incredible flesh eating super-virus

This happened a long time ago but I think you deserve to hear it. I was at work one day and a guy got a steak. When I brought it to him it was a little undercooked so I took it back to the kitchen to get it cooked-up. When I approached the table to make sure that everything else was ok he looked at me and said, "Man, did you see that steak? It was all pink in the middle. What, you tryin' to give me E-Boli or something." I know what E-Coli is. I know what Ebola is. But what the hell is E-Boli-some sort of super-virus? I thought that was funny.
There was another time when I told a woman about five times that our ribs were pork ribs and not beef ribs. When they went out to the table she felt like they were a little undercooked. She asked me to get her some others. She looked at me with a straight face and said, "I don't want to get MAD Cow Disease." I was amazed. It's called MAD (Cow) Disease, and yet I told her that they were pork ribs.
There are a few other questions that I just love. Like when I say, "our lobster tails are five ounces." and then I get, "How big is that"? Shit, I don't know. It's five ounces. I don't know any other way to describe it. Another good one is, "would you like the 7 ounce or the 9 ounce filet?" They I get, "What's the difference?" The funny thing is that I get both of those questions at least once or twice a week without fail.

"Go to hell, please."

People are funny. They think they can be rude to you as long as they say please afterwards. I was at work and I was in somebody's way, I guess. Instead of saying, "excuse me", or "can I get right there, please", they said, "GET THE HELL OUTTA MY WAY, PLEASE!!!!!!" Yelling doesn't really work for me-even if you say please. I'm a grown ass man. My Mom doesn't even yell at me, so why do you suppose I'm going to allow you to yell at me? It's not going to work. In fact, it's counteractive. If you yell at me it's only going to make me do the opposite of what you asked. Naturally, I didn't move at all. In fact, I got finished with what I was doing and stood there just to bother her. I just don't understand how you think you can yell at somebody and think they're going to do what you said because you finished the sentence with please.

booty to booty contact

I'm just going to keep it real. There is no reason, whether it be male to female, male to male, or female to female, for booty to booty contact. Have you ever been laying in bed with someone sans clothing and you're back to back and your booties touch? You probably have-and it probably gave you a cold chill down your spine. At least that's what it does to me. It's like the same feeling you get when you touch something that's wet and you don't know what it is. You almost cringe. It's not a homosexual thing, either. I don't mind my booty being touched. I think it's that the distinct texture and make-up of the booty skin is not meant to be touched by the distinct texture of another's booty skin. It's a tactile thing, I guess. Maybe it has something to do with the nerves or something. All I know is that feeling somebody elses booty rubbing up against mine gives me the no feeling.

fighting on the schoolbus

I thought this was a cool picture. I've always wanted to take a picture of wha't in my rearview mirror. It turns out that it was a schoolbus. That reminds me of the first fight I got into. i was on kind of a bully in middle school. I was on the bus flicking the ear of the guy in front of me. Eventually he got tired of it and ripped my shirt. This wasn't just a shirt. It was my nice shirt. I only had one, and it was Polo. We got off at the same stop and he saw the look on my face and took off running. I ran him down and gave him a pretty good whoopin' and sent him on his way. He walked down the street and told his sister what I did. His sister was one of those Goth girls. It was a little before the term Goth got big though. I didn't know what to think about her. I just knew that she had the potential to be a serial killer. She had black hair that contrasted her pasty complexion and a tattoo of a scarab on her ankle. I think she had just about every square inch of her ears pierced. The only thing she ever wore was black band t-shirts and she was also about four or five years older than me. Needless to say I was afriad of her. She said words to me that I may never forget. "If you ever touch my brother again I will cut you up with a chainsaw while you sleep." I never touched the kid again.

how's my driving?

I love these little signs on the backs of trucks. Do they really want you to call or is it just a disclaimer so that they dont' get in trouble? I bet you just get a recording or a machine. Sometimes I am tempted to call them just so I can make up some elaborate story as to how bad this person was driving. How much weight can my story really hold? It's not like they're going to fire the guy because I said he ran a red light?

BALLIN' (on a budget)

I don't know if you can see this in the picture, but as usual, my gastank is on empty. There's really no joke here. Honestly, I only put about ten dollars of gas in my tank at a time. The other day I told somebody that and they were telling me that it is more cost effective to fill your tank up all at once. See, the thing is, I don't have the money for that. I put in my tank what I can spare (and by spare I mean change). I've literally counted change to see how much gas I can put in my car.
I think I'm going to make a rap video. Instead of calling it Ballin' I think I'm going to call it Ballin' On a Budget. It's going to feature Bobby Brown and maybe Keith Murray (I know your remember him) and some other old-school down-on-their-luck rap stars. The video will be complete with four door coups and hatchbacks. Instead of Moet and Belvedere we're going to have those mini bottles of champagne, empty of course, and Popov Vodka in the indiscriminate glass bottle. Maybe we'll get the guy across the street to direct and produce it. I don't think he's ever filmed anything before, but he does have a pretty cool handicam.

there is a God

The fair Dogwood tree. Our beautiful state tree. I actually do think that they are really pretty-especially when they are in bloom. There is, however, one thing (and by one I mean a couple) that I can't stand about it. The Dogwood tree is by far one of the smelliest things I've ever. It has a very repugnant odor. It's kinda like a mix between sweaty socks and armpit. When you get a couple of them together it smells like a herd of skunks (I don't know if skunks really have herds). Horrible. Also, like most trees, they're only pretty for about half the year. The rest of the time it's just a conglomeration of dry sticks and twigs. In my mind, it's one of the ugliest trees when not in bloom. It's all skinny and dry-looking. Kinda sad. And last, but not least, is the fact that when these trees are in bloom they leave the little leaves strewn all over the place. They get on the ground, in your car, on your clothes and anywhere else you could possibly think of. It's a little overwhelming-especially since the tree is everywhere so you can't escape the little white bloomy-things.
This tree, to me, is the perfect example of how nothing is perfect and that there is a God. You can't have it all. So while dogwood trees are very pretty, they are also smelly, annoying and only good looking sometimes. It's kinda like having a girlfriend or boyfriend. Yes, Brad Pitt may be hot, but he may just have smelly breath. Salma Hayek may have ugly feet or something. You never know. Just be happy with yourself and what God gave you. You can't spell Dogwood withough God. Maybe this little tree is trying to tell us something. Haha.