Tag: LAs Vegas

Carmen’s Banana Cooking Episode #41

Welcome to Today’s FYB Post featuring CARMEN’S BANANA COOKING EPISODE #41. Carmen’s Banana Cooking Show  Aired on Austin Community  Television (Public Access) on Channel 10 on Fridays at 10pm from 1984 until 1992. Carmen would Cook Up Banana Dishes, Showcase Local Talent, and Go on Countless 80’s Austin Adventures. The Show’s Viewing Audience was Comprised of Actual Real Fans as well as Those Who were Fans of the Surreal Absurd fucking Freak Show Factor. The Show was Recently Rescued and Restored Carmen’s Banana Cooking is Streaming for Free On Youtube, and it has an Official Website. Also an Interesting Fact is Every Single Episode of Carmen’s Banana Cooking Show was Produced by Steven David Video.

The Host is a Ugly motherfucker in Wannabe Chiquita Banana Drag with Prosthetics (But remember They weren’t like the Prosthetics used in TV and Film Today. Take for Example Carmen’s Massive Quadruple DD Tits that were made from fucking Paper Mache for fucks sake), and the Finest fucking Dollar Store Wig Available. Carmen is Also Adorned with some Seriously fucking Tacky Banana Gimmick that looks like Some shit You’d buy for a fucking Halloween Costume. As for Carmen’s Make Up it Looks like a Piece of fucking Trailer Park Dwelling Piece of White Trash hooked up with a fucking Las Vegas Meth Addicted $2 Hooker and had a fucking Kid. Also We must fucking Warn You that at the Beginning Carmen Sings some Old Ass Love Song and Sings it HORRIBLY that it makes American Idol Rejects look Talented.

          

Episode Synopsis: First and Foremost the Show has Insanely Shitty Production Value and is EXTREMELY fucking Low Quality as it fucking gets. As We just Mentioned Above the Show Starts with Carmen Murdering the fuck Out of some Back in the Day Love Song. Then Carmen’s Big Sister Karma Stops by for some Utterly Unknown Reason. Karma then Dumps a Basket of what fucking else Bananas and Proceeds to Read Them like Some Sort of Shaman Mystic Medicine Man. Now it’s Not exactly Clear but it Seems that the Banana Basket Bullshit was to Confirm the Winner of the 1988 Election or at Least that’s what the Two Started Babbling About Almost Incoherently.

Our Favorite Line is when Carmen tells Her Sister as Her Sister is Leaving “We’ll Twist Up a few Banana Peels” Not too fucking Subtle Smoke Weed Much? FYI We Smoke Weed so We’re Not talking some Straight Edge Happy Horseshit. The Episode Ends by Transitioning from the Show’s Set to Some Asshole in Bed with Leopard Themed Pillows, Sheets, and Shit Wearing a Cheap Latex Mask (The Kind Used in the Human Doll Fetish). Now whoever the fuck it is or Supposed to be Doesn’t say a single fucking Word and Body Language is as if the Camera Man just Walked into Their Bedroom and Surprised Them so Their Acting all Shyly Taken Aback.

It is What it Is,

   Presented By Les Sober  

WITHDRAWALS OF THE MISUNDERSTOOD PART 1

Hey Spacedog here….

It’s been a while. There was not going to originally be a post until next week but I just decided yesterday that enough was enough. What is it that I am coming off of you ask?

Well first off, my absence from here is mostly pandemic related. Out of all the billions of individuals in the world, I am probably in the top 1% of people with insane paranoid reactions. Eventually though I kinda grew to like it. I got to wear a mask so no one would know who I was. I didn’t have to worry if suddenly after 8 years of grand mal seizures today would be the day and I’d go straight into the Delaware River on my way to my doctor’s office. And I didn’t have to have any house guests! I became the Maybelline Girl. Maybe she’s born with it maybe it’s Maybelline! I was born for this.

Anyway….

So I’ve got to say I have been quite a bit off about one thing I have been telling people recently. My sobriety date from alcohol…. I really thought I drank this year. Nope the receipts clearly show November 17, 2019. Not that the difference between that and February 1st really matters much to me. All I know is the last 3 times I drank were rum, beer, and sparkling seltzer in that order.  The rum tasted stale so I ended up dumping 4 ozs of a 14 oz bottle. The beer I ended up having to just toss after 5 of 12 because frankly it made me feel beyond shitty. As for the sparkling seltzer it was surprisingly good but actually still made me feel awful afterwards. Most of these manifestations I describe above were physical.

I sorta just quit. I did not need any bells and whistles or pats on the back. I kinda just did it on my own and it was mine and mine alone. No one could brag about how wonderful of a person they were to get me sober (while doing meth on the side, thanks AA Sponsor #6) or how they were so vital to my recovery (Here looking at you Sponsor #4, enjoy the oxys). Frankly I just did not care anymore. I guess I’m at day 275 or 276 or something for those who are counting. Frankly I’m not…..

