What Grinds My Gears #5: Freeway Rocks

Okay, I'm about ready to fucking loose it.  Let me just recap the events as of late. About six months ago I buy a car. Three months later I hit a bucket in the road, causing my front end to be good and fucked up (see What Grinds My Gears #3).  Today, a month after repairing my front end from the bucket, a huge ass rock comes to give me a nice little "hello" in the form of a fucking cracked windshield. No, not acceptable. 

This leads me to ask a number of questions:

Question #1: What the fuck? 

Question #2: What the fucking fuck?!

Question #3: Do I have a "freeway shit magnet" hidden somewhere on my car?

Question #4: Is it possible to have a nice car in Los Angeles or should I just give up and run my shit off the road right now?

Question #5: Does Jesus hate my ass?

Question #6: What will happen next? Any wagers? Like to start a pool? 

Question #7: Does George Bush really not care about black people?

Question #8: Is this blog gay?

And now the answer cheat sheet:

Answer #1: Not sure really

Answer #2: A cat

Answer #3: I don't see any other logical answer other than, abso-fucking-lutely 

Answer #4: I submit that it is not possible to have a nice car in Los Angeles. I suggest buying a fucking 1997 MPV Van and just run into everything possible. Then keep your nice car parked lovingly in the garage, only to take it out and drive it around the block bi-annually.

Answer #5: Yes, Jesus really, how you say, thinks I'm "abrasive and callus," as he put it. Slowly killing my car may be his way of punishing my "indignities," as he said. I think he's just trying to impress me and cover up his own insecurities by using big words. Pretty transparent I think.

Answer #6: My car will most likely somehow jump off a freeway overpass Dukes of Hazard-

style, henceforth exploding into a heaping pile of shit, thus allowing the planets to align and actualizing my car's ultimate fate. I will then continue to make payments on my non-existent car from the comfort of my hospital bed. And then I'll pee on a nurse.

Answer #7: No.

Answer #8: Yes.

Grinds my gears!

What Grinds My Gears #4: Shower curtains

I know what you're thinking. Probably somewhere along the lines of, "Boy, he's really lost his shit now." Let's just say I'm not going to disagree with you.

Or will I?

I'm not sure really. But the point is, I'm fucking sick of this shower curtain. That's for damn sure.

Essentially, here's the issue: This particular shower curtain that I have in my bathroom happens to lack a certain, how you say, uh, fuckin' stickiness that I would prefer for it to have. What I mean is, it should be "sticking" to the porcelain contour of the tub. Right? Yes, the answer is, yes it should be.

Anyway, it doesn't do that. So, when I'm taking a shower, this fucking thing is constantly all up in my shit! I mean, ALL up in it! It's blowing around for some God-unknown reason, flapping in some mythical mystical breeze that I can't decipher, and I practically have to hump mildew on the other side of the wall just to avoid perpetual molestation from this plastic bitch! No, not acceptable!

This does not make for what I would call a "good time in the shower." And I like to have a "good time." And no, pull your mind out of the gutter for a moment---that's not what I mean. I mean, I like to bring in a beer or an occasion paperback while I'm taking a shower. Why? Well, maybe 'cause I lost my shit, but that's neither here nor there. The point is, I can't have a "good time in the shower" with a fucking asshole shower curtain!

What's my solution, you may ask? Well, probably nothing. Most likely it will involve complaining and hoping that it fixes itself. Or I might pour honey on the inside of it so it sticks to the thing. We'll just have to see I guess.

Thoroughly Modern Badass!

I recently played in a production of "Thoroughly Modern Millie," a classic musical production featuring mad chops and the complete badassness of my hardcore shit! Check it out, if you think you can handle it! To the extreme!!!

It totally grinds my gears!

The only thing that grinds my gears is that we
can't make a decent living doing this! C'mon, we're
totally badass! Thanks to Flowerhead for being the
camera-girl once again.

Doesn't grind my gears so much

So, here's a little something that doesn't grind my gears so much...a little footage from Michelle Stevens' last performance at B.B. King's on Sept. 29 (thanks to Sonya for shooting it!). She has plenty of original stuff too; video of this tune just happened to work best for public display.

Michelle Stevens will be opening for Amel Larrieux of Groove Theory fame on October 28th at B.B. Kings. Check it out or I'll come to your house and stab you.

What Grind My Gears #3: Plastic buckets

It really grinds my gears when I hit shit on the freeway. I've only had my car for about four months, bought it brand new and I baby this thing like a mofuck. I've never cared so much about any other car I've had, and coincidentally, every other car I've owned has never been so much as dented.

Well, guess what happens when I buy something I actually care about? Smashed! In the vagina!

