Saturday, February 7, 2009

We All Float Down Here



I seriously feel like I'm about to cry. I've always been frightened of clowns, and it didn't help to read Stephen King's It when I was 11. I love zombie movies, and I was excited to watch George A. Romero's latest contribution to horror film: Diary Of The Dead. The main characters found a tape at some dead people's house which contained footage of a little girl's birthday party. Yay! Happy fun unicorn sunshine rainbow time! Then a fucking clown comes "shambling" from the house. The dad tries to honk his big red nose, but it bloodily breaks off. Then zombie clown attacks. Great. Now I have to watch out for zombie clowns. Not only do I have to be on the lookout for the Boogeyman, Blacula, and Tyra Banks, but now I must add zombie clowns to the list. Thanks, asshole.

Response-ability

Note:
When used as a verb, spook can mean to notice, to spot, to discern, or to find out:

Person A) I'm hungry.
Person B) I spooked a McDonald's a few blocks back, if you want to go there, fatty.

The adjective unspookable refers to something's ability to pass without notice or as normal. Therefore unspookable trannies are transgendered individuals who can pass as the sex to which they were not born. Like Vivica Fox.


In response to Julianna's comment on Ho Stroll:


Julianna said...
Sadly (happily?) I have seen this show. I'm still mystified by how few Honolulu johns apparently figure it out.


I don't get it either! I fucking know a tranny when I see one. I thought everyone had such keen trandar, but I guess that's not the case.



Here's a great case of unspookable trannies:
The Most Disturbing Conversation Ever

Gambling's Bad, Mmmkay?



I haven't been lazy, just responsible. I have an important exam next month, so there will probably be some light posting days between now and then. But just like a woman's period, there could be some heavy flow days. And my vagina is ALWAYS wide-set.






I'll just share a story for now.


The Casino Debacle

It started as a normal night for Rex and me. We hung out at a local bar for a while, but we didn't really want to end the night when it closed. We went to a late-night bar that was open until 4 a.m. Let me tell you my look for the evening. The important components were my shirt and scarf. There were tight jeans, but forget about them. I was wearing a brown button-up long sleeve shirt with embroidered pockets on the titties in a western style. My scarf was silk with a multitude of colors in a zebra pattern on a navy background [read: GAAAAAAAAAAAAY]. I had it tied Boy Scout style. Rex kept asking the waitress if I looked like a gay cowboy or a gay boy scout. I would have accepted either answer. We met a funny guy in business attire whom I thought was named Kingston, but he kept correcting me. He was from Hong Kong and had an awesome accent, but I never did catch his real first name, although his last name was Kok, so that was cool. We "made friends" with about 4 random people and some douchebag who was following all of us. He kept talking about how rich he was. I disliked him instantly, and he proved throughout the next few hours that he had no redeeming qualities.

Four a.m. rolled around sooner than we thought, and we found ourselves out on the sidewalk chatting with our new friends. Someone commented that we should go to a casino. Okay. What? Before I could even process everything, we were in a cab heading to East Chicago (although I think it's technically Indiana). I hate gambling, but I figured we'd have fun anyway. That douchebag Richie Rich was not invited, but he decided he really wanted to gamble too, so he hopped in another cab with the two guys who didn't fit in ours. Rex and this girl were groping in the backseat with me right next to them, and I was over it already. Dude in the front seat was on the phone with his friends who got stuck with Richie. Apparently Richie had vomited out the window and was now trying to lie down across the backseat. We were a rather motley crew.

At the first casino we got to, Richie got to the front of our crew, and the guy checking IDs said he was too drunk to enter. Because he had arrived with us, this restriction extended to all of us as well. Richie blew up and started yelling that he could "buy this fucking place!" We decided to just go to another casino, so we told him where we were going. We lied. We said we'd meet him there. He made a phone call, and a Mercedes came to pick him up five minutes afterward. I don't really know what that was all about, but we lost him.

