Skipper's going to hell

Well, not really. But my roommate got accepted to grad school in Monterey, so we're having a party: Get Out of Town, Skipper!

Skipper scheduled it for Friday Aug 19, 2005 at 8:00 PM. If'n you want to show up early, I'll be here. Probably sitting on the front porch drinking beer. Maybe moonshine, if it shows up. Skipper's a really good cook, so show up hungry and armed and demand steak.

Skipper didn't think he was accepted to grad school but it was late notice. He got an email saying, "School starts in 2 weeks". Monterey, for people who don't know, is a bit cheaper than San Francisco, but it's still pricey. Two weeks to find a place to live ain't much. I reckon he'll be camping out on the campus lawn until he finds a place.

I've been looking for a roommate and get tons of replies from Nigeria and the UK saying they'll send me a check for $5,000 for 2 months. The scam on that one is easy, but the ones that say they'll pay an extra $100 a month puzzle me. I figure if I said sure, then they'd offer the $5,000 money order. Mary the Messenger was supposed to move in, but now she isn't. She's training for a bicycle race and was looking for a cheap place to live.

So okay, nothing about Perth. Yes, there's hookers around here. This neighborhood is rapidly undergoing gentrification (which is the 50 cent word for it's getting nice). Who knows how long they'll stick around. She did lower her price to give Skipper a blow job to $5 though.

Hey Jay! I don't know when I'll be heading back to Japan. I'll see how much money I can save up here. If I had the Asian girl fetish that most Americans have, I'd be there for sure.

My new craigslist post for the spare room: http://sacramento.craigslist.org/roo/91032039.html

--Dave
916/447-4168

Oh yeah, if you'd like to be removed from this, let me know. I don't know why anyone would care about what I do anyway.

Pimps, Hookers and Moonshine

It's been a weird week. What with the moonshine and the pimp stopping by with one of his hookers...

Last Sunday, I was sitting on the porch with my new roommate Skipper drinking some moonshine that I had sitting around. Guaranteed less than 30 days old! Corn whiskey shouldn't be around sitting, so we were around drinking. "A round, a round" is how that should go. Insert drum roll here.

Charlie, the neighbor stopped by, and Mike R Mike, another friend & neighbor, stopped by. We were talking about how the lesbian next door neighbor is in jail. She got mad at her ex-girlfriend, so she torched her house while the ex was asleep. Just a simple little love spat, that somehow ended her up in the pokey with a million dollar bail. She's a bit of a flight risk. I tried to find google it using "sacramento lesbian arson" but nothing popped up in the news search. 8,270 pages popped up on the web site search.

About then is when Chris the Pimp showed up. Chris doesn't sound like a pimp's name, but I didn't name him. He tried to sell us drugs and then he sat on the steps when we didn't buy. He noticed the moonshine right quick, so we passed him the jar. It's moonshine, so it's in a mason jar. Corn whiskey tastes good, but smells horrible, but it's easy to learn how to drink it without breathing it. Bottles of 'shine have been sent to people who put me up in Australia and New Zealand. Am I missing anyone? Phil the Fuck-wit doesn't count. And if Bob reads this, I haven't sent yours yet. It was shared with the pimp and the hooker. Share it with Romeo although it surely isn't any single malt Scotch.

Chris explained how he was born in 1957 and that his dad was the first black sheriff and how his mom was the first black district attorney. Charlie says, yeah, I'm a lawyer for the district attorney and he pulls out his card. Not good thinking, but he'd had a few sips of the mountain dew. And every district attorney lawyer needs to have a pimp on his side.

Chris says he could bring over a hooker to dance for us. He was getting annoying so we said, yeah, go bring us a hooker. He left. Skipper is pretty tired so he wanders off to go to sleep. Chris the Pimp is gone, and we're glad. Twenty minutes later, Chris shows up with an unexpected crack whore. No one thought he was coming back, and his hooker is everything you think of when you here the phrase "crack whore". Charlie goes in and wakes up Skipper and tells him to come out. We say, "Hey, Skipper wants a blow job", so the crack whore grabs his arm and pulls him towards the alley. It's funny now, and it's even funnier when you've been drinking moonshine.

Skipper is saying he doesn't have any money, and she's saying it won't cost much. He finally escapes and gets back to the porch. She sits next to him and starts smoking his cigarettes. Chris is mad because we've wasted his hooker's time, and the hooker is mad because she wants money. Nothing like having a mad hooker and a mad pimp sitting on your porch drinking your moonshine.

Around 2am Skipper has gone back to sleep, Charlie has gone home to sleep and I walk in to sleep. That leaves Mike R Mike, Chris the Pimp, and the hooker. The hooker left and it was Chris and Mike. Chris starts talking about his time in Vietnam and Mike says, "You said you were born in 1957. You fought when you were 14?" Who would expect a pimp to lie? The pimp said, "I didn't mean Vietnam, I meant I fought in uh... yeah, you got me there".

Mike said he left around 2:30am and Chris the Pimp took what was left of the moonshine.

The next morning, Charlie calls his work to say he'd be in at 11am. He showed up at noon. Skipper went to work, said, "I'm sick" and went home. Mike and I went to work with moonshine still swimming in the blood. Luckily, my fambly is from the Appalachian foothills of Kentucky, so the 'shine was right at home. Poor Mike is Italian, so his blood demanded grappa. But he made it through the day at the warehouse we work at.

All in all, I should've written about Perth. But drinking moonshine on your front porch with a pimp and a hooker is pretty good time.

Answer time:

Yup, Guy. I've gotten fat. I need to do something about that. My first step, is to drive up to Oregon to pick up some of that amazing bacon that's on your blog Meathenge. Although a trip to Oregon for great looking bacon is something I'd do, I'm also buying an Italian designed, German built sports car. As much emphasis on the "sports" as my Ducati 250cc was a "sports" bike. It's an NSU Sports Prinz. It has a 583cc 2-cylinder engine which is smaller than almost any motorcycle that you see these days.

Hopefully Jim, the guy I'm buying it from, knows I was joking when I said I was going to put a Chevy 350 into it and paint it rattle can black with red flames. Oh, and put some blue neon lights under it to go with the fuzzy dice.

Doug sent email that said, "Hmmmm i dont know about you.... i hear eastern european circus music when i look at that. So... clown suit or star trek outfit while driving??"

I hope Rick Lee wasn't offended by my epileptic jokes in the excerpts, although I think he was just bored by me. If you haven't gotten those, they got shit-canned in your spam basket.

Misha! I can't make it to Wisconsin, Chicago and Ohio until after I start taking my anti-seizure medication again. Which means finding a new neurologist. I always figured I'd have an aura before I had another seizure. Epileptics usually smell oranges or turpentine. I didn't. And it was another gran mal. Those are the fun seizures to have because everyone around you freaks out when your lips turn blue and you talk like Linda Blair and they forget to video tape it. Luckily, I didn't piss myself. But not knowing it was coming on means I don't want to drive or ride right now. That'll get fixed soon. I'm hunting down a replacement neurologist now. I don't like having questions answered "because I'm a doctor" when I ask.

I just got an email from Jim with the NSU. He said, "That was pretty much my idea, too, but I didn't get any further than cutting a big hole in the floor pan with a cold chisel."

Seizure later,

--Dave

My new number: 916/447-4168.