baffled, once again, as to why I won't answer. Really? You're expecting me to answer my goddamn cell phone and voluntarily drive out there to help with the inspections? Really? Apparently, their company has never met the fattest part of my ass. Now that they've met, they can kiss it.

Unfortunately, by Monday afternoon, they finally became desperate and tracked down my boss. So I had to rotate days out doing inspections with another guy from my office.

But honestly.......it's great to be back.

It's comforting to know that even though I'm married, some things are still the same.

It's Go Time.

2008-04-10T11:36:00.002-05:00

Well.........it's finally wedding weekend time. See you on the other side.

Just A Reminder.

2008-03-04T16:07:00.001-06:00

...Alllllllways and Foreverrrrrrr

2008-03-04T16:01:00.004-06:00

I haven't had much time to write about anything exciting lately. Why? Because my life has been revolving around impending wedding nuptials.

Don't worry, this wedding is getting an entire entry all to itself. The whole planning process of coordinating 2 families has left me tired and confused.

Pankun and James

2008-02-20T10:46:00.003-06:00

Here's a secret...if it involves ridiculous Japanese television, I'm for it. Here's another secret, if it involves monkeys, I'm very much for it. So somehow, karma has rewarded me with what might be the single greatest show to ever be developed. This show is, of course, a Japanese show. I will wait until a later date to discuss my fondness for super terrific most awesome Japanese programming..........

You don't hear about any Writer's Guilds in Japan. They don't need them. They just need a concept, usually consisting of contestants hurting themselves based on a ridiculous premise, or they need monkeys. The rest writes itself. So at some point in time, a televison executive decided to have a show involving a Chimpanzee named Pankun going on adventures. Borrrrrrring. Luckily, some other genius turned it up to 11 and said, "alright, I'll see your chimpanzee and I raise you a bulldog sidekick named James."

Suddenly, volcanoes spewed hot ash......seas parted.......the ground started rumbling.....and God appeared from the Heavens, gave those television executives a high-five and said, "Gold."

I give you...........................PANKUN AND JAMES

So suck on that, Grey's Anatomy. Your show needs translation to follow. Lame.

Christ, with no Airport houses, I'm really stretching.........this is only going to get worse.

Guess I'll have to Start Writing Fiction...

2008-02-19T15:23:00.004-06:00

As reported earlier, our company has hired some chump to work with the Airport House Assessment Company whenever they're in town. He has no other function with our company. Whatever. I wash my hands of it all. The only downside is, I started this blog mainly for the purpose of crying in html form whenever I had to go do those goddamn visits. But now that I will do these house assessments not very often, it leaves me with the dilemma of what to write about.

But first, I found a hidden gem on my camera phone from the last round of homes.....

That's right. A Sam's-sized jar of mother fucking pickled eggs. I didn't add any hue to them in Photoshop, either. The vinegar brings out the natural orange hue of the eggs. I have a feeling the chicken that hatched these eggs lived in a cleaner pen these people do. A little pen with a broken screen door and a small TV on top of a bigger TV from the 70's, watching Springer while her little chicks ran around in their diapers....

So that's about it for my Airport House Stories for awhile..........

My posts from now on will probably be me just bitching about my neighbors or YouTube clips from Japanese game shows involving self-infliction and monkeys....

GOOD TIMES.

No Appointment Necessary

2008-01-24T07:58:00.000-06:00

Mother F'er Use to Make Me Cry So Much...

2008-01-23T12:32:00.000-06:00

You know how you have those weird memories of things that made you piss your pants with terror when you were younger? Yeah, yeah.....thousands of repressed memories being resurfaced as we speak...anyhooooo.

So, we all know Guy Smiley from Sesame Street, right? He was the smooth cat who hosted all the game shows that included having the mentally challenged characters on Sesame Street name three things that are round in under thirty seconds and so forth. He was enthusiastic, had a bitchin' set of gums and very outgoing. He was the balls.

But I remember this "other" version of Guy Smiley. He used to sit at a piano and not be able to write a song for shit, and then flipping the F out and banging his head on the piano. For years, I've remembered this being the single most frightening thing I had ever experienced as a kiddo. I always remembered him as the alternate, angry Guy Smiley, or something..............

Oddly, no one else seemed to remember this bipolar freak. No one was ever able to give me more information on him. My mother remembered something on Sesame Street scaring me, but apparently it was of no concern to her to remember the name or the source of my warped childhood nightmares.

But FINALLY....today I stumbled across a photo and info about this Angel of Death:

DON mother f'in MUSIC

Geez.......so after all this time, turns out I used to be scared of a British twit who had no concept of rhyming and dressed like Hugh Grant.

What a bummer.

New Week of House Assessments.

2008-01-22T16:14:00.000-06:00

While you're working overtime this month trying to earn a little extra money to use towards home improvements, keep in mind that this home will receive free shit....courtesy of you.

Enjoy the taxes added on to your airline tickets.....because someone just wiped their ass with your money.

I give up.

Goes Down Smooth.......Comes Out Not as Smooth

2008-01-18T09:55:00.000-06:00

Only one photo left from this last round of Home visits.........

I snapped it because it left me confused and scared.

I consider myself fairly knowledgeable about beers.

No, I'm not some strange man in his Fifties who has a beard and wears a lot of black turtlenecks and discusses the fermentation process and subtle aroma of the beer.

And I'm not some shitbag fraternity member who never had a drink until college and now just because he has various bottles of Miller Genuine Draft on his wall makes him a beer connoisseur.

Nope. Just a guy who's had enough different beers to know the difference between taste and cost.

TASTE usually means you're going to spend a little more money in your purchase, and maybe drink it a little slower.

COST usually means it's about getting hammered and waking up with wet sheets.

I've nevvvvvver quite heard of this beer, but something tells me I know what category it falls under.

Where the hell do you buy this? That can just blew my mind. I have a feeling it was the fine pilsner ale enjoyed by Al Bundy. I also have a feeling that it tastes roughly like the water at the bottom of a package of hot dogs.

I'd ask if anyone has ever tasted this smooth blend of hops, barley and bull semen, but quite frankly, if you have...........our friendship is over.

Are you in a pit crew of some sorts?

2008-01-15T13:43:00.001-06:00

AGAIN, with the fucking tires?

This is another shot of the house from earlier that had the 3 tires sitting in the bedroom by the television.

I have nothing. This house would make Sanford AND his son hang their heads in shame.

You crummy pieces of shit......................

Sensual Seduction

2008-01-15T13:14:00.000-06:00

I noticed something this past week of house visits.........

This neighborhood got an awful lot sexier...........

As I was measuring the windows in this crappy old white woman's bedroom, I glanced over and noticed her sweet ass collection of love makin' jams....

Christ, no wonder these people have so many children. How do you expect NOT to make love when there are TWO Keith Sweat cassettes in your collection?

