I love...lamp.
Let's see, what to talk about today... I have several things on my rant list at the moment and its tough to choose what most deserves a verbal beating.
Oh, before i begin: If anyone has been with me since the inception of this blog you might recall that i at one point was planning to run a marathon in July. Just so you know this did not happen. Three weeks or so from the event i tore a tendon in my knee. Not one of the important kind of tears that requires surgury but rather a small tear that doesn't cause much discomfort unless you run on it, and even then nothing too bad until around mile six or seven at which point the knee actually lets out an audible scream and bursts into orange flames of searing pain. Mile six of a twelve mile run means you are actually as far as you can possibly be from starting point, also known as your car. As I patted the flames out on my knee I realized that I was effectively stranded six miles from my car. I further realized that I was standing under a bridge in downtown Durham...
Hmm, what a lucky coincidence for all my dear reader: this actually reminds me of an old rant originating from around this time period. See, I told this story to one of my yankee friends, and expressed that I was a just the tiniest bit concerned for my safety at this point. He scoffed at the idea. He actually scoffed at me. At me! After all this is the south, right? Listen, my situation may not sound scary to you if you are some sort of hard core yankee who looks down your nose at the south and our feeble little cities and acts like we don't have any clue what we are talking about when we suggest that crime in any form could take place south of the Mason-Dixon and North of Atlanta. "Youse guys don't know what crime is like, back home youse'd catch a wicked beatin fa givin' a guy a sideways look." Well good for you. We can only hope that one day we can aspire to such lofty heights of crapdom. Let me be the first to invite you to hop in your "cah" and head back north on the same road that brought you down here and prove your point by getting shot in your dirty cesspool of an overcrowded-crimefest city. Munch my butt you condescending twit. I didn't say I was scared to walk through Durham. I said I was concerned about limping through known gang turf with a bum knee wearing nothing but soccer shorts, shoes and $200 dollar mp3 player. What a tool.
And another thing...next time I have a dirty yankee correct me on my pronunciation of the word "pen" I am going to give them a backflip-kick straight to the scrotum. I may pronounce it like "pin" but so do most other people from NORTH CAROLINA, THE STATE YOU ARE CURRENTLY RESIDING IN. It's called an accent. You have one too. Act like you have more than a ball of pubes for a brain. Regardless of my pronunciation let me assure you I can discern between the thing I write with, the sharp thing you stick in a pincushion, and the thing they keep your mother in at the zoo. If I go to New York or Chicago or Bahstan, then yes, compared to you I will sound strange. But down here you sound like the box of douche, not me.
posted by Bosephus Jamiroquai @ 1:33 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home