Bittersweet

but mostly bitter.

Here's the story of the tragic and unnecessary death of Roger Williamson. The video shows the burning wreckage of Williamson's auto, and the events that follow are so incredibly tragic and yet, inspiring at the same time, that it's really hard for me to describe how it makes me feel to watch it.



I wish there were more David Purleys in this world.

Photographer Cor Mooij was on hand and captured a photoset that turned out to be the World Press Photo award winner for the sports category.

Phone Sex Grandma

The title pretty much tells you everything you need to know about this video. This grandma is a phone sex operator. Kind of (ok, very) disturbing, so view with caution. Not for the squeemish or patrons of phone sex lines.

Enjoy this "god-damn-mother-fucking-shit!"

Going out on a comedic note

Aren't tweakers fun to deal with. This is someone's interpretation of ET the extra terrestrial, on meth.

Later Folks,
-Dave

Back to Court

I'm feeling way more nervous to go to court this Thursday, compared to how I felt 2 weeks ago at my last court date. I'm not much of a 'criminal', and I don't know much about the legal system. The little I do know actually scares the shit out of me, so as I sit and think about what's in store for me I'm kind of freaking out. There's a knot forming in my stomach. Or maybe that's just hunger. Not much in the way of food in my house nowadays. Not much in the way of money in my bank account either. And both are related to why I'm going to the Austin County Courthouse.

You see, when you're drunk as fuck, and a cop pulls your friend over, and you know you have a warrant for your arrest, something in you snaps. It's called the fight or flight mechanism. It's an instinct. You know you're fucked, so you lose it. Maybe you are physically aggressive. Or possibly you're verbally aggressive. I chose the latter, which, I believe, provoked the cop's 'your-face-meets-the-pavement' move. Can't really defent myself in cuffs. Or any of my actions in this situation. I was acting very stupid. Lame on my part.

So now i sit at my computer desk, about to put on some clothes and walk down to the store and spend my last $4 on eggs and a can of tuna. tuna salad. it's what's for breakfast/lunch/dinner. For the next 3 days.

As a result of this asshattery, i'm about to lose my internet access/cable for at least a little while. looking like about 2 weeks to a month. So, to anyone at all who reads this blog (this statement pertains to nobody I'm aware of, as i do check the shiny stat at the bottom of the page), If there are no new posts, you know why.

-Dave

That's the Last Straw, star wars Nerds

OK, so let me start off by saying that I have a passing interest in star wars. When I was a younger lad, I even had the trilogy on VHS. I never thought it was earth shattering, but I gave it it's props.

At this point I had no problem with people getting way into the whole 'dressing up as chewy' shit that they do, etc. Enter Exhibit A.

That's right folx, there are (knock off) star wars condoms out there! WTF!?!

I'm declaring war on star wars nerds everywhere. I can tolerate this asshattery no longer.

Karoshi + Alcoholism = FAIL

Browsing around wikipedia, I came across an article about karoshi, the Japanese term for being overworked. The article states that "It was recognized that employees cannot work for twelve or more hours a day, six or seven days a week, year after year, without suffering physically as well as mentally."

I found this interesting, b/c That's about my work schedule. I wake up at 5 a.m. 6 days a week, and every weekday, I work until 6p.m. That's 12 working hours a day 5 days a week. Then on Saturdays, I work for 9 hours.

Also, I'm an alcoholic.

That's a pretty big tax on my body. And it's starting to show up in my life in bad ways.

Doberman Security Inc's Credit Card Reminder

This amazing piece of tech, available for $7.99, is a device you keep attached to your credit card to remind you not to forget it some place . Let's say you're at a bar and you open a tab. First, you would disconnect your credit card reminder, then set the alarm for 1 to 4 hours, then proceed to get wasted. At the end of the night, you're nicely toasted and can't figure out "what the fuck is that damn noise!?!", at which point you fumble around in your pants pockets for a minute, coming off as slightly creepy to the foxy lady you somehow managed to start a conversation with, all the while dropping ones out of your pocket that you planned on tipping with. Somehow, god smiles on your sorry ass, and you eventually find the damn thing, and remember to get your card back from the bartender. You know, the one you challenged to an arm wrestling contest, after you asked if you could see her boobs. Yeah, that one. WIN.