Angry Jack
Friday, January 21, 2005
Why don't things work for me?
I shouldn't be writing this blog right now. I should be printing off a paper that is needed for my English class. I clicked print. Ain't nuthin happening. While I'm pondering this, somebody walks up to the printer, pushes a button and it prints. They happily pick up their paper and be-bop off without a care in the world. Stupid li-bary computers.
Another thing that bothers me: Every time I enter this one particular restroom, I get a craving for Fruity Pebbles. Apparently the combination of disinfectants, air fresheners and bum piss create an enticing fruity aroma. Much like a children's breakfast cereal. Fuckin bleah.
I shouldn't be writing this blog right now. I should be printing off a paper that is needed for my English class. I clicked print. Ain't nuthin happening. While I'm pondering this, somebody walks up to the printer, pushes a button and it prints. They happily pick up their paper and be-bop off without a care in the world. Stupid li-bary computers.
Another thing that bothers me: Every time I enter this one particular restroom, I get a craving for Fruity Pebbles. Apparently the combination of disinfectants, air fresheners and bum piss create an enticing fruity aroma. Much like a children's breakfast cereal. Fuckin bleah.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Back again
It's been almost a year since my last post. Do I offer any apologies? Nope. But, I will try to do better this year, although I can't gaurantee anything since my computer seems to have a virus and will only let me online when it feels like it.
It's been almost a year since my last post. Do I offer any apologies? Nope. But, I will try to do better this year, although I can't gaurantee anything since my computer seems to have a virus and will only let me online when it feels like it.
Tuesday, January 13, 2004
Letting go
Well it seems that BST felt the need to create a "What's pissing me off" list. I don't mind this at all, except for the fact that he did it all wrong. After listing his gripes, he just lets them go. No. That's not how you do it. You keep all the little things that piss you off inside, letting them gradually build up over time until they finally explode, destroying not yourself, but all those things that you hate. That's my theory anyway.
No more double chocolate chip ice cream before bedtime
My most recent weird ass dream went something like this:
The roommate and I are in a demon possessed pick-up truck, tooling down an alternate version of a nearby highway. Not by choice, mind you, but because we can't get out of the truck or stop it. As we ride, I glance out the window and see a bunch of spiders crawling through a field towards a hole in the side of a hill. But Jack, you ask, how can you see the spiders from the pick-up? Well, each of these sumbitches was the size of a skateboard, not including their legs. Obviously, this is somewhat disturbing, so I turn back to the roommate to see if he noticed. He hadn't, and I felt no need to inform him of the giant spiders goin' home to their even gianter momma.
After a short while we realize that the truck is taking us somewhere we need to go, but I couldn't tell you where that may be. It was just dream knowledge. The truck allows a quick rest stop at a corner market, one of those really nice places in the middle of nowhere with a single bare bulb hanging over the pumps out front and a bathroom that hasn't been cleaned since Roosevelt was in office. The first one.
As we exit the store I notice a pile of bones across the highway on the shoulder. Floating about two feet above the bones is a semi-transparent figure that kinda flickers in and out of sight and glows with a very faint greenish light. The figure is extremely thin, and seems to be in a cramped position, with its feet crossed over one another and its arms tightly crossed. Maybe crossed isn't right. It's more like it was hugging itself, or it was cold. The apparition never looks at us, but keeps its head down, staring at the bones at its feet. A constant sighing sound comes from it, varying in pitch, even when it flickers out.
The roommate doesn't care for this so much, and quickly decides that the demon truck is a better alternative to this thing floating in the air. We climb back into the truck and it takes off. As we drive by, the thing looks up at us.
At this point in the dream something happens, but my mind has seen fit to block that part out. Maybe it's for the best.
What's making Angry Jack angry today?
Paying taxes.
Putting new tires on the car.
Putting a new timing belt on the car.
Having to pay for all of this shit in the same goddamn week.
Well it seems that BST felt the need to create a "What's pissing me off" list. I don't mind this at all, except for the fact that he did it all wrong. After listing his gripes, he just lets them go. No. That's not how you do it. You keep all the little things that piss you off inside, letting them gradually build up over time until they finally explode, destroying not yourself, but all those things that you hate. That's my theory anyway.
No more double chocolate chip ice cream before bedtime
My most recent weird ass dream went something like this:
The roommate and I are in a demon possessed pick-up truck, tooling down an alternate version of a nearby highway. Not by choice, mind you, but because we can't get out of the truck or stop it. As we ride, I glance out the window and see a bunch of spiders crawling through a field towards a hole in the side of a hill. But Jack, you ask, how can you see the spiders from the pick-up? Well, each of these sumbitches was the size of a skateboard, not including their legs. Obviously, this is somewhat disturbing, so I turn back to the roommate to see if he noticed. He hadn't, and I felt no need to inform him of the giant spiders goin' home to their even gianter momma.