So one morning I'm driving to work on the God-forsaken 605 Freeway, and what happens to be sitting in the middle of the slow lane? God damn plastic bucket is what. My first instinct is to swerve, but there's a car to my left, thus forcing me to hit this bitch head-on.

When I do hit it, the fucking thing goes bouncing off to the shoulder and I take the next exit off the freeway. I figure I may have some paint scratched off or something like that. But no, that's not the case at all. Dented! In the vagina!

Yeah, I said it

What Grinds My Gears #2: Spiders all up in my shit

Hey spiders, fuck you. You know what really grinds my gears? It really grinds my gears when every single night when I come home I have to walk through a goddamn spider utopia. This is not your world spiders! No, unacceptable.

How arrogant are spiders? Really? I mean, look at them. With their eight legs and ...fuckin thread constantly pouring out their ass. Thread out the ass? I mean, you must realize that when you walk into a spider web, you're essentially walking into spider crap. Bet you never thought of it that way right? No, you didn't. That's why I'm here, to give new perspectives to old concepts.

So, let me get this straight. Spiders have six more legs than humans (yeah, like they never rub THAT in our face!) AND they insist on pooping their invisible shit every possible place....as if they're some kind of crazy fecalpheliac...and they get off on watching people walk into their crap, and then pathetically try to peel it off! No spiders, this will not stand.

I suggest that every time you see a spider, show 'em whose world it is by pulling down your pants and taking a juggernaut dump on their head. I think if enough people do that, we may, just may, get our point across.

Join the fight against fecalphiliac spiders now!

Fatty disrupts other fattys

Why are fat kids so willing to make assholes of themselves?

A fecal mistake

Yesterday I took a crap,
and I decided to take a picture
of it. I aimed my camera into
the toilet bowl and this is
the image I got. Hmm, weird.

Fellow gear-grinders!

Hot shot reporter, Airan Scruby, recently attended a car show in the San Gabriel Valley where she reported hearing the two rednecks pictured above say the following:

"It really grinds my gears the way these kids today don't give a shit about cars or Iraq or America."

Good point. Because as we all know, cars are of equal importance to Iraq and America. Way to propel a stereotype hill-billies.

*note: I can't confirm that these guys are the actual source of that quote....but it'd be funny if they were...and that's all that matters.

What Grinds My Gears #1: Grease

It really grinds my gears when I have to literally study a menu in a restaurant for a half hour just to find what ISN'T deep fried or slathered with olive oil. I swear, every time I sit down in any establishment I'm forced to rule out 99 percent of the menu items for the shear fact that I know I'll end up with some shiny blob of shit. Then, when I actually do decide on something that I think might be safe, like for instance, uh, spaghetti marinara, I still somehow end up with a greasy, greasy pile of spooge! No, restaurants. Not acceptable.

Since when did the entire world start being content with feeling like slimy bastards after every meal? I see people fuckin' slip-sliding out of restaurants all day long! No, blobs. Not acceptable. The shiny blobs need to change their diet or something. The blobs need to band together and say, "We'll mad as hell, and blobby, and we're not gonna take it anymore!" Then the blobs can just shift their collective weight and knock every Church's Chicken off it's foundation. Hopefully the chicken wouldn't pile out on top of the blobs; that'd just be counterproductive.

See, this has to work from the outside-in. People have to first refuse to be complacent with looking like amorphous java the hut creatures, and then the food industry will have no choice but to stop serving pig-fat-marinated-everything! That's the only way it'll change people.

Until then, it will grind my gears and I'll be forced to eat egg sandwiches and ceaser salads until I die a sad, lonely man. But at least I'll have my egg sandwiches to keep me company on my death bed.

Quote of the Day

I couldn't have said it better myself. I love you Pat Murphy, have my babies.

Michelle Stevens at BB King's

Hey, I'll be playing drums for vocalist Michelle Stevens around 8:00 p.m. on Saturday, Aug. 25 at B.B. Kings in Universal City. We'll be playing about an hour of original and cover stuff, so if you're not there, you're gay.

Crowds panic as floods hit Ireland!!

Let's hope the relief effort reaches them before it's too late. Our prayers are with you, proud and brave men of the motherland.

For my own amusement

Now, I'm not so deluded that I think nobody's ever thought what I say, or never said what I think, but that's not going to stop me from saying or thinking it. I figure, why just stop at saying it; or for that matter, thinking it. So, whether it's original or not, I'm going to write it.

If the things I say have been said before, chances are they were said by lesser men (douche bags is what I'm trying to say). Therefore, as a man of dignity, strength, power, limitless sex appeal and the unique ability to not take myself seriously (as if you couldn't tell from the previous four adjectives), I will share the many things that piss me off, make me happy and anywhere in between. I'm sure no one cares, so....

.....this is for me and my own amusement.