And then there's this.......

If you've previously viewed this blog, you might remember this photo from a completely different home....

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? Is there something I don't know about this framed piece of awesome? You mean to tell me that two completely unrelated families have this EXACT same piece of class in their living rooms?! This makes you wonder just how many families in Tulsa may have this same artwork hanging from their luxurious paneled walls. It boggles the mind, and tingles the, uh, wang......

So here's to you, Families of the C&S Noise Abatement Program Neighborhood...
May your love making never cease.

It's Been Too Long

2008-01-15T12:58:00.000-06:00

To ring in 2008, I decided to have my bosses send me out to my favorite neighborhood in North Tulsa and assess some more houses. If you're not aware of my adventures in these houses, feel free to take a few minutes out of your day to read my previous entries....

Start from the beginning, and you will slowly immerse yourself into the Hell in which I feel every time I get notice to visit more of these homes.

Sadly, it looks as though we've hired someone new solely for the purpose of assessing these homes. The purpose of this is to free up more time for me to do the things I went to fucking college to do, like work in the fucking office and do the fucking job I applied to do 6 years ago. But don't worry.....I'll still be visiting my filthy friends from time to time. And this past week was one of those times.

Overall, the homes were not as exciting as they've been previously. The trainwreck that is this neighborhood let me down in a way. Not as much garbage, not as many asinine questions, not as many couches for ashtrays.... I gotta say, I was a little disappointed I even bothered making the trip.

But don't worry........not EVERYONE let me down:

Let's see here...........
Bedroom? CHECK.
Television set with authentic wood paneling? CHECK.
Christmas lawn ornaments placed neatly by telelvision? CHECK.
Bedsheet hanging from wall to cover doorway outside? CHECK
3 tires sitting by television for God knows what reason? CHECK.
Angel placed on top of television to look down upon 3 tires from Heaven? CHECK.
Plastic lamb figurine next to Angel to represent class & prestige? CHECK.

I guess all the components exist for me to walk in to this house and just give up on mankind as we know it.

Really? Again? Oh, come on!

2008-01-06T00:48:00.000-06:00

I guess it's been long enough for me to be happy.......

Because starting on Monday, I officially start a new bunch of house assessments for my favorite neighborhood in North Tulsa. The only thing good that comes out of this will be a new batch of quality blogs. The only casualty........? My dignity. My happiness. And my precious time.

I will get to wake up each morning for the next week and curse the Lord.

I will curse him hard.

...stay tuned. The sadness begins in roughly 48 hours.

Like a damn trainwreck every time I enter...

2008-01-06T00:07:00.000-06:00

So........I know. We live in a small area that's surrounded by weird ghetto. For those of you that don't know where Gunrack and I live, look......our neighborhood is nice. It's a respectable neighborhood where people either purchase their first house or go there to retire or whatnot. Oh, and it also contains a a little bit of dirty white trash. Every neighborhood has it. It's just the way it is. But once you get outside the neighborhood, there is a place I like to call "Whatthefuckville." It's headquarters are in the shopping center on the North side of I-44 and Peoria. The best way to enter the headquarters is to walk into the doors of the May's Drugstore.

Hoooooooolllllllllly shit.

Man, is that place fucking weird.

First off, I know that most drug stores have this odd assortment of knick-knacks and strange gifts that rival a Dollar store, but this May's outdoes them all.

Fine. You go down to your local May's and pick out a few items that would be considered "odds and ends." Then you go grab a new container of Gold Bond, maybe some Preparation H and call it a day. After all, you need to be quick in order to get home and catch the new episode of Maury.

But holy shit, it's only just begun.

Now, here's the deal. I've never met this woman. If I had a soul, I'd feel bad about ridiculing her. That little man on my shoulder would say, "Whoa. Let's stop this hate train and get on the tolerance Greyhound." But.......it's just not that way. Sorry.

So.....where was I? Oh yeah.

The woman I speak about is the standard / head cashier at May's. She's my age. She seems to be in good shape. She seems fairly intelligent. She's well spoken. She understands the workings of a cash register and has mastered said cash register. She has the shiniest fucking face I've ever seen. Wait. (Record scratch) Huh?

I don't know what is wrong, I don't understand.....but seriously, she makes me believe that she dips her face in Vaseline and calls it a day. Now look, if that was the only thing and it was a medical issue, I'd leave it alone. I'm kind of an ass, but I'm not that fucking cold. But to make it even worse, she chooses to go with the "bright blue eyeliner / whore lipstick" combo. That's what draws in the attention. That, and the fact that she's one of those cashiers that has to fill you in on her day, or comment on yours. One of those select few cashiers that decide to point out everything you purchase and have some little comment about it. One of those select few cashiers that make me want to punch her in the face and write a blog about it. So.......here we are.

Today, we discovered a wedding ring on her finger.

....Still waiting for an explanation on that one.

Oh, and she apparently had a zit on her face. What does she do? Leave it alone because everybody gets them? Nope. She's a special breed. She caked on so much damn foundation that even as a male, I had to take a step back and say, "Damn, bitch. that's a lot of foundation."

I promise I'm not the only one reading this who has ever been in that May's. And if you haven't, I highly recommend entering into the Enigma that it is. I swear to God that I'm in a glass case of emotion every time I walk inside...

Gunrack enjoys her rest.

2007-12-03T13:20:00.001-06:00

Today's lunchtime conversation driving through downtown.....

Gunrack: .....What do homeless people do all day?

Me: Umm. I don't know. Hang out?

Gunrack: I bet they get to sleep in.

Me: Well....yeah.

Gunrack: *sigh* Lucky.

Me: Good grief.

Don't Talk To Me.

2007-11-20T14:16:00.000-06:00

...went to the Tool show last night at the ~~Historic~~...wait, I mean ~~Easily Accessible~~, wait....no I mean ~~Weirdo Free~~....ahh forget it. The show was at the Convention Center.

Gunrack and I took our seats. We were enjoying watching all the freak shows of Tulsa come out of their parents basement for the show, and were just enjoying the ride. Then, like clockwork, the shitbag next to me turns around and says, "I'd take those things out of your ears so you won't get drafted!"

See.....I was wearing earplugs. Yes, I know, not the coolest thing in the world, and it doesn't help that I just got an inhaler (see previous blog) but here's the thing.....I go to a LOT of shows. I also listen to music that would make your grandmother have seizures. Oh, and I play drums as a hobby. Some people lay in bed and read books as a hobby. Not me. I beat the shit out of something and make an extreme amount of noise as my hobby of choice. So basically, if I didn't wear earplugs at the ripe old age of 29, I'd be fucking deaf in another year. And let's face it, I want to be able to hear Gunrack when she's cursing my name to the Lord when we're 84.