We got into the next casino and split up. The guys went to play poker, and Rex, the girl, and I went to the blackjack tables. The girl disappeared soon afterward, and we knew we'd just get home by ourselves. Here's the thing: we didn't exactly plan the evening, so we had only cash on us and no credit cards, etc. We played blackjack, and I quickly ran out of money, so Rex had me bet with his pot. I was betting the minimum, and he was betting anywhere from $25 to $100.

We were having a great time. We were up and down and all that. I eventually stopped playing because I hate losing money on gambling. I once played blackjack in Tahoe and stopped after I made $13. I told Rex to put aside one of his $100 chips so we would have enough to get home, since he had converted all his cash to chips, and I was out. I walked around for a little while, and when I returned, Rex was getting up from the table. At one point he was up $2,000, but now he had lost everything.

Fine, I thought, let's just go the fuck home. What are we doing here anyway? We looked around for the people we came with, but they must have left already. We made our way to the lobby and prepared to get a cab. "Wait," I said, "did you cash in the chip already?"
"Oh fuck."
We were stranded in fucking nowhere, Indiana with no money and no one to call. I don't even know that many people in Chicago with cars, and no one I could call at 10:00 a.m. in the middle of the week to pick my ass up in another state.

We somehow started talking to a black woman in the lobby also appeared to be waiting. Girl was fully pressed--hair, nails, everything. . . fanny pack. She was waiting for her sister or someone to pick her up and take her back to Chicago! Not far from where we were going, assuming she was telling the truth. We told her our plight and begged her for a ride. I could tell she was seriously considering it, and I was giving her sad puppy face.

At one point in the begging process, I stuck my hands in my back pockets, and I felt papery material. Could it be? Yes! I had been sticking change from getting drinks back there all night. It came to about $40, enough for the up-front payment to get a cab to take us to Chicago. Perfect, see you later, Keisha (not a joke). Rex said he had money at home, so we could pay the driver when we got there.

We slept in the back until we arrived at Rex's condo. He told the driver he'd be right back with his money, and the driver was extremely skeptical and insisted that I stay with him along with Rex's ID. Fine. Rex headed around the corner and into his building, and I waited in the car. It was taking forever, and I started to get nervous. Did he just ditch me? I got out of the car, and the driver started freaking out. I told I wasn't going anywhere, but I wasn't into feeling like a hostage. After a total of 15 minutes, I felt compelled to do something. When the driver was looking away, I bolted around the corner and up to Rex's door. He was in there frantically looking around, looking majorly confused. I asked, "well? What's the deal?" Apparently he thought he had more cash at home, but he must have taken everything to the casino. I suggested just going to an ATM, and he said that's all he has until next week. Fuck.

Then there was a knock on the door, and we looked at each other like, "oh shit." It was the doorman with Rex's ID saying there was cab driver downstairs who still needed to be paid. Rex said he'd be right down. Somehow he remember that he had a giant bowl of change in a drawer next to his Taser[1]. He straight up took the whole bowl down to the cabbie, and I was like, "okay, hope to see you soon." Sure enough he reappeared after a couple minutes as the driver had accepted the payment. When you have even a small bowl of change, the cash value is surprisingly larger than you might think. A bowl that size probably held around $80 or $90. The driver made his money plus a huge tip. . . albeit mostly in change.

I promised myself I would never go back to Indiana unless I absolutely had to. You never know--book tour, assassination attempt, etc. We collapsed and took a well-deserved nap. I was never happier to see Barack Obama than that moment.


[1]-Rex kept a taser in a drawer at his condo. I saw it one day asked, "what the fuck is with this?" He said he used to get wasted with his friends, and they'd shock each other with it. Nice. He pointed it at me and grinned, "wanna try it?" I said, "nooooooo!!! Get that the fuck away from me! I could die!" Maybe, maybe not. When I was in peak athletic shape, I had an abnormal ECG, and they wanted me to come back for an echocardiogram, basically an ultrasound of the heart. I never did. Sometimes I worry I might just drop dead of some heart condition unknown to me. Oh well, I think I'll go eat five pounds of bacon and sugar, smoke 20 cigarettes at once, and be generally sedentary. Beetus & heart probs, here I come!