5.1 Surround Sound System

i don't know about you, but after a long night of drinking with friends down at the local watering hole it's nice to come home, open the box containing my new surround sound speakers that i got for 1/4 of the price circuit city was asking ($200), hook it up and experience massive noise fulminating from my wall. previously, i had two altec lansing speakers doing the bidness for me (and they do rock), but my wall air conditioner made them sound like two week old pussy kittens mewling for an extra bit of milk. now, i am concerned that my neighbors will never sleep again. i know i won't. i know i don't want to. music is good. loud music is better. pissing off the neighbors is bestest. plus, they're having a party tomorrow night and i will not sleep until they are done. good thing i'm invited. good thing i invited my own peeps. good thing i have booze stov=cked. good thing i own a gun. oh, shit. i sold it. good thing i own knives. good thing i'm a pacifist. good thing i like to drink. see you there. or here. or in between. you're all invited. if you know how to get here. up to you, not me.

Father Mechanic

for any of you going through lecram withdrawal i offer this little ditty, which you won't like nearly as much, but i don't care. so long as someone gets offended.

FATHER MECHANIC

(Scene: A mechanic's garage, front office. The waiting room. Bob is at the counter. Man enters, kneels and genuflects beneath the Tire Iron Cross on the wall. Approaches counter. Bob doesn't notice. Man waits a bit, finally rings the bell on the counter. Bob looks up, gives beatific smile. )

Bob: And another greasemonkey gets his flanges. Yes, my son?
Man: Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been 3,116 miles since my last confession.
Bob: You are overdue, but it's a venal sin. Tell me all.
Man: I mixed 20/50 oil with the 10/40 you prescribed.
Bob: Hmmm. What else, my son?
Man: My battery is trying to give up the Holy Ghost.
Bob: Ah. Are you having trouble in the morning infusing it with the Holy Spirit?
Man: Yes, Father Bob.
Bob: It could be a cable straying from the flock.
Man: There's more.
Bob: Go on, child.
Man: It shames me.
Bob: There is no shame when you repent before the True Light of the Tire Iron. Go on.
Man: Last month I tried to adjust the brakes myself.
Bob: Sweet Mother of All That Is Oily. That is serious. Why?
Man: The shoes were beginning to speak in tongues. I was scared. I heard weird sounds and voices in a harsh metallic language and tortuous screeches like demented, lost souls each time I attempted to control my automotive Ass. I panicked and tried to exorcise them with my Lay Wrench.
Bob: But you were not successful?
Man: No. Now my Ass balks and shudders when I wish it to simply stop.
Bob: It is good you have come to confess. I only wish it were sooner. I can save your Beast of Burden, your locomotive Ass. I comprehend the various tongues of the Devil and I can talk to your Ass. But I must know if you have told me all. Is your Ass flatulent and does its exhaust reek?
Man: Yes.
Bob: When put to bed at night does it complain and refuse to settle down in a timely fashion?
Man: Yes, Father Bob.
Bob: And, when unsupervised, does it excrete a dark, viscous discharge onto the floor from behind its manly pipe?
Man: Yes!
Bob: And you say it's been 3,116 miles since I last looked at your Ass?
Man: Yes.
Bob: By any chance, was part of your Ass manufactured by Germans?
Man: No, it's a fine American Ass. Corn fed.
Bob: Ethanol, eh? If I didn't believe in the Divine Schismatics I'd say your Ass was infested with demons. Wormwood. But I believe in the Healing Power of the Diagnostic. Your Ass will reveal all when I attach my clamps to its fuel-injected nipples and stick my probe up its glasspacked tail orifice.
Man: Thank you, Bob! Thank you! What is my penance?
Bob: (toting up on a calculator) Oil change, valve and brake adjustment, timing, tire rotation, smog check, oil filter, fuel filter, ring replacement, crankcase seal, biorythmic enhancement, possible Deomnic possesion and four mea culpas...$414.17. Oh and pray for a Hail Mary in tomorrow's Notre Dame game, would you? I have a twenty riding on it. Now, go and sin no more for the next 3000 miles.

(Man exits and at the same time a woman enters. Woman genuflects and approaches Bob)

Woman: Forgive me, Bob, for I have sinned. Can you remove semen stains from leather upholstery and unwrap a bra from my rear axle before my father returns tonight from his vacation?
Bob: I'm not omnipotent, child. Go next door to John Paul and Traci of Lourdes Miracle Car Wash.

The Celibate Life

they say that the hardest part of quitting any drug is the first so many hours or days. then it's a matter of putting the psychological behind you.
first, you leech out the chemical you've abused, then you change your lifestyle to move away from the habitual ritual.
why then am i, after only being on a medication for three weeks and now off it for a full week, still having the random regimen of withdrawal symptoms that turns me into an asshole and recluse as i combat the hypertension? i went through this last wednesday and (now again today). grinding jaw, neck and shoulder tension, dark cave searching. i'm damn well not going to take another pill to mitigate this, but fuck if i've ever been through this type of thing before. and the shit was prescribed to me for quitting smoking! i did a bit of weaning before i stopped, but i guess it wasn't enough.
sorry to any of you who have had to deal with this so far.
which leads me to the topic of:
paris hilton. she's giving up sex for a year. a whole year. 365 days (i don't know if she's counting holidays). she's 25 years old and tired of the games, by gum! the naughty videos, the paparazzi, all of it. she gets lady di. she really does. so much so that she is going to go 8,760 hours sans the the baloney pony...525,600 minutes without a muscle in her bustle...31,536,000 seconds not attending a premiere at the Hard Cock Cafe. that seems a long time without a skank shank.
if the average woman lives to be 80 nowadays, this means that paris is declaring herself offlimits to the bloke poke for .08% of her lifetime. laudable, but what does it really mean? she claims that she has only had sex with two men so far and she is 25. according to these numbers, she has been having sex with a different man on an average of 12.5 years so far. at this pace (if she lives to the average age) she will have sex with 6.4 men. and if we equate heighth with a whole number, she will only have to have sex with tom cruise once to take care of the .4.
to put this in perspective, let's say that i am (hypothetically) 41 and i have had sex with (hypothetically) 35 different women. in order for me to remain celibate for an equivalent amount of time based on the number of encounters i've had in my life vs. hers i would need to...
cut my dick off? well, that can't be right. ah, 4.1 years. and i have done this multiple times with no effort. and i can tell you that, after the second year, you don't even notice anymore.
however, i think it is safe to say that she really doesn't need to take a year off from the public eye sexually in order to maintain her (for lack of a better word) virtuessness or virtuosity or...whatever. but she should think about the fact that she has had sex with only two men and one has made a videotape that she knowingly engaged in. that's one out of two, which equals over her standard lifetime to 3.2 naughty videos that she knows of. that i know of.
that she knows of...
so, i take my hat off to paris hilton, but that is all. for now. and i think i speak for all of us when i say that this would make for one hell of a reality show ala The Simple Life. call it The Celibate Life.

edit: redid the math. paris will have to have sex with tom cruise twice to make up for that .4.