So what is it I am coming off of right now? It’s nothing sexy or dangerous like meth or heroin or molly or crack or coke. Just some plain old cigarettes and coffee.

I can honestly say I feel entirely better than I thought I would at this point. I am a master at coming off of drugs, but sadly I am a bit rusty. I feel between all the antidepressants, heroin (several times), alcohol, and mood stabilizers I have been in this moment at least 30 different occasions before.

This occasion is really mild. The heroin was the worst by far but only when I was snorting it. I honestly only even got minor withdrawal no matter how much I shot. Alcohol I had about 2 Leaving Las Vegas spells in my 20s, but not really any withdrawal other than that.

The anti-depressants quite honestly to me were the biggest joke as well as the hardest legal drugs I have ever had to come off of. Depakote, lithium, effexor, paxil, prozac, seroquil, serzone. A laundry list of harm to me. Suicidal, emotionless, too much fake joy, sexless, mania, and winner winner chicken dinner homicidal respectively.

I seriously called poison control when it came to the Serzone. I kept thinking of what kind of knives my neighbors had and what it would be like to use them. And my nails look like I applied a bright coat of dark pink nail polish.  P Control literally had no idea how to help me with what was going on. I called my friend Seth on the phone a few minutes later and he informed me he was on that garbage and to have some milk. A minute later my nails returned to normal, my thoughts came back shortly after.

Honestly coffee was going to be a battle for next week to give up but as I settled in on my couch at home I smelled the faint scent of flowers. It was mostly roses but maybe some lavender or lilac. I usually get this when my spirit guide is nearby. Anyway so I figured I’d just go to bed. At 6pm.

Then woke up at 130 and started writing this blog. I think I wholeheartedly can say that 1:30AM is a shitty ass time to wake up. I suppose this would be the absolute perfect time to wake up if I were say a rapist. Boom sober, boom bar, boom victim and whatever else rapey people do in between. Spray themselves down with the most vile of scents. I’m sure there are nice smelling rapists but frankly none of my rapists were Glade Scent Stories inspired. Obscure reference I know…. glade scent stories were this little thing that looked like a CD Walkman and you put the CD in and it would through a few scents per CD.

Physically though I’m feeling pretty good all things considered. I was highly disappointed that I was not able to pick out any online courses last evening but if my path is less than 24 hours off I really shouldn’t let myself worry too much. I really am not missing the cigarettes a whole lot especially without that stupid nicotine patch making my arm itch like crazy.

Coffee…. well I’ve just been trying to find any and all negative information. All I know is it comes from a plant and well I am inching oh so close to the Carnivore Diet or something similar. I still haven’t felt right since I juiced kale, zucchini, brocolli and lime. It tasted terrible. Rape victim of the jolly Green Giant terrible. Threw up 30 minutes later and passed out for 2.5 hours after.

So coffee….wheeeeee….. I probably should have tapered off down to 1 cup a day before I quit but I’m always up for a bigger challenge and a better suffering at this point.  I’ve been drinking 3-5 cups a day for a few weeks. All this self imposed lockdown, this suffering, this absence of bliss will pay off in spades one day I tell myself.

I just don’t want to be half sober. I feel all of these people out there in Alcoholics Anonymous and all these other recovery programs are the biggest bunch of hypocrites on the planet. They are following around a plan based on 80 years of complete horseshit and pseudoscience. I guess I get it though. Most people are too weak and broken to get better on their own. They never seek their answers within and only rely on outside counsel. They drink coffee like fish, chain smoke like the marlboro man, and eat some of the worst cookies on the planet. Like seriously maybe I hadn’t been to a meeting in a while, but Chips Ahoy?

I see most of these people now for what they truly are. A bunch of dry drunks going around who like to preach to others because it gives them a sense of self importance. My way or the highway they say.

The absolute funniest thing about these people is they will engage you in normal conversation until you mention that you are not in AA. It’s like I single-handedly broke the matrix somehow. Seriously far more people get sober when not in this archaic broken program. The effectiveness is probably somewhere between aspirin between the knees and self baptism in your favorite local polluted body of water. I guess I shouldn’t knock anyone though it’s just frustrating.

I was put on this Earth to help others and sometimes I think the only way I am going to be able to do it is lie my teeth off. Sure I can lie my teeth off if I meet you somewhere by random chance….. like if I needed to come up with a BS story for my Grubhub driver or a grocery store clerk. When it comes to write though I don’t have that luxury. It’s just not in my blood. Brutal honesty or no writing. Only two options here.

But the moral of the story is it is only day 2 and day 1. cigarettes and coffee. It would be nice to be able to honestly just listen in to an AA meeting but I know I am not welcome at any. Well of course I am just not one meeting in particular I went to drunk because my wonderful sponsor #3 thought that Tori Amos concerts were going to somehow involve me shooting meth and going to circuit parties.

man I pick the winners! I seriously hope I don’t pick a husband as poorly one day as these sponsors. My award-winning sponsor picking is literally on par with Larry King and his fantastic wife picking. (I have no idea who any of his wives are, but I just assume if that many people would willing marry someone he either has a giant penis or a giant bank account) .

