Friday, July 29, 2011

Now Accepting Applications for Forced Entry

         Among my brother-in-law's many stupid purchases (and trust me, there are many), he used to have a security system at this house, just before he moved out about 2 years ago and handed the place over to us. This left the option of keeping it or cancelling, so the wife had called them for information.
        And for a low, low price of only $150 a month (it's like they're giving the service away), they guaranteed that our house would be safe 24/7. Getting murdered/raped? Well, no sweat, just hang tight for 5-10 agonizing minutes and this company will call the police for you! This is invaluable, because as my house is getting robbed, I just don't have time to pull out my cell phone and call the authorities.
        So, this may be a huge surprise, but we opted out, even if it meant this might happen:













        I shudder at the thought, but since $150 a month is absolutely retarded, I'll have to live with the thought that at any moment I could be raped by angry bunnies.
        But the story doesn't end here. Over the last 2 years, we've battled this company because they've kept sending us bills, thinking somehow, like your typical rapist, that 'no' meant 'yes' and that we wanted their awful service. We had never signed anything, and the equipment was long gone. So after calling numerous times, they put my wife's brother's name on the bill (as it originally was), and we thought the problem was gone. Nope, they just sent HIS bill to our house, no matter how many times we called and said he didn't live here and that he didn't have the damn service, either.
       That brings us to a few days ago, and I can't stress this enough, 2 years later, when we got this little gem in the mail (click to enlarge):

That's right! You haven't paid us in 2 years, so we're going to put our foot down and stop monitoring the equipment you never had!

        So there you go, bloggers. If you're going to come murder or rape me, now's the time to do it, because we no longer have any protection. Well, other than living in a great neighborhood, having thick double locks, and a big, aggressive wolf dog (the other 3 are pussies) that barks at the slightest bit of foreign movement.
        I'll be sure and let you know if I make it through the weekend.

Stay classy, friends,
Bryan

Mood: Paranoid
Beer: Dos Equis Amber
Shower: Awkward with Bun Bun here

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Hump Day Hullaballoo

Bryan and I are shorthairs deep into writing a new novella (2/3 done?) between novels, and since the ball is in my court for a new chapter, this is going to be a short post today. Mostly, I’d just like to give a shout-out to my liver. I just want you to know your efforts don’t go unappreciated, my friend, even though you’re trapped in what some might see as an abusive relationship. But, don’t listen to them. It’s for your own good. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t love you. The day you learn to stop giving me hangovers is the day you’ll learn to stop “falling down stairs.” Until then, you’d best be stocking up on the ibuprofen eyeshadow.
            But seriously, domestic violence isn’t funny. So stop laughing, asshole. If you know someone who really does like to punch women, he’d better be a transvestite boxer with a losing record, otherwise he’s earned himself a sledgehammer castration. Call me old-fashioned.
            Sorry for the randomness and lack of general theme here, folks. I promise greater things when Bryan takes the reins again Friday.
Also, as an overdue side note, author friend Kirk Farber recently won the Colorado Book Award for literary fiction for his novel “Postcards from a Dead Girl.” To view a pic of what a real, live, non-self-published fiction author looks like, click here (Kirk's the flame top. Bryan and Brandon are both pictured here too, just in case you’re dying to know what unpublished novelists look like...). Go to a bookstore and buy the book, foo!
Cheers,
-brandon


Beer: Green Line (Goose Island)
Music: Silver Sun Pickups

Friday, July 22, 2011

Dances With Salesmen

After six years of faithful service and constant abuse, my old car is no more. The sounds coming from the engine were beginning to resemble mechanical emphysema, and plenty of other expensive problems were cropping up.
So, I sold the PT Cruiser. Yes, I drove a PT Cruiser. And, yes, I realize that only the geriatric own PT Cruisers. In order to save face with my manhood, I’ll claim that I was under-compensating for the size of my schnitzel. You know, like the needle-dick with the lifted monster truck, but in reverse.
Anyway, the point of this post was to talk about car salesmen, and the entertainment my fiancĂ© and I got during negotiations. It was sort of like being on Deal or No Deal, but Howie was black, and instead of models in bikinis, there were fat guys in bad suits. So, there we were at the Subaru dealership…











I really did get the thing for 6k under sticker price. And the kidney paid for a full tank. Go me.

