I loves me some spicy food. Love it in a borderline unnatural way, a way that’s illegal in some countries and a few southern states.
The spicier the better. If my mouth doesn’t burn, my eyes don’t water, or my nose doesn’t run, she’s not spicy enough.
If I go out for Thai food and they ask “How spicy you like it?”, pointing at the 1-5 Star Spicy Chart, I tell ‘em “Fuck that! Gimme SIX stars, bitches!”
They usually argue, try to talk me out of it. “But you’re a stupid cracker,” they tell me. “You can’t handle SIX Stars!”
And to that, of course, I say “Nay!” (and throw little fits until I get my way), laughing in the face of their six stars as I throw down my super nummy basil/chicken/noodle dish.
Unfortunately, there’s one foe that continues to kick Our Hero’s ass each time he dares call it out: the habanero salsa.
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So both the people who come around here regularly will probably recall a time or two when I’ve complained about the smell of other people on the train.
I know I can’t forget… Back in May, there was the Man Sweater. If I close my eyes real tight and think of rotten swamp rats dunked in sewage, the memory of his smell comes back to me.
Then there was Cigarette Water Bucket lady, that wonderful woman who smelled like she bathed in a putrid mix of spitoon residuals soaked in bong water.
And now I’d bet my best Bruce Campbell action figure that someone out there in Portland is still haunted by the memory of that sweaty, stinky dude they shared the train with last night: me.
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So both of you who’ve been here more than once probably noticed that I changed the theme. The old one was a boring and messy as its owner, so I figured it was about time to shake up the look.
Oh, if only it was this easy in real life… It’s really too bad for all of you that I can’t just surf over to some website, click a few buttons, and suddenly transform this:
into this:
Of course, that’s probably worse for you all than me. After all, I only have to see myself for a few minutes in the morning and each time I wash my hands after taking a piss. And I know when I’ll have to see that grill so I can brace myself.
You poor bastards, on the other hand, never know when you might be stuck lookin’ at this thing. Could see me the next time you’re driving through PDX, or maybe, God forbid, when you’re out for dinner.
All things considered, though, I think that I’d stick with the Justin 1.0 model even if the Pitt theme was an option. Who knows how much work it would take to uninstall that Jolie add-on.
Anyway, let me know if you happen to find anything funky with the site while you’re here. I’m working on the little snafus I’ve found, but seems like something always slips through.
So that outage I was complaining about started on Monday… the one that involved a closed bridge and three weeks of Our Hero biking to work? Yeah. About that biking thing…
See, after the exciting manly weekend, I couldn’t drag my lazy ass out of bed early enough to bike in on Monday, so I took the train as far as it would go and walked from the Rose Garden Arena (home of 2010 NBA champion Portland Trailblazers) to the office.
Turns out that, at least when the weather’s nice, it ain’t a bad walk. I walked into my office only 10-15 minutes later than I might usually stumble in and got a little bit of exercise, too. Google tells me it’s only about 1.5 miles, and who am I to argue with our Googlian overlords?
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Well get off your lazy ass, get your download on, and get started:
Good God damn, I loves me some MIT. Just when I was beginning to think that they could never possibly out-awesome their Hip Hop course, they go and offer How to Stage a Revolution. I’m downloading it tonight and starting my uprising first thing tomorrow. Start kissing my ass now if you want to avoid the mines.