Gotta pick courses now will post tomorrow if I am not dead already.

By Spacedog

The F List Continues Baffling Its Creator

As I am sure even if they haven’t read it Readers are aware of two recent Posts Titled F to the U to the C to the K Parts 1 and 2. For those who may not be aware the original Post was a beyond basic “List” if you will of Fucks as in molded in the Fuck “That” format.

The 1st “List” as it were was only meant to be one singular post. Later after it was posted I slowly realized that I had forgotten a few things, and before I knew it I had another whole “Lists” worth of material.

At this point even My Dear Friend SpaceDog whom I have know more years than I can recall right now thought that had to be it.

And so did I.

We were Both Wrong.

The Cycle just reset itself and began once again spawning a 3rd and possibly final Fucks “List” (which is fucking Mind Boggling even for Me)

To say that these posts are not for f-yourblog curious Noobs. This only appeals to the small section of society that truly understand the “Lists”

No One  including Myself wouldn’t blame Anyone for skipping over this or the two prior “Lists” Not by a Long Shot. The One and Only SpaceDog Himself said reading the “Lists” made him feel and I quote “Dirty”

So for those Hardcore enough to withstand the Gruesome Grind I give you List Number 3 in the ongoing F to the U to the C to the K to the series.

The Fucks List Continues:

Fuck Tiny Houses. Fuck Waffle House. Fuck Tail Gating. Fuck the Illogical.

Fuck Colombo. Fuck Nursing Homes. Fuck Coal. Fuck Armed Conflicts.

Fuck Leaky Roofs. Fuck Head Colds. Fuck The Flu. Fuck Foot Notes.

Fuck Traffic Lights. Fuck Neighbors. Fuck Kenny G. Fuck Muzak.

Fuck Flutes. Fuck Ice Machines. Fuck Regulations. Fuck Teletubbies.

Fuck NPR. Fuck AM Radio. Fuck FM Radio. Fuck Satellite Radio.

Fuck Internet Radio. Fuck Chat Rooms. Fuck Shitty Tattoos.

Fuck Manic Panic. Fuck Body Piercing. Fuck Phil. Fuck Jail. Fuck Uniforms.

Fuck Fango. Fuck Fanta. Fuck Soy Milk. Fuck Coconut Water.

Fuck I Can’t Believe Its Not Butter. Fuck Substitutes. Fuck Tori Amos.

Fuck Mr. Brainwash. Fuck Cheap Toilet Paper. Fuck Hand Dryers.

Fuck Port-O-Pottys. Fuck Credit. Fuck Loans. Fuck PayDay Loans.

Fuck The Movie Ratings Board. Fuck Harmonicas. Fuck Loans.

Fuck Finances. Fuck Mortgages. Fuck Predatory Bank Loans. Fuck Loofas.

Fuck Body Spray. Fuck Spas. Fuck Unsolicited Advice. Fuck The Odds.

Fuck Playing It Safe. Fuck Droll Waiters/Waitresses. Fuck Last Call.

Fuck Spray Tans. Fuck Extensions. Fuck Push Up Bras.

Fuck Victoria’s Secret. Fuck Staring. Fuck Foreclosures.

Fuck Insider Trading. Fuck Slow Fast Food Service. Fuck Identity Theft.

Fuck Religious Conflicts. Fuck Home Schooling. Fuck Reunion Tours.

Fuck Being On The Spectrum. Fuck Quiet Riot. Fuck The Beetles. Fuck Yoko Ono.

Fuck Bob Dylan. Fuck The 70’s. Fuck The 90’s. Fuck Dull Knives.

Fuck Dog Racing. Fuck Horse Fighting. Fuck Coming Back Into Fashion.

Fuck Hair Salons. Fuck Sore Losers. Fuck Asshole Winners.

Fuck Dog Fighting. Fuck Gloating. Fuck Howie Mandel.

Fuck Condo Associations. Fuck Middle Men. Fuck People’s Core.

Fuck Hot Yoga. Fuck Carbs. Fuck So Called Upscale Shit. Fuck Cell Towers.

Fuck Dust Bunnies. Fuck Shedding. Fuck Speed Limits. Fuck Spite.

Fuck Malice. Fuck Re Runs. Fuck Whitening Strips. Fuck Date Rape.

Fuck Someone Loves Someone Reality Shows. Fuck The Bachelor.

Fuck The Pick Up Artist Mystery. Fuck Jeff Foxworthy.

Fuck Larry The Cable Guy. Fuck Kevin Hart. Fuck Cialis. Fuck Zoos.

Fuck The Weinstein Brothers. Fuck Beard Art. Fuck Dog Shows.

Fuck Chris Jericho. Fuck Zack Saber JR. Fuck Deep Fried Butter.

Fuck Vince Vaughn. Fuck Decaf. Fuck Papa Johns. Fuck Bell Bottoms.