Cheers,

-brandon

Beer: Stella
Musica: The Smiths

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

False Advertising

          So the wife just got a new cellphone, and I noticed that it's hardly as advertised. I'll get back to that later in the post, but it got me thinking; almost nothing we see on TV is just like it's advertised. For example...


1) Fast Food

You see a big juicy hamburger on TV and it looks like God himself ripped some meat from his midsection and tossed it onto a bun. Too bad it never looks a thing like that.

Burger on the commercial:

What it looks like when you actually buy it:

So, who's hungry?
 


Unfortunately, I don't think they sell AIDS-free burgers. 

2) Amusement Parks

In every commercial I've seen for a theme park/amusement park, everyone's so retardedly happy to be there--like this is such a great experience, that they'll have to kill themselves afterwards because nothing from that moment on will measure up to the happiness they had at that theme park. Too bad that's never the case.

On TV:

Real life:


Unless you're 5, is there really anything THAT exciting about an amusement park? You waited in line 30 minutes so you could be flung around upside down for 45 seconds? In the process you threw up the $10 hot dog that was probably dropped on the pavement at some point by a carny reject that doesn't give a shit?

3) Video Calling

As stated (and the origin for this post), my wife just got a new cellphone, which happens to be the same cellphone I already have. It's one of the best phones on the market, and we were so excited when we heard that they have video calling. However, we quickly found that video calling was nothing like in the commercials.

The commercials:



Why are they so damn happy? We sure weren't, when we tried our first 'video call.'

Real life:


Seriously, have any of you tried this feature? It's so garbled and choppy it's almost useless, unless you really love to utter the expression "what the fuck did you just say?" over and over again.

I'm sure I left out a ton, so let me know in the comments what you think is falsely advertised on TV.

Stay classy, friends,
Bryan

Mood: FGSFDS
Beer: HLWDJO DLJE
Shower: POJSD SDAFFGR
(brought to you by video chat)

Monday, July 18, 2011

A Beer for the Hydrant

Well, it’s officially summertime here in the city. Greenhouse gases are helping to broil the blacktop, the alleyways are choked with the smell of slow-roasting garbage, and the fire hydrants of the crappier neighborhoods have temporarily been commandeered to act as the local car wash/swimming pool.
            And, yes, this means my neighborhood. Pretty much every day the temperature climbs over ninety, this is what the street corner looks like in front of my building.

            A neighborhood fellow with too much time on his hands has a hydrant wrench and custom grinds a “V” shape into the cap to get that fancy arcing waterfall. It’s pointless to call the City of Chicago anymore. They really don’t care. Sometimes the thing gets shut off, sometimes it doesn’t. In the meanwhile, it plays host to dozens of screaming hoodbrats and a never ending loop of cars that are lucky to have stumbled across a free carwash. Occasionally, even the cops do a nice slow drive-through to get a rinse.
            Usually about a dozen adults can be found standing around this makeshift fountain for hours on end during the day, which I find sort of funny. Because with a couple towels, sponges, and buckets of soap, they don’t know just how dangerously close they are to gainful employment.
            Normally, I really wouldn’t give a damn. At least it gives people something to do in this godforsaken heat. But, I’m tired of living with the equivalent of an urban amusement park right outside my window.
Did I mention I’m moving next week? Thank Jebus.