So my response to shitbag when he tells me this?

"What the hell are you talking about? What Draft? Is this 1965"

He says, "Hell, I'm 40 and they're already calling me back to serve!"

I say, "Yeah, that means you were in to begin with. I'm pretty much past the stage of getting drafted. And if I do, my hearing is the least of my worries."

After that, he got the point and stopped talking to me. I'm not so cold that I won't talk to a stranger...but when that stranger is an idiot, I choose to decline.

So thanks, Shitbag Metal Dude. Thanks for taking it upon yourself to clue me in that the Armed Services doesn't recruit "metal dudes" who've lost their hearing. Of course, the metal dudes wouldn't even know they didn't get drafted because they couldn't hear the fucking telephone call.

I swear, I run into the most retarded people.

Perfect.

2007-11-08T11:25:00.000-06:00

There isn't much point to this blog. I just went into a house yesterday, and this sketch was behind the door, and it made me smile.

Why did I smile? Because this sketch is the perfect representation of everything in that neighborhood that's hillbilly and ridiculous. There's nothing in this sketch that isn't awesome.

And if that sketch is of you, sorry, but I forgot to tell you that after I met you I decided that you suck and I hated being inside your home because you just have too many stains on your carpet and I did not appreciate the smell of stale that filled the air.

I can't make this up if I tried.

An open letter to the residents of "that damn" neighborhood

2007-11-08T11:02:00.000-06:00

Dear Sir or Madame or Undetermined,

Please stop making it so easy for me. Look, when I first began coming into your homes and assessing them for the Quieter Home Program, I was there for a purpose. I wasn't there to judge you or to inquire about your personal lives. It's not like I intended on constantly complaining about the shit you people put me in. But you just couldn't learn to clean up after yourselves and go get an education, could you? You had to keep raising the bar and seeing who could outdo the last person. You had to see who truly had the most ridiculous thing in their house ever. You forced me to start bringing my camera so I could document the absolutely ridiculous things I see inside your homes every time I come visit you every 5-6 months.

It's like you all got together and devised some sort of plan to see who could out-retard one another. Now, I've seen some shit that makes no sense and makes me just stand there in disappointment of our public school system, but yesterday was finally the day that I had enough of all of your bullshit.

Would someone please explain this to me?

Yes, I see that's a baby gate. Yes, I see that it's installed correctly in a door frame as far as the sides go. But let me explain the concept of a "baby gate"...See, when babies are born, they are smaller than adults. They waddle around and can't jump. Gravity also keeps humans and animals close to the ground, so a baby/small animal gate was devised to keep these things out of or in a room by preventing them from walking in. Now, I understand that you were able to grasp the installation instructions by using leverage to lock the gate inside the door frame. For this, I commend you. But you, as a neighborhood, have made me just too exhausted to get into detail as to why this gate is not going to keep anything out of, or in, that room.

And this is why, dearest residents of the Quieter Home Program, I wish you would stop doing shit like this to make it so easy for me to mock you. Sigh.

Sincerely,
Juan Cornelius.

It's official. I'm Milhouse Van Houten.

2007-11-08T10:29:00.000-06:00

This past summer, Gun Rack and I went swimming......

I did some kind of retarded dive, and ended up with a ton of water in my ears and my ears were plugged for damn near a week after that. It was like some kind of freak swimmers ear that was all caused by one simple dive.

A few weeks later, I finally decided to do something about the fact that anytime I do any type of strenuous exercise, I break out into an awesome wheezing episode and cough and hack like an 80 year old man. What was my doctor's solution? Why, an inhaler, or course.

So I now have to use an inhaler and may as well plug my ears with cotton when I swim. Things are really looking up.

And then, two days ago, I finally had my appointment with an allergist to see what was making my allergies so bad.

Apparently, I'm allergic to anything that grows from the soil. Sonofabitch.

So now, I will start going to get allergy shots monthly.

Oh yeah, and I still wear glasses most of the time because Lasik is on the list for 2008.

So congratulations, self. You're officially a fucking nerd.

Your Tax Dollars at Work...............Still.

2007-11-04T20:04:00.000-06:00

...And so begins Part II of my most recent expedition into the world of total disappointment with the public school system. This blog is dedicated to one house. Before, I could usually sum up the shitbox house with one photo....this was, until, we descended upon the mother of all houses. Never before have I witnessed a house that summarized everything I hate about everything. This house was in a league of its own. Normally, I have a feeling of anger and frustration when I leave a house. But this house was so ridiculous, all we could do was laugh when we left. If we didn't, counseling would have been needed.

(On a quick side note, some might be reading these rants and think, "You know, Juan Cornelious...you shouldn't be so judgmental of these people. You're out there helping them and trying to better the neighborhood and they don't know any better. You should feel good about helping these people..." Well, my response to that is, "Kiss my ass. If you want to help these people, good for you. I don't. It's one thing to help people who truly need it and don't even know how to help themselves, but this is giving free shit to people who will do nothing with it. They will take these new windows and doors and then break them. And when the warranty runs out, they will be right back where they were before. And they will still stink as a whole. Soap is cheaper than cigarettes. If they're poor, so be it. I hate them because they can't work a bathtub faucet. They're obviously not living in a box in a street. They have running water. So fuck them. They went to the same public school I did. It's not like I grew up in a gated community and can frown down upon them. So once again, fuck them. You want to help them, feel free to stop in the neighborhood and apply.")

So back to spreading love about the mother of all houses.....

This quaint cottage is located among other houses that were actually fairly clean for the neighborhood. When we searched for the address, it was a little difficult, because, well.....it was tough to see the front of the house....

There stood a pile of shit the likes of which I had never seen. The Tulsa City dump had less shit outside that this place did. Some weird drunken hillbilly approached us and seemed to understand about every third word that we told him. He explained that he and his buddy were emptying the contents of the house and were in the process of taking piles of shit to the dump. I was under the assumption that his house was a new remote location for a new city dump. I stand corrected. He was never really clear whether he actually lived there......orrrrr what.

I called Gunrack to tell her I love her in case I didn't make it out alive...and then proceeded to enter.

Now, just in a case you're not understanding what I was experiencing, I turned back outside....mainly to kiss mother nature and my life as I knew it goodbye.

We were unclear as to what happens if it rains. I know he told us he had just started moving things, but something told me that shit had been sitting outside since Nixon was in office.

Ladies and gentleman....first up, weeeeeeee have the living quarters.

I know this because there is a television......from 1963.And what appears to be chicken wire on the wall.

Feeling worn down from sitting in the living room watching the 3 channels your television gets? Why not go into the kitchen for a quite bite? Or to contract SARS.