Fuck Kiss. Fuck Lowe’s. Fuck Property tax. Fuck Non Caffeinated Soda.

Fuck Tim Allin. Fuck Ray Romano. Fuck Jazz. Fuck Noise Bands.

Fuck Synthesizers. Fuck Drum Machines. Fuck Unauthorized Bios.

Fuck Korn. Fuck Morrissey. Fuck Slutever. Fuck Humiliation. Fuck BP.

Fuck Second Rate Sushi. Fuck Tex Mex. Fuck Fusion Restaurants.

Fuck The Cost Of Living. Fuck Maritime Law. Fuck Rush Hour (Traffic).

Fuck Rush Hour Movies. Fuck Steven Seagal. Fuck Dolf Lungrin.

Fuck Jean-Claude Van Damme. Fuck Phish. Fuck The Grateful Dead.

Fuck Petrulli. Fuck Toe Rings. Fuck McRibs. Fuck Ambrosia Salads.

Fuck Jello Molds. Fuck Fruit In Jello. Fuck Fig Newtons. Fuck Flair.

Fuck Glitter. Fuck ARL. Fuck Contradictions. Fuck Cane Toads.

Fuck Fanny Packs. Fuck Snap Bracelets. Fuck Jelly Bracelets. Fuck Mullets.

Fuck Vanilla Ice. Fuck Las Vegas Residencies. Fuck Snake Oil Salesmen.

Fuck Chain Wallets. Fuck Hacks (as in People). Fuck Pokemon Go.

Fuck Cheap Liquor. Fuck Labels. Fuck Swamp Ass. Fuck Anal Leakage.

Fuck Gas Station Bathrooms. Fuck Skiing. Fuck Paddle Boarding.

Fuck Sorry Not Sorry. Fuck Granola. Fuck LOL. Fuck Fisting. Fuck Thrillers.

Fuck Food Porn. Fuck The Unknown. Fuck Love Seat. Fuck Snuggies.

Fuck Voter Tampering. Fuck Dental Vaneers. Fuck Golden Showers.

Fuck Foot Oder. Fuck Bad Breath. Fuck Hashtags. Fuck Lice. Fuck Herpes.

Fuck Bed Bugs. Fuck Bug Bombs. Fuck Trophy Fishing. Fuck Commands.

Fuck Slot Machines. Fuck Full Voice Mail Mailboxes. Fuck Mimosas.

Fuck Homelessness. Fuck Carbon Dioxide. Fuck Braces. Fuck Smoothies.

Fuck Human Resources. Fuck Spanish Fly. Fuck Roofies. Fuck Spyware.

Fuck The Cold. Fuck Vape Shops. Fuck Toe Sucking. Fuck Rhubarb Pie.

Fuck Smoothies. Fuck Fire Ants. Fuck Preconception. Fuck Cosmetics.

Fuck Assumptions. Fuck Evaluations. Fuck Opossums. Fuck Termites.

Fuck Elective Surgery. Fuck Pool Noodles. Fuck North Korea. Fuck 777.

Fuck Web Cams. Fuck Skype. Fuck Microsoft. Fuck Slavery. Fuck Karaoke.

Fuck Vacation Resorts. Fuck Itineraries. Fuck On Schedule. Fuck Profiling.

Fuck Drug Free Work Places. Fuck Netty Pots. Fuck Canned Raccoon Meat.

Fuck Pickled Eggs. Fuck Jerky. Fuck Grits. Fuck Dullards. Fuck Snap Chat.

Fuck The Close Minded. Fuck Vine. Fuck Crabs (Pubic Lice).

Fuck Speed Walking. Fuck Pegging. Fuck Cream Pies. Fuck 7-11.

Fuck Titty Fucking. Fuck Lutefisk. Fuck Canned Meats. Fuck Waste.

Fuck Tea Bagging. Fuck Gristle. Fuck Waste. Fuck Female Circumcision.

Fuck Vice Principlas. Fuck Rats. Fuck Boiled Chicken, Fuck Bottled Water.

Fuck Cheque. Fuck Pasties. Fuck Granny Panties. Fuck The Over Rated.

Fuck False Promises. Fuck Bait and Switches. Fuck Newark. Fuck Trenton.

Fuck South Orange Blossom Trail. Fuck Disney. Fuck Phone Solicitations.

Fuck The Police Athletic League.Fuck The Black Eyed Pea (Restaurant).

Fuck The War On Drugs. Fuck Addiction. Fuck Vices. Fuck CBD. Fuck SWAG.

Fuck Name Tags. Fuck Hospital Gowns. Fuck Social Functions.

Fuck Polities. Fuck Malt Liquor. Fuck The Cost Of Living. Fuck Love Bugs.

Fuck Medical Debt. Fuck Gnats. Fuck Pat Robinson. Fuck Christian TV.

Fuck Gentrification. Fuck Animal Testing. Fuck Mowing The Lawn.