Cheers,

-brandon

Beer: Corona
Music: Rise Against

Friday, July 15, 2011

In Absentia

       So as Brandon noted, I was absent on Wednesday. Unfortunately, I wasn't getting malaria in Africa, backstage at a Justin Bieber concert, or heavily poisoned from household chemicals. No, that would have been a treat.
       I was having the day from hell.
       As it's been noted before, the townhouse I live in and the one a few houses down from us is owned by my wife's family. The other townhouse was in the process of being rented out to some rich people with too much money to blow, and we thought it would take a while. Imagine my surprise when my in-laws call and tell us that these people are moving in tomorrow... And because they don't want to look like assholes, everything from the old townhouse needed to be gone (which should have been gone months ago)
       Now, this townhouse used to be occupied by my brother-in-law's ex wife, and in addition to completely trashing the place ($3000 worth of damage), when she moved, she took all of the good stuff and left all of the junk. More specifically, an entire garage full of junk.
        How do I know?
        Because my in-laws had it moved to MY garage.
        And how did they move it?
        Oh yeah, I had to.
        That's right, I spent 7 hours total (3 of those hours I spent in pouring rain/hail) heaving items from one townhouse to another.
        Some of the gems I got to lug (see below for legend):
A) Shitty painting that looks like it was painted by a 5 year old. If she spent any more than $5 on this she needs to be punched.
B) The eighth wonder of the world, the amazing cardboard box pyramid.
C) If you look behind the antifreeze, you can see an incredibly destroyed couch, complete with child's vomit, cigarette butts, and burn marks!
D) This is the headboard of a bed. I got to move a queen size bed, its frame, and headboard all by myself. Which was a blast, let me tell you.
E) What the fuck is this? The bottom of a shopping cart?
F) Much like a bad prison system, the sweeper vacuum has already begun to make the random plastic black piece its bitch. How's that for some white on black crime?
G) Candles apparently from an ancient Mayan ritual. Those are real stone, and real fucking heavy.
H) A Trick-or-Treat basket. Knowing this woman, it was full of Pall Malls and used heroin needles.
I) A martini drink station, which was much needed after moving all this shit.

      Oh, and if you're wondering what it looks like when you're moving a queen sized bed all by yourself, out in the dark, in the pouring rain, it probably looks terrifying. Like you're the Night of the Living Mattress.




    But the shitty day didn't end here, because the in-laws were STILL not prepared to have these new people come in, and I was given a laundry list of things I had to do.

  • Have a maid service come over for a final cleaning and pay them.
  • Make 4 new keys.
  • Buy a mounting brace for a ceiling fan.
  • Buy new blinds and mount them in place of the old blinds. 
     The old blinds, if you're wondering, were chewed up by this woman's demon child. I'm not kidding. They were covered in tiny human teethmarks.

The task at hand: measure the old blinds, go to Home Depot, and get blinds cut to that specification. Easy enough, right? Wrong.

 




 


      Yeah, that's right, the guy fucked up 72 minus 70 and cut them to 71 inches, so I had to drive all the way back to get them re-cut again. Also, when getting them re-cut, they tangled up all of the cords and I spent over 20 minutes untangling them after I mounted the blinds.



     But like a bad Billy Mays infomercial, this is still. Not. all. You may have seen from a post last week that my dad got surgery. He's still recovering. Well, at the same time that I was out moving beds and getting hammered by the pouring rain, my parents' basement was flooded and the rocks along the side of their house were washed away. They needed me to drive to their house immediately (30 minutes away), drive my Dad's truck to Home Depot (my new favorite place by now), and pick up 14 bags of rock (50 lbs each) and replace the rock on the side of their house, since my dad is still recovering from surgery.
      So, I loaded, transported, unloaded, and dispersed 700 lbs of rock.
      But... that was
      STILL
      NOT
      ALL.
      Because I came home and stepped in glass, which my dog had apparently knocked over while I was gone.



         So, what's the worst day you've ever had in your life?

Stay classy, friends,
Bryan

Mood: Urge to kill... rising... rising...
Beer: I don't know but I'm going to start shotgunning a few here in a second
Shower: I need one, stat. Move thousands and thousands of pounds of furniture, junk, and rock, and you get very sweaty and very smelly. I think I even topped our good friend Cake Betch in rank grossness.

The only positive was that I didn't have to deal with the new move ins. Because I have a feeling I know what would have happened.

 
  

Also, if anyone has any suggestions on how I can dispose of the mountain in my garage, please comment or e-mail me. I want it gone without breaking my back or my wallet... basically, I just want my damn garage back.
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