Now, I know this photo is a little blurry. It's difficult to get a good shot on a camera phone when the motherfucker doesn't have any electricity in his house to turn on a light. But the bright white thing in the background is the fridge. The box in the foreground is the stove. No, I didn't get a chance to check inside to count the number of human limbs that were more than likely sitting in there.

After a delicious and healthy meal, I always like to go take a nap. Hey....why not go into the bedroom.

I mean, really.....at this point why would you even bother asking me where the bed is. I think all of my dedicated readers know by now that trash doesn't sleep. But usually, after a nap, you want to go freshen up. Best place to do this? The bathroom.
Dammit.

Yes, the bathtub was piled high with clothes, a barbell for some reason, a cooler (which may or may not contain severed limbs) and a lot of broken dreams. If you look slightly to the left, you'll see the handicap rest that's resting on the toilet. This is in place because if anyone actually sat on that toilet, the stench would render them retarded and void of any motor skills.

I don't really need to go on any more about this house. What's the point. The surcharges and extra fees you pay when flying? Yes, they go towards the stockpile of cash the FAA uses to install new windows and doors into this masterpiece. So next time you're standing at the Southwest Airlines counter, be sure to swiftly punch them in the face with your briefcase.

Your Tax Dollars at Work, Part 4. Or 5. Or Whatever.

2007-11-02T09:34:00.001-05:00

Where have I been? Why, I've been standing around inside your shitty house near Pine & Memorial, wondering at what point I went wrong and ended up here. I've been explaining to you that because you're a fucking idiot, and live 500 feet from an Airport, the FAA's going to give you free shit. I've been explaining to you that just because you're getting free windows, heating and air, it's not going to replace a simple shower and shave. Your free doors will not prevent your house from smelling like cigarette butts and failure. That still rests entirely on your shoulders, Cletus and Brandine. You have the power.

So let's recap the last 2 weeks with some crappy highlights:

First up, we have the mystery of why i walk into a backyard and see this:

The only part that gave me hope was that this cat and duck were just stopping here in the middle of an amazing adventure that would make Milo and Otis fall to their knees. But in reality, it was just a weird Mexican family with a pet duck. Sigh.

Overheard conversation:
Brandine: "Hey, Cletus! Would ya' mind turnin' on the spinny fan above theys head?"
Cletus: "I would, Sugar. But when I's turn it on at the wall, it done hitted me in the head and make my hair hurt. I don't know why."

Overheard conversation #2:
Airport Official: "Ma'am, we'll be coming to your house Monday to inspect the existing conditions. We'll see you then."
Excited Homeowner: Alright. Guess I better send my husband outside to pick up a little. Wouldn't want to look like a bunch of trash!"

This next photo was taken in the bathroom of Shithole Owner Number 1,359:

So let's recap. Someone stole the TESTER. As in, they didn't have to pay for it and could have taken any cologne available, and still chose Jovan Sex Appeal. That's the smell of desire, ma' lady...........

First, How does a toilet tank top even get broken this way? I swear to God, white trash break the most random shit. Second, are you going to tell me that piece of shit didn't have duct tape and bungee cords available to fix that? Nothing worse than trash that has no follow-through.

We arrived at 'ol Pappy Johnson's house on Wednesday, or something. (Who cares what day it was. They all sucked.) He immediately starts complaining about what the Airport owes him, and how his fire sustained a fire a few years ago, and he's been waiting impatiently for the Airport to come and provide his new windows and whatnot and how late we are. So instead of turning around and walking out the door, I'm still finding myself walking through his shitbox like it was some kind of trash vortex. Then....I look in the bathroom.

Seriously, Pappy. Manual bathroom scales are $9 at any Wal-Mart. There's no nostalgia ever in a scale. None. At least, I hope that's just charred remains of a scale. If those are stains, I swear to God, I'm going to drive back over there and kick Pappy in his withered head.

This is making my head hurt. Stay tuned for Round 2.

Your Tax Dollars at work, Part 3

2007-10-13T21:52:00.000-05:00

Hey kids! Guess what!!! You guessed it! It's time to assess more homes out by the Airport! So this means that for the next 2 weeks, I'll be sludging through a bunch of shitty houses, determining what types of sub-par upgrades they'll receive from the government, and answering all of their idiotic questions....each one becoming dumber than the previous!

It's a pretty sweet deal for me, honestly. I get to increase my morning commute by double the time, I don't know when I'll finish every night....which makes it pretty much impossible to plan anything in the evenings, I get to smell like stale smoke and poverty every night, and I get to walk around in unkempt "homes!" Wipe that jealous look off your face....it's MY time to shine.

I'm pretty excited about it, really. The people I get to visit all day are pretty great. The majority of them have an astonishing 3rd grade education, smell like a babies diaper stuffed with wet grass, and for some reason haven't opened a window since Nixon was in office. Like I said, it's pretty kick ass.

Oh, and if you happen to read this and live in this neighborhood for which I speak...

My lunch was delicious and confusing

2007-10-12T09:41:00.000-05:00

It just dawned on me that I never posted this story:

A few weeks ago, Gunrack and I took a little ride up to The Brook for some tasty lunch treats. We go to The Brook because we enjoy deliciousness stirred into our meals, and The Brook usually provides that, with a side order of happiness.

15 minutes before we leave, a parade of douchebaggery enters the restaurant. This douchebaggery consisted of 8 to 9 guys in khaki pants, dark blazers, some in sunglasses, and all wearing earpieces. They all immediately disperse and stand by each exit and throughout the restaurant. A buzz was created among the fine guests and we all fell under the assumption that someone famous was about to enter. The appearance of the men led us to believe that it was security for a politician, because if Puff Daddy Diddy Doody Combs was about to enter, the security would have looked a little different.

But nobody famous walked in. We asked Waiter #1. Our conversation went like this:

Us: Hey, what's the deal with the secret service looking guys?"

Waiter Guy: "Hell, I don't know. I like how the guy has sunglasses from 1982. Geeez."

So basically, our waiter only pointed out the sunglasses of ONE security guy. He completely ignored the fact that there was a "security" guard by EVERY door. Gunrack and I seemed a little perplexed. Dumbfounded, if you will. We just sat there, in our finest work clothes, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

After 10 minutes or so, we decided no one of any importance was in the building. We walked by Waitress #2. We overhear her explaining to a patron that the entire thing's a drill because a waiter at The Brook was training for the Secret Service, so this was a real-life exercise. We decided at this point to get the hell out of there because we were so confused, our brains were starting to cramp.

Outside stood actual Tulsa police officers. In the Arvest bank parking lot stood more "security" personnel. As soon as we got in the car, a parade of WTF's occurred.

We were more confused than the Donger when he found out he had been mowing Grandpa's lawn because of a hernia, not hyena......but I digress.

So here are some topics for you to discuss:
1.) If anyone ACTUALLY knows what the real story is, please call the Gunracks and Cruiseships tip line.

2.) If it really was a Secret Service drill, why Tulsa? Why at The Brook? Why not at a Carl's Jr. in Washington D.C.?

3.) If a waiter at The Brook was really training to become Secret Service, why is he still waiting tables? And why do they take him to the one restaurant where everyone knows him.

4.) If the waiter's stories were total bullshit, and they were just covering for the fact that someone of importance was actually there that we didn't recognize, then why were they at The Brook? Delta Cafe is right across the street and there, you get free rolls and cornbread.

I think if I was someone famous, I'd opt for free cornbread instead.

Free Moustache Rides

2007-10-12T08:47:00.000-05:00

Years later, the woman would discover that Winchester was a registered sex offender.

Petted the Purty Animals...Ated the Purty Animals.

2007-10-02T11:04:00.000-05:00

Went to the Fair last night for the first time in 12 years. Don't worry, it's still the same.

The Fair's the only place where Gunrack and I sit down to eat a Polish sausage, then go to the petting zoo immediately afterwards to talk about how cute the pigs are.

I wondered to myself how many sticks are thrown away each year when the Fair's over. Every Goddamn thing there comes on a stick, and if it doesn't, it's only because the Carny Institute of Technology hasn't yet figured out a way for it to stay on a stick.

I discovered the clientele hasn't changed in 40 years.

I discovered last night that the Super Jumbo Corn Dog is really just 2 hot dogs on top of each other. It's like discovering the tall person is really just a midget on another midget's shoulders. But don't worry. I still let them into the club. And that club was my stomach.

Good Lord, I wonder what my stomach looks like.

Secrets to Healthy Living

2007-10-02T10:28:00.000-05:00

.....went to eat lunch with Gunrack's grandparents last week. They're quite a pair. Actually, grandparents in general have some interesting tendencies. For instance, my grandfather has been telling the same 3 jokes since I was 5. It doesn't help that the jokes are long, drawn out and require complete attention to keep up. But that's another issue.

Back to Gunrack's grandparents. Now, don't get me wrong.....Grandparents of all species kick ass. So having some insight into the way older folks do things is not so much to poke fun, but more to try and figure out exactly what's going on in their funky heads. It's the same way they look at us when we're young punk kids, and can't understand why in tarnation we can't stay off their lawn.

Gunrack's Grandmother was giving away boxes of old items because they had just moved into a new retirement community set-up. First, they live off of Mayberry Street. How can you not be at peace when you live in a retirement community off of MAYBERRY STREET? And don't worry....Matlock is available on call to prosecute anyone caught committing crimes. And yes, Angela Lansbury is usually the one catching the criminals.

So back to the boxes of old items........Gunrack's Grandmother had a big Foreman Grill packed to give away. Gunrack's sister asked her why she was giving away such a nice Foreman grill?

And this conversation commenced: (Summarized)

Sister: Why are you giving this grill away?

Grandma: Oh, I don't like the way that thing works. It drips all of the grease to the bottom!

Sister "Ummmm...well........that's what it's supposed to do." (confused look on face)

Grandma: Well, I don't like that. It's too much work. I always had to take the grease trap and drip the grease back onto the hamburgers."

AND SCENE.

So if you're ever at Gunrack's Grandmother's home......eating meat.....and your heart starts to hurt and left arm starts to tingle, you now know why.

Lend me some sugar....the conclusion.

2007-09-26T12:49:00.000-05:00

Here's the anticipated follow-up to the incident involving my neighbor and his piece of shit lawn trailer

So...basically, once my neighbor busted me being a bitch and talking to the City before I talked to him....I felt like things were a little awkward. I feel like Jerry in the episode of Seinfeld where he stops kissing people hello and the other apartment tenants shun him. That's me.

I've gone through a wide range of emotions.

First, there was the "boy, do I feel like an ass for doing that to my Preacher neighbor" emotion. That's filled with a lot of shame for not just talking to him directly.

Then, I went through the, "Holy Shit. The cops talked to him before talking to me?! What the hell? I hate everyone!" phase.

Next up was the, "You know, I'm probably thinking way too much into this. I was in the right for calling the city. What he did was illegal and he didn't hold a grudge and told me to let him know if it got in the way again" phase.

But, because I'm me......I've arrived on the final phase, which is the phase I will always have, the "everyone can kiss the fattest part of my ass" phase.

My neighbor can kiss my ass for continuing to have that piece of shit trailer outside of his house. If use actually use it to mow a lawn or two, i might let it slide.....but you don't. Nothing says resale value like a big ass unused trailer next door.

The City of Tulsa can kiss my ass for handling the situation without notifying me beforehand. Oh, those bastards........(I'm shaking my fist in the air like an old man).

Knock knock.
Who's there?
Fuck You.
Fuck you who?
Fuck you neighbor and City of Tulsa. Eat a bag of dicks.

Alright, I promise my next pointless rant will be positive. Probably not.

Lend me some sugar! I AM your neighbor!

2007-09-24T10:21:00.000-05:00

As with most of my stories, I like to provide a back story to get the reader up to speed......

Gunrack and I live in a decent neighborhood. Nothing special.....it's a "first house" type neighborhood.....old couple across the street, a few families, some dogs. It works for the time being. But our next door neighbor to the left is pastor at a church, and then he has a lawn & tree service for additional income. If any of you have been to our castle, you've seen the big ass trailer that's in front of his house a lot of the time. In previous seasons, it was there part of the time just parked, but for the most part, it was in use. I was willing to ignore it because he was a nice guy and hey, whatever. It's just a trailer in the street. It's not a broken down car in the yard held up by old refrigerators.

But this summer, time went by, and the trailer moved NEVER. Not once did I see a lawnmower early-morning load-up. Not once did I see it full of limbs and tree trimmings that would help beautify someones lovely home. And then, the tires started seeming a little flat. Flat like a little kids bike tire. So we decided a few weeks ago that we were officially tired of looking at it.

Now, on an equally important side note, there is one house on the street that's a real piece of shit. I guess every street has to have one house. We grew tired of all of the shit in their yard, so we called the City. The City actually called us and said the situation was taken care of.....and we noticed that the house was fairly cleaned up and we were kind of impressed. The house was still a piece of shit, but at least the City actually visited them and told them to bathe.

Which leads us to the current:
....Gunrack and I decided to stay on our high horse and continue to clean up this stinkin' town. First, our horse is very high. I suffered a lot of nosebleeds when we first got up there, but once my body adjusted to the altitude, it was very comfortable.

So I decided to call the City about the trailer and ask if it was legal to keep it there for 3 months with a flat tire. I tried calling the hotline, but I was at work and couldn't hear the lady, so I just went online and filled out a form. I just mentioned that the trailer had been there for a long time and wondered what the law was for letting it sit out there. This was about 2 weeks ago.

Then, this past week, we noticed that the trailer's tires were aired up and was now facing the correct way......still there, but had at least been moved. Was it a coincidence, or had the City paid our neighbor another visit? We didn't really know and kind of forgot about it.

Then Saturday night. Gunrack and I pull up about 6PM, our neighbor is walking to his car in the street, he sees us, says hello to Gunrack, then approaches me.....

NEIGHBOR MAN: Hey, Cruiseship, How are you doing?

ME: Oh, not too bad.....how are you?

NEIGHBOR MAN: Pretty good. Hey, let me know if that trailer ever gets in your way.

ME: Oh.......uh....okay.

NEIGHBOR MAN: Yeah, cause the Cops came by this week and showed me the e-mail you wrote.

ME: (wiping the sweat off my brow). Ohh.....yeah, well, it was...a while back and...I couldn't get a hold of you, so.....yeah.

NEIGHBOR MAN: Alright, well......just let me know next time if it gets in your way.

And then I just kind of walked inside.....because I had to wipe the egg off of my face before I fell down.

Proud to be an American

2007-09-19T10:11:00.000-05:00

Gunrack just informed me that this year at the Tulsa State Fair, they've introduced a new item:

Deep Fried Bacon Cheddar Mashed Potatoes on a Stick.

Nowhere else in the world can you have the perfect combination of lard and wooden sticks.

Suck on that, terrorists.

You're a douchebag, Part 1.

2007-09-18T13:49:00.000-05:00

Me and the misses have now been attending Dr. Frank's Gym to the Stars on a regular basis now, so we're pretty comfortable with everything there. Plus, The good Doctor is a pretty nice guy.......

So now here's the question. What constitutes "gym wear," or "active wear?"
I tend to think that wearing crummy and loose clothing to a gym is not a fad that started in the 70's....it serves a purpose. You sweat. You ruin old clothes. No harm done. Loose clothing helps with the breathing and flexibility and the whatnots. This is the clothing I have chosen, and I will stick by it.

But at some point, things went haywire. People decided, "Hey! Wait a sec! Loose clothing is a thing of the past! I don't have to conform to your conformist ways, you aerobic conformist! I'm going to wear whatever I want when I work out! I am an individual!"

Well, thanks a lot, shit stains.

So this brings me to the problem. We're working out, and a man in his early 40's comes in, wearing jeans, loafers (yes, loafers), a short sleeve button-up off-white shirt, a yellow baseball hat, and glasses awesomely placed on the bill of the hat.
That asshole sits down and proceeds to hit the weight benches. He doesn't even bother to take the sunglasses off his head. He does a few reps, rests. A few more reps, rests.

I swear to God, this man's actions single-handedly threw off the entire workout solar system. It was the equivalent of me showing up to a board room meeting in spandex and expecting things to get done. It just won't happen. People were staring at him the entire time, and what's even worse? He's there for a total of 15 minutes max. It was if his workout was something he did just for shits and giggles while he waited for Domino's to make his pizza next door.

Gawd, this was the most pointless blog ever. But it gets worse. Just wait for part 2 in my continuing Douchebag series.

This is why I'm hot

2007-08-29T15:25:00.000-05:00

Q: What did 50 Cent say to his Grandma after she made him a sweater?

A: Gee, you knit?

It's Go Time.

2007-08-29T10:28:00.000-05:00

Gunrack and I decided to start looking for a new gym to join. Currently, she attends the ladies only gym. I guess they only play Lifetime movies on the TV's and blast Alanis Morissette ballads throughout the facility.....or something. Anyway, she wanted to move on and find someplace where we could work out together and make fun of people in a casual environment, with no contracts.

We had noticed a gym at 51st & Lewis for quite some time. It's close to the house, and conveniently located next to a liquor store. It would be wrong not to join. Now....before we made the call to tour the gym, we had no expectations of it being a state-of-the-art facility.......

I mean, it's located between a liquor store and a Domino's pizza. The sign out front was designed by a cashier-in-training at Kinko's, and the parking lot was empty practically 23 hours of the day.

But we decided to give it a tour regardless. We were looking for "plain vanilla" in our gym.

Gunrack called, and who answers the phone? Why, Dr. Frank.

Who is Dr. Frank? Why, he's the owner of the gym......it says so on the sign. We assumed he couldn't get away with just giving himself a "Dr." label, like Dr. Teeth from the Muppet Show, so he must be a doctor of lats or delts, or something.

We started panicking. We now believed Dr. Frank was some sort of combination of the following.......

PLUS

PLUS

EQUALS:

DR. FRANK, baddest motherfucker on the planet.

So we put away ours fears, and went to visit the gym. As the good Doctor was giving us a tour of the facility..........

He informed us that he was actually the holder of a Doctorate, was retired from teaching, and a former bodybuilding champion in Texas in the 70's.

He's 60, looks about 34, has a beard that would choke Chuck Norris, was wearing a black t-shirt with cut-off sleeves (duh) and his weight lifting gloves. He meant business, and he will break your dick off if you cross him.

Obviously, our only choice was to join. We start tonight. Look for Schwarzenegger to be presenting us with medals soon................................................'cause it's go time.

Jermaine? present. Brit? present.

2007-08-27T14:15:00.000-05:00

Flight of the Conchords. It's on HBO on Sunday nights. The season finale happens, (or happened) September 2nd. It will be on again next season. I don't normally whore out television shows like some kind of sad, little man, but it's Monday, and I don't have much to work on at my job.

This show is funnier than you are.

It's funnier than your dumb blog.

It's definitely funnier than my dumb blog.

Here are my favorite songs. Thanks, YouTube. You make life special.

A Priest, a Minister, and a Rabbi walk into a bar...

2007-08-27T13:48:00.000-05:00

The Priest turns to the Minister and says, "Hey, Gunrack and Cruiseship need to find an officiant for their wedding." Just then, the Rabbi looks at both of them and says, "Whatever, dudes. We're too normal for Gunrack. Shalom."

And so, we're in the process of searching for someone to preside over the wedding of the year for 2008. Gunrack was raised of the Catholic faith, but grew a little tired of it all. Myself (Cruiseship) grew up forced to attend a Baptist Church, which taught me that I don't want to be there, oh and Jesus loves the little children. Without getting too preachy about it all, point is, we're not Churchy people, to each his own.........but we're looking for someone middle of the road.

First up: Tamara. She was a groovy officiant. She presided over the good people of All Souls. Good times. She would have worked perfectly and all would have been well. Except, she had a prior engagement, so.............the search continues. Gunrack wants something a little different. This is where things just got out of hand..........

We think we've narrowed it down. We each have our own view of who we want to officiate this blessed event............

Gunrack has her choices............

Contestant number 1:

Contestant number 2:

Contestant number 3:

While Cruiseship has his own vision of beauty......

Contestant number 4:

Contestant number 5:

Contestant number 6:

ugh..............we're still looking

Good Response

2007-08-16T15:01:00.000-05:00

Background of the man: I work with this older guy, who's kind of an all-around ass sometimes and a perfect example of a crotchety old man. He's very set in his ways and doesn't like change. He's very knowledgeable in his work, so this gives him the free pass to be knowledgeable in every aspect of your life, as well. He says things that come out of nowhere. He'll start a conversation with you and tell you some bit of unimportant information, and when you try to respond to be polite, he walks away. He never ceases to amaze me in the ways he's just strange.

Background of the situation: If you refer to my blog entitled, "Your Tax Dollars at Work," you'll read about the horror that is known as Airport House Inspections. The crotchety old guy assists me in doing these Airport house inspections one or two days out the weeks we do them. When we do them, we wear the fanciest khaki slacks that money can buy, rugged shoes for sludging through poor people's shit, and light blue polo shirts with a fancy little "Quieter Home" embroidered logo. The uniform really is just one step above working at Hot Dog on a Stick. At least there, you get free corn dogs.

Today: Crotchety Old Man walks down to my desk to give me something. He's wearing his Airport House Inspection uniform. We haven't inspected houses since last April. In a normal world, there is no reason for him to be wearing this shirt.

Our conversation:
Me: So, why are you wearing your C&S shirt today?
Crotchety Old Man: Well......it's a shirt, isn't it?
Me: Hmm....touché.

End of story.

...It was like Country Kitchen had shut down*

2007-08-13T14:28:00.000-05:00

Gunrack and I went out to the local Cheddar's restaurant with our pal, Bass Player yesterday. As we were waiting patiently to be seated, a cute little old lady was escorted through the door in a wheelchair. Nothing was thought of it, and we continued to wait. Ten minutes later, another old lady was pushed through the door in a new, updated wheelchair. This seemed a little odd at first, but I brushed it off. 30 seconds later, a dude crashes through the door in a Hoveround. This is when things got scary.

I've been to stores where one handicapped spot was occupied, but it's pretty rare that two spaces are occupied, let alone the entire handicapped section. This is what it felt like. I'm not sure if there's really a point to this story, but things get a little odd when 3 people, all sporting various stages of wheelchair equipment through the ages, come barreling through a door, all wanting to eat Cheddar's at the same time.

It was obvious the oldest lady was ready to chow down. When they finally called Gunrack's name (party of 3), I guess the old lady was also named Gunrack (which is weird, because Gunrack is just a fictitious name for this blog! What are the odds!) So she pushed her little Hoveround through the crowds with the intention of sitting down immediately, because I guess she assumed that everyone else in the lobby just wanted to wait. Well, she got shut out.....and we never saw the great wheelchair trio ever again. I hear they're somewhere celebrating this very moment.

This blog entry had no purpose, and after looking back on it, it was pretty unnecessary. Well, get used to it. I have a feeling there will be countless entries in the future that will make this one Pulitzer Prize-worthy.

*If you've never seen the South Park episode, "Grey Dawn", don't bother asking what Country Kitchen is.

Bort. Bort. Bort.

2007-08-06T13:10:00.000-05:00

Last Night's Conversation

2007-08-06T11:11:00.000-05:00

Gunrack: I would love to go to London for our Honeymoon

Cruiseship: Well, why don't we.

Gunrack: How do they feel about Americans there? Do they hate us?

Cruiseship: They speak English over there.

Gunrack: No, but how do they feel about Americans? We're not very well received in most parts of the world.

Gunrack: You know, we are FROM there. If they tell us to go home, we'll say, "already there."

Another typical night at home................

QUIZ TIME: Shakespeare....or Peaches?

2007-08-02T10:51:00.000-05:00

It's time for a game. You may or may not know who Peaches is. She's a cutting-edge, electro-punk with a knack for creating some of the classiest lyrics ever put to vinyl. William Shakespeare was an English poet and playwright. Shakespeare is widely regarded as one of the greatest writers of the English language. But that's just because not enough people have given Peaches a chance.

So it's time for you to decide who the greater author is: Shakespeare......or Peaches.
Take your time.

"But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun."
"Come diddle my skittle ‘cause there’s only one peach with the hole in the middle."

"Then must you speak of One that lov'd not wisely but too well."
"C'mon baby and shake that thing you make my panties go ping."

"So wise so young, they say do never live long.
"The tent so big in your pants, baby."

"O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!"
"Just one thing I can't compromise, I wanna see you work it guy on guy."

"The quality of mercy is not strain'd. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath."
"Thumb up fingers out, pull back, pull back. Gotta rock the shocker, rock the shocker."

"We that are true lovers run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly."
"Slippery dick. It's just a fish in the Atlantic."

For more information on Peaches, consult your local library.

Early Christmas Wishlist

2007-08-01T11:23:00.000-05:00

A.) I'd really enjoy this for Christmas, because nothing says the birth of Jesus like poppin' and lockin'.

and

B.) Was there ever a time when Alfonso Ribeiro wasn't awesome?

Your tax dollars at work, part 2.

2007-07-31T08:17:00.001-05:00

Ahhhhhhhh......North Tulsa.

Ahhhhhhhh......Hoarders.

Ahhhhhhhh......Sonofabitch. Here we go again.

During the last run of Airport houses completed (see below), we encountered some of the most amazing homes that Tulsa would have to offer. It rivaled the Parade of Homes tours of South Tulsa. After we finished discussing the lavish architecture and art deco design styles with Home & Garden television, we had to get back to work documenting these estates. I now present to you our documentation, and why I hate everyone when I assess these homes.

Front of home.......nothing too exciting, grass is moderately available, fairly clean porch.

and then we move to the inside of home......

You can never have too many rolls of paper towels. It's true.

Room to sleep? Screw you! I live in North Tulsa! I'll sleep when I'm dead. rock and roll.

If you look closely, you'll notice a hospital bed to the left behind the door. Yeah, that's a bed for the patriarch of the family. No one bothered to tell me he was there, so I didn't want to alarm him by taking a photo. Then, of course, son tells me he's a vegetable, so he wouldn't even know if I was in there. That's great, son. Way to step up to the plate for father and make sure he's living out his final hours in a sterile, clean environment.

Nothing says personal safety like exposed wiring in above a sink, next to the shower. You could have put me an airplane with 27 passengers who all have severe tuberculosis and I would have felt safer than I did in that bathroom. Until I witnessed the spectacle that was to follow in the next house...............................to be continued.

Electric Boogaloo

2007-07-24T07:45:00.001-05:00

Even today, this is so true........

Your tax dollars at work, part 1

2007-07-19T14:52:00.000-05:00

So, this is something people have requested for quite a while. People on the street will say, "Con Dornelius, tell us some stories about working in the Airport houses." I always say, ehhhhh, I'll just write a blog about it." Then I put off doing it, but dammit if the day hasn't arrived.

The back story of what "Airport Houses" are:
Our company was hired by the Airport Authority to act as architects for a program that goes in and assesses the homes immediately around the Airport, then provides them with new windows, doors, A/C, etc. The purpose is to make the homes quieter for overhead airplane noise. The name of this program? Why, The QuieterHome Program. Well, when we took on the job, we were under the impression that we would be designing some of the new details going into these homes. But instead, because life is a kick in the genitals sometimes, we actually have to have a "representative" from our company go out and help assess the homes. Each house for an hour and a half, 12 hour days, for 1 week.

So, somehow, the work fell solely on myself and another individual in the office. How this happened, I'm still not sure. This little task is fairly simple, and would be a nice change of pace and a break from office life. It's not. The entire neighborhood is a festering bowl of dog snot. If you happen to stumble across this blog and are reading this and live in that neighborhood, then fuck you. Fuck you for possibly giving me SARS while I have to tread through your filthy house. If you live in that neighborhood and have a tidy home, then fuck you for staying in the neighborhood and not allowing it to be bulldozed.

I could devote an entire blog in itself to these shitholes, but since I'm not assessing any more homes for a while (it's the off-season), I'll start out with some nice examples of why I'm a grumpy bitch during "Airport House Week" and why my Gun Rack hates me when I tell her it's time for another round.

1.)

Now, I'm not a holy man, but I am a man who believes in freedom of speech. And I say, why NOT remind the world of the awesome power of Jesus with a little Sherwin Williams Midnight Blue #R5489 on your garage door. If you look closely, you'll notice they originally chose "Jesus Loves You", but decided later to go with the obviously more powerful JESUS IS LORD. Wise choice, my fellow American. I'm assuming the blue paint represents where they tried to paint over the door, but the sheer power of Jesus' love prevented the door from being painted.

2).

What? Why, it IS the same home. That message was obviously intended for their devilish mailman always trying to preach his hate on "Coupon Wednesdays"

3).

We move on to a pretty typical bathroom. These homes are older, thus have smaller closets. We take for granted where we live that we have closet space to store our children's toys and don't have to keep them in the sink. Plus, it's easier to store them there when you haven't needed the sink to brush your teeth since 1963.

4).

What is love? What is this longing in our hearts for togetherness? Is it not the sweetest flower? Does not this flower of love have the fragrant aroma of fine, fine diamonds? Does not the wind love the dirt? Is not love not unlike the unlikely not it is unlikened to? Are you with someone tonight? Do not question your love. Take your lover by the hand. Release the power within yourself. Your heard me, release the power. Tame the wild cosmos with a whisper. Conquer heaven with one intimate caress. That's right don't be shy. Whip out everything you got and do it in the butt.

5).

Yes, this room consisted of nothing more than a bed with no sheets, and the 2 complete recent newspapers pictured. And by recent, I am referring to 1998. Yes, the home was owned by an old man who probably eat his own poop, so I guess I'll give him a break. Still............I'm dying for an explanation.

6).

I don't have much of a story behind this, but come on, who wouldn't want this in the living room. It would look pretty sweet above the 8-track hi-fi stereophonic system, plus, it would always remind me to stay groovy.

Dammit, I hate that neighborhood.

Part Viking, All Man, part 2

2007-07-19T14:43:00.000-05:00

Thorr told our receptionist the other day that once a cat the size of a medium sized dog had kittens in his sock drawer. Then goes on to describe the size of the cat with what we feel is a small amount of bullshit. Unless, of course, the cat was a cougar. And by sock drawer, he meant jungle, because no house cat is the size of what he recreated by stretching his arms out to such length.

2007-07-19T09:09:00.000-05:00

DOGS AND BEES CAN SMELL FEAR!

Part Viking, All Man, part 1

2007-07-17T11:06:00.000-05:00

Every so often, a guy I work with likes to give us little tidbits of information about his personal upbringing and life outside the office. For the purposes of these stories, he shall remain anonymous. Wait, no, scratch that. We'll call him Thorr. (I'll explain later.) At first, the musings were disturbing and scary, but they've become something that I look forward to more than Christmas..

A little background: He started with the company 4 years ago. He's still a pretty young guy compared to the overall workforce, but he's a "been there, done that" sort of fella. So, at first, that mentality almost had him caring for broken limbs at the hands of his coworkers, but over time, we've come to realize he truly embodies what it is to be a hipster doofus, well, minus the hipster part. He's had trouble over the years distinguishing between jokes and when someone is serious, so even my employers enjoying fucking with him.

So after the first year of reminding us how wealthy his wife's family is, or how wealthy his father is, we started learning that our lives were happier when we could fuck with him.

When Thorr was born: His musings were mundane for a good year, and then one day, with a single sentence, brilliance was born, and our office has never been the same since. I can't even remember what the discussion was, but he informed our receptionist that he is part Viking. Not that he is of Scandinavian descent, or his relatives were from the North, but that he is PART VIKING.

First, this is astonishing, because I had been under the impression that the Vikings died out somewhere around 1066.........but they did not. They are living in the Midwest. Also, I was under the crazy impression that the Vikings were a group, not a race or ethnicity. This is the equivalent of me saying I am part Lion's Club, because my grandfather was a member.

So, as Thorr spins me his tales of yore, I will relay them to you, as a gift. May you never stop pillaging, sweet Thorr.

An Open letter to James Blunt

2007-07-17T11:01:00.000-05:00

An open letter to James Blunt,

Dear Mr. Blunt,
Please stop.

I understand that in this topsy turvy world, life is not what it once was. 20 years ago, life was simple and blissful. Def Leppard sang of confections being poured on themselves, George Michael sang of desiring faith in himself, and Whitney Houston sang of dancing with somebody who loves her.

Then 10 years later, life became a little more complicated and yes, we all noticed ourselves becoming less happy. No Doubt didn't want anyone to speak, Madonna did not want Argentina to cry for her, and Puff Daddy reminded us all that he'll be missing us.

Now, here we are in 2007, and it's very apparent that life is not a big carnival anymore. Violence is rampant everywhere, our economy is an up and down cycle, and we are all just trying to find something to smile at daily. But Mr. Blunt, you are a total Debbie Downer. Your ability to make me want to slit my wrist everytime you sing has reached it's zenith. Enough is enough.

Mr. Blunt, your tepid ballads totally drown the sunshine in our lives.

You sir, are a total buzzkill.

So consider this a cease and desist letter. Please, for once, try singing about kicking it like Tai-Bo, and hoping your girlfriend was a freak like me. Because right now, you're not helping, broseph.

Sincerely,
Planet Earth.