Fuck Jessica Vaughan. Fuck Thomas Homan. Fuck Kirstjen Neilsen.

Fuck Pubic Hair. Fuck Clubs. Fuck Toupees. Fuck Gangs. Fuck The Alt-Right.

Fuck The Proud Boys. Fuck The “I’m Above That” Mentality. Fuck OMG.

Fuck Medical Capitalism. Fuck Pay Per View. Fuck The UFC.

Fuck Sea Monkeys. Fuck Angora. Fuck Corduroy. Fuck Ski Masks.

Fuck Inflatable Lawn Ornaments. Fuck Fake Xmas Trees. Fuck Candy Corn.

Fuck Chemical Warfare. Fuck Water Boarding. Fuck Glory Holes.

Fuck Cheerios. Fuck Table Side Guacamole. Fuck Lectures.

Fuck Thighty Whiteys. Fuck Frozen Rats. Fuck Kazoos. Fuck Mimes.

Fuck Circus Clowns. Fuck Broadway. Fuck Nay Sayers. Fuck Lasik.

Fuck Custom Contact Lenses. Fuck Artificial Vampire Teeth. Fuck Halo.

Fuck Body Modification. Fuck Call Of Duty. Fuck Gamer Chairs.

Fuck Gamers. Fuck Angry Birds. Fuck Words With Friends. Fuck Risotto.

Fuck Candy Crush. Fuck Zucchini. Fuck Invasive Species. Fuck DayQuil.

Fuck Sleep Paralysis. Fuck Red Tape. Fuck Paperwork. Fuck Trivia Crack.

Fuck Sleep Apnea. Fuck Escalades. Fuck Munich International Airport.

Fuck Preferred Customers. Fuck Yard Sales. Fuck Garnish. Fuck Liver Spots.

Fuck Varicose Veins. Fuck IVs. Fuck EKGs. Fuck Nose Hair. Fuck Dipping.

Fuck Cigar Lounges. Fuck Daring Not To Dream. Fuck IQ Tests. Fuck PTSD.

Fuck Bastardizing Dive Bars. Fuck Artificial Intelligence. Fuck  Hair Metal.

Fuck Political Science. Fuck Glam Metal. Fuck Poking (FB). Fuck Toe Rings.

Fuck Revenge Porn. Fuck Trickle Down Economics. Fuck The Boarder Wall.

Fuck Musicals. Fuck Natty Ice. Fuck Day Drinking. Fuck Paddle Boarding.

Fuck Grown Men Who Call Their Fathers “Daddy”. Fuck Mood Rings.

Fuck Promise Rings. Fuck Las Vegas. Fuck Atlantic Shitty. Fuck Dan Hanson.

Fuck Brittany. Fuck Gargling. Fuck Orgies. Fuck Swingers. Fuck Bukacki.

Fuck Nude Beaches. Fuck Patrolman Miller. Fuck Police Corruption.

Fuck White Collar Crime. Fuck Winding Brook. Fuck Designer Drugs.

Fuck Smoking Pot Using An Apple. Fuck Convince Store Coffee.

Fuck Panera Bread. Fuck Above Ground Pools. Fuck Cauliflower.

Fuck Florists. Fuck Customer Service Reps. Fuck Private Schools.

Fuck Ciracha. Fuck Putting Salt In Beer. Fuck Scrapbooking. Fuck Drones.

Fuck Puppy Mills. Fuck Backyard Wrestling. Fuck Matt Whitaker.

Fuck Blue Jays. Fuck Backyard Breeders. Fuck Kellyanne Conway.

Fuck Vatican LAw. Fuck Kids In Cages. Fuck Russian Oligarchs. Fuck Fur.

Fuck Hello Kitty. Fuck Sports Bars. Fuck Shitty Pizza. Fuck Garbage Island.

Fuck Cable Sports Packages. Fuck Phone Promotions. Fuck The Red Tide.

Fuck Revelations (Bible). Fuck Palm Readers. Fuck Ouji Boards. Fuck Q Tips.

Fuck The Evil Eye. Fuck Pier One. Fuck Pottery Barn. Fuck Sharper Image.

Fuck Segway. Fuck Baby Bumps. Fuck Metal Wind Chimes. Fuck Fruit Wine.

Fuck Dean Heller. Fuck Scott Walker. Fuck Oliver North. Fuck Kris Kobach.

Fuck Bruce Rauner. Fuck Pete Sessions. Fuck Dave Brat. Fuck Kim Davis.

Fuck Claudia Tenney. Fuck Rohrabacher. Fuck Percentages. Fuck Huffing.

Fuck Metal Straws. Fuck Cheesy Welcome Mats. Fuck Police Check Points.

Fuck Valets. Fuck Permits. Fuck 3rd Party Billing Agencies. Fuck Sneaks.

Fuck Military Coups. Fuck Double Speak. Fuck Backstabbers.

Fuck People Who Talk Both Sides Of Their Mouths. Fuck Dementia.