After a short while we realize that the truck is taking us somewhere we need to go, but I couldn't tell you where that may be. It was just dream knowledge. The truck allows a quick rest stop at a corner market, one of those really nice places in the middle of nowhere with a single bare bulb hanging over the pumps out front and a bathroom that hasn't been cleaned since Roosevelt was in office. The first one.
As we exit the store I notice a pile of bones across the highway on the shoulder. Floating about two feet above the bones is a semi-transparent figure that kinda flickers in and out of sight and glows with a very faint greenish light. The figure is extremely thin, and seems to be in a cramped position, with its feet crossed over one another and its arms tightly crossed. Maybe crossed isn't right. It's more like it was hugging itself, or it was cold. The apparition never looks at us, but keeps its head down, staring at the bones at its feet. A constant sighing sound comes from it, varying in pitch, even when it flickers out.
The roommate doesn't care for this so much, and quickly decides that the demon truck is a better alternative to this thing floating in the air. We climb back into the truck and it takes off. As we drive by, the thing looks up at us.
At this point in the dream something happens, but my mind has seen fit to block that part out. Maybe it's for the best.
What's making Angry Jack angry today?
Paying taxes.
Putting new tires on the car.
Putting a new timing belt on the car.
Having to pay for all of this shit in the same goddamn week.
Monday, January 12, 2004
Blogs, bleah.
Boy howdy! A whole week without posting! But you really can't complain, because I believe I warned you about this in either the second or third posting, so nyeah.
Actually it's not even my fault. Y'see, I have this roommate, and whenever I get home at night this roommate says something like, "Hey, let's watch them Looney Tunes DVD's", or "Hey, lets us play (insert any video game title here)". So there ya go. No posting. He's quite the dirty little bastard like that.
What's making Angry Jack angry today?
Flat tires.
The four dead skunks I drove past today, and will again tomorrow.
Boy howdy! A whole week without posting! But you really can't complain, because I believe I warned you about this in either the second or third posting, so nyeah.
Actually it's not even my fault. Y'see, I have this roommate, and whenever I get home at night this roommate says something like, "Hey, let's watch them Looney Tunes DVD's", or "Hey, lets us play (insert any video game title here)". So there ya go. No posting. He's quite the dirty little bastard like that.
What's making Angry Jack angry today?
Flat tires.
The four dead skunks I drove past today, and will again tomorrow.
Friday, January 02, 2004
A mighty mountain of a man.
Tommy seems to think he has identified me. On his website he mentions a fear of Big Ed. This is absolutely and without a doubt... correct. Only a complete fool wouldn't be afraid of Big Ed. He is a mighty mountain of a man. Eight feet tall if he's an inch; razor sharp intellect (and teeth); ex-marine, and fiercely protective of his offspring, one of which I try to carry on a relationship with.
This is a major thorn in Big Ed's side. He wants his daughter to be happy, yet he hates me with such passion. Twelve times I've been stabbed. Shot twice. Kidney punches and "Indian burns" are a regular part of my daily life.
But I do not suffer alone. Tommy also knows of the wrath of Big Ed.
What's that?
Tell you of Tommy's pain?
Gladly.
On a recent (forced) hunting trip with Big Ed, Tommy was "instructed" to flush out a covey of quail, meaning, of course, that Big Ed grabbed Tommy by the scruff of his neck, (humans don't typically have scruffs, but poor Tommy does now), and hurled him into a briar patch. When no quail exited the briars, Tommy was blamed for scaring them all off. This was followed by taunts of, "C'mon outta there, Brer Rabbit!" by Big Ed. Tommy of course knew better than to talk back to Big Ed, having learned his lesson a couple of years ago after a six month hospital stay.
According to Tommy, the briar patch scenario was repeated numerous times over the course of the day, complete with the Brer Rabbit reference after every toss, until Tommy was finally allowed to walk home.
But, don't feel sorrow for Tommy, for he is both a liar and a cheat. Let me ask you this. When was the last time he looked you in the eye while telling a story?
The last time he visited your house, was your liquor cabinet not significantly lighter?
Of course it was. You know I speak the truth, and it's only a matter of time before he does it again. So, feel no pity for Big Stupid Tommy. His Big Ed pains are mearly his penance. Mine, however, are punishment for a crime I never commited.
What's making Angry Jack angry today?
Dirty laundry.
Empty cabinets.
The way my car window whistles in the wind when it gets wet.
Tommy seems to think he has identified me. On his website he mentions a fear of Big Ed. This is absolutely and without a doubt... correct. Only a complete fool wouldn't be afraid of Big Ed. He is a mighty mountain of a man. Eight feet tall if he's an inch; razor sharp intellect (and teeth); ex-marine, and fiercely protective of his offspring, one of which I try to carry on a relationship with.
This is a major thorn in Big Ed's side. He wants his daughter to be happy, yet he hates me with such passion. Twelve times I've been stabbed. Shot twice. Kidney punches and "Indian burns" are a regular part of my daily life.
But I do not suffer alone. Tommy also knows of the wrath of Big Ed.
What's that?
Tell you of Tommy's pain?
Gladly.
On a recent (forced) hunting trip with