Fuck Alternative Motives. Fuck Privilege. Fuck Servitude. Fuck Mentors.

Fuck Back Handed Compliments. Fuck Cheap Shots. Fuck Sucker Punches.

Fuck Walking Poles. Fuck Land Mines. Fuck Hummers (Vehicles).

Fuck Butt Chugging. Fuck Vodka Tampons. Fuck Smoking Tide Pods.

Fuck Sniffing Glue. Fuck Mass Production. Fuck Comfort Zones.

Fuck Haters. Fuck Alienation. Fuck Life Coach’s. Fuck Advisors.

Fuck Piss Jugs. Fuck Men’s Thongs. Fuck Product (Hair). Fuck Tinsel.

Fuck Cosmetics. Fuck Dereliction. Fuck Disadvantage. Fuck Ye Olde.

Fuck Foreskins. Fuck Conditioning. Fuck Gold Diggers. Fuck Trophy Wives.

Fuck Status Symbols. Fuck Recorders (The Instrument) Fuck a Quick Fix.

Fuck Being “Too Good For” Anything.

AND

Fuck f-yourblog.com.

Well if you have made it through the entire list without skipping an entry congratulations thats really some Hardcore Shit right there.

This is The End of the F List……OR IS IT?!

Thanks for Reading  By Les Sober

The Stranded and The Strange

My Wife and I were on our way home Sunday evening, and 2 hours from home (just short of the State Line) started acting up.

We stopped briefly to let the Dog make a shirt in the dirt, and when we got back in the car wouldn’t turn over though it was trying. So we luckily added Road Side Assistance to my Auto Insurance Policy so I didn’t feel real shitty about the car being problematic. We called the Insurance Company only to find out that they can’t tow the car until tomorrow, AND they had a asinine NO DOGS in Truck Rule. What that meant was I could get my car home yet my Wife and I were still stuck looking for a way home.

There is always one person you can rely on and thats your Mother. Unless Your Me. I couldn’t reach my Mother by phone or text, so I decided to continue texting. She finally responded by informing me she couldn’t talk (though she was made well aware that this was an emergency situation) but hey good luck and keep your chin up. Apparently what I have learned along the way this time is my ENTIRE FUCKING FAMILY HAS NO IDEA WHAT THE DEFINITION OF AN EMERGENCY IS. They seem to think an Emergency is the exact same as a Favor. At that point I stopped trying to communicate with her.

Being that we live in a rather Rural area there are NO BUSES, TRAINS, SUB WAYS or TAXI/CAR SERVICES. All I could think of was to try Uber in spite of my opinion of Uber which was and is its a good idea on Paper, BUT with the World’s shittiest Real Life Application. Since like I said we live out in the fucking Woods there was only ONE SINGLE UBER DRIVER in the ENTIRE COUNTY. We scheduled the Uber but when she showed up she immediately informed us she WOULD NOT take us to our actual destination because it was to far for her. I already being an Uber Hater felt even more justified in my disgust of all things Uber.

Since as I said having limited choices of just one We took the Uber Driver up on her offer to give us a lift about an hour down the road which was better than nothing which we had in spades. The ride ended when We ended up AT South of the Boarder the Timelessly Racist Truck Stop meets a Motel, Mall, and Attractions (i.e. Live Reptiles and the Famous Sombrero Tower). The Uber Driver was absolutely awe struck by all the Tacky Tourist Neon Lighting that lit up South of The Boarder like a Poor White Trash version of Vegas.

Again I started an attempt once again to try and get a ride from my Mother who continued to ask if we had though of, and then went on to describe every fucking scenario to see if we actually had. Desperately I tried not to curse Her out for her interpretation of what an Emergency is. All I’m saying is if you fucking fall off a fucking ladder, and call 911 your not asking them for a favor.

My Mother is fixated then on utterly pointless points saying We should get a Hotel room, and I told her that the RIDE emergency would be the SAME the next morning as WE WOULD STILL BE STRANDED. There wouldn’t be any New Options springing up over fucking night or anything.

The Uber Driver started to feel a bit guilty, but I think she actually felt shitty about dropping us off still up the Shit’s Creek without a Paddle. Well whatever her reasoning was she offered to drive us another 46 miles down the road to the next town putting us about 100 miles or so from Our Home Office. We obviously agree and thank her because the cliche was ringing true in “Something is better than nothing”.

The Driver called to Uber Office because it wouldn’t allow her to sign on and accept the ride. She proceeded to launch into a interesting debate with the Uber Office Rep that lasted the better part of an hour. She was one of those cell phone types that likes to talk on her phone while its on speaker so I was privy to BOTH sides of the Argument as it were.

Long story short Our Driver had crossed a State Line which made Her exempt from accepting Uber Calls, and there was absolutely NO WAY around it. This was kind of fucked as our Driver pointed out the original call Uber sent her way was over a state line so why would they NOW make an issue of it (Point being bottom line some Asshole at Uber has no fucking clue about Geography local or otherwise, and is apparently too stupid to utilize a GPS or an Old School Paper Map)

When it was all said and done We settled on the Ride down the Road for $20 cash and called it a night. FUCK UBER (Not the Drivers mind you). As We got in the car I shot my Mother a text letting her know the current state of affairs, and she texted me back to give her a call when we arrived at our next destination. Our next destination was the Red Roofie Inn we had our Uber Driver drop us at, thanked her for her help, and she drove off into the night.

Luckily for us We had called ahead just in case to make sure the Red Roofie Inn took Dogs and had a Vacancy  which they did. Before totally giving up we hit up Uber one more time, and we were in luck there were 3 Uber Drivers  in this County so that was a definite plus. We caught another break when one of said in area Uber came by to discuss if we could broker a ride (Apparently Drivers can say no to Dogs which is their right its I just don’t know why Uber doesn’t tell them up front.)

BOTTOMLINE: Uber is Unreliable because No Ride is Guaranteed due to World Class Shitty Communication between Uber and its Drivers.

This Uber Driver’s usual Van was in the Shop so she had a hell of a Loaner, I’m not a car guy by any means so I don’t remember the name, but this car had ALL these Dope  bells and whistles. This time we got a Driver who was born for Uber like she walked right out of a Uber Ad itself. To say she was an enthusiastic driver would be a horrendous understatement. So off we sped into the night breathing a massive sigh of relief. Then I got a Text.

You see my Mother had requested that I text her when I arrived at our latest destination, but I forgot because at that point what was the point really. The text was asking where we were, and I texted back we had caught an another Uber and were in route to our Home Office. She then announces that she is on her way having taken 3 and a half hours of aggravation to suit up in her armor, mount her white Horse and fucking help us.

I showed the Text to my Wife because at this point I just didn’t give a fuck about anything other than we were finally on our way back to our Home Offices. My Wife texted with my Mother and arranged for us to meet up with her at a designated exit at a Gas Station. We arrived and thanked our awesome Uber Driver and loaded up into my Mother’s Car.

I don’t remember the ride as I tuned my Mother out being that I was still confused, frustrated, and angry that this whole shit show came full circle after HOURS of unnecessary stress. We finally arrived at our Home Offices at 1:37 am instead of our original ETA of 9:00 pm.

Alls Well that Ends Well I suppose.

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober  

Lollipop Chainsaw Ep. 1 The Beginning and The End Look The Same

Why is that fucking alarm going apeshit?!

I’m strapped in a fucking seat, Why am I restrained?!  Goddamnit if I squint I can’t really see shit?!

Where the hell am I and how the hell did I end up here?! I can’t remember shit. Fuck Me I bet I have a serious concussion just my fucking luck as usual.

Alright I think I can make out a control panel of some sort lit up like Las Vegas suffering a Cocaine Psychosis.

I haven’t a clue what the fuck its for so fuck it.

There was a brief reprieve from the chaotic hell that I found myself  in a brief moment of clarity.

I realized that I was more or less fucked.

The actual question at hand is how fucked am I?!

Prepare for the fucking WORST?

Who the fuck was that and what do they know that I damn well don’t?!!

Worst of what? Worse than what? What is the possible Worst here?!

Holy  Shit I’m not alone.

I need to figure out pretty fucking quick if thats a good or a bad fucking thing.

Oh shit theres a door, wait, its a hatch in the ceiling  like on a Space Craft or some shit like that.

Also it appears this thing is made of metal.

I’m pretty fucking sure NASA doesn’t use metal as a building material in any of it Project, too fucking heavy.

Could this thing be from a Ship possibly a Naval Ship?! I got to get the fuck out of this thing.

How the hell do I detach this seat belt thing and get free?! Theres got to be a release button or some switch, but where the fuck is it located at for fuck’s sake.

OH COME THE FUCK ON!

WHERE IS IT?! WHERE IN THE NAME OF ALL THINGS FUCKED IS IT GODDAMNIT TO HELL!

What the fuck is grabbing me like some cracked out Kraken?!

FUCK!  I wish I had a weapon, at least a goddamn pocket knife.

Remember if shit goes down hit first, and hit hard.

Oh fuck its some strange Guy grappling with the seat belt deal to free me.

Jesus I’m sure happy as hell for this Guy whoever he is.

Goddamnit he’s run into a problem getting me free, keeps tugging and making unhappy grunting noises.

Come on GUY GODDAMNIT!

Help get me out of this fucking chair now before something else fucked up happens!

“Come on we need to evacuate this piece of shit.”

Who the fuck is this Guy to give me fucking orders?!

I don’t him from a fucking whole in the ground.

Fuck it. I have no idea what to do so may as well follow this Guy’s lead for now.

Ok he’s going to open the hatch in the roof of this Iron Bubble or whatever this thing is we’re in.

This has got to be fucking NASA accept the fact neither of us are wearing Space Suits so I don’t know.

Goddamnit this shit sucks so bad.

. Alright he got the hatch open.

Fuck where is something to grab onto to so I can hoist myself out?!

Ok OK theres some basic ladder system on the opposite site, like a pool ladder. Time to get the fuck out of here.

Now how do I get the hell off the top of this contraption, right theres the ladder down.

I wonder where exactly we are, but more over what the fuck is here with us.

What fucking time is it?!

From the daylight its either the ass crack of dawn or the darker end of dusk.

Right theres the ladder down.

I can’t make out any damn details everything is a solid black silhouette.

Theres a bank of trees presumably a forrest on my left, and a large body of water to my right.

ITS too large to be a Pond or average  Lake.

Where the hell did that Guy go?!

There he is just standing over there like some sort of asshole.

This fucking Guy is going to be a real fucker to deal with I’m sure of it.

Well I guess its time to introduce ourselves and I guess I’ll have to walk over to him.

Damn I walking on sand, black sand at that. Its beginning to make my fucking legs ache like a son of a bitch.

I’ll wave first and see if this Guy turns around and sees me.

There we go he sees me.

The fucking Guy is looking right at me walking over, waving, and he’s still just standing there like some sort of fucking dick.

Oh good looks likes he’s about to say something. Can’t wait to hear this bullshit.

ok so he’s saying we need to find the Others IF their still alive before we all DIE.

Other who? People? Crew? Both I would assume?

Oh what the hell is going on?!

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST! REALLY?!

DIdn’t we almost die just now?!

We just narrowly survived some sort of emergency escape without dying, and now this dick is telling me were right back in danger of dying?!

I’m afraid this is going to get very strange fast.

Look For Lollipop Chainsaw Ep.2 This Fucking Guy COMING SOON.

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober  

Our Exodus From The Great Southern Swamp Once & For All

As all these stories start we woke at dawn (or the ass crack off dawn for my fellow non morning friends) and proceeded to try to drink Dunkin Doughnuts out of coffee. We had to wait until 11 am before we could pick up the small army of Uhaul trailers the reason being our Slumlord wouldn’t allow us to park the vehicles in the parking lot overnight like an asshole. So we set out to finish “Tidying Up” and do last minute patching, painting and deep cleaning while we waited. I don’t personally have the patience to wait which is why I hate waiting. Patience is a virtue I was born without.

Finally we get the Uhauls lined up out front of the office and for the next 4 hours did nothing but load the trucks up one after the other. We then packed up our office animal and put rubber to asphalt. Just our luck The Great Southern Swamp had one more fuck you for us as we made our final escape. The entire east side of The Great Southern Swamp was hit with a series of brutal tropical storms. The storms were so intense you couldn’t see the tail lights of the car 6 feet in front of you thus slowing down our progress severely. After battling the tropical storms for almost 8 hours we crossed the state line leaving the Great Southern Swamp looming in our review mirrors.

The rest of the trip to the Southern Country went relatively smooth in spite of god knows how many fueling stops, bathroom breaks and other minor difficulties. We reached our new home office (which since moving have decided to dub “The Black Lodge” a tribute to the band Anthrax, what I told you I’m older than dinosaur shit?!) a little past 3 am and were needless to say exceptionally glad to have reached our destination and get the hell off the road. As we started to unload My Wife suddenly informed me the only key we had was missing. We stumbled around road weary and some what sleep deprived (everyone was excited about the move so no one really got any thing resembling actual sleep) looking in vain for the lost key. It was the brought to my attention there was a back up emergency key stashed about 30 minutes away. Not thrilled in the least my Wife and I got in our car, leaving the kids (staff) and critters on the front porch of The Black Lodge. Once we reached the house where our emergency key was at we had to enter the code given to us by the owner to shut off the security alarm. Needless to say in our delirious state we instead of shutting the alarm off we set it off. I can not begin to describe the sound this alarm made it was not only deafening (even with your fingers in your ears so far their tickling your brain) and disorienting in it self. It was so insanely loud we actually could think coherently, it was like the kind of shit the police/military/government agencies do when they blast music to end a standoff.

I managed to hold my shit together long enough to clock the alarm company’s phone number off the alarm box and ran across the street to call them. The alarm company was cool as shit and the problem was taken care of, well that one at least. My Wife then went in to retrieve our emergency key and I shit you not it wasn’t there. I then tried to contact the owner which took awhile being at that point it was around quarter to 4 in the morning. I did catch up with the owner in the end who then informed me they had our key with them. The only issue with that was the owner was on vacation in motherfucking Las Vegas which obviously left us high and dry.

With no other option my Wife and I got back in the car once again and headed back to The Black Lodge. Once we arrived we informed the Kids (Staff) we would be sleeping in the same vehicles we were so happy to get out of in the first fucking place. Fortunately that would only translate to approximately 4 hours or so because it turned out our contractor still had a copy of our key which we retrieved at 8:30 am the next day.

All in All it seems like a fitting end to our chapter in The Great Southern Swamp and our the start of our new chapter here in The Southern Country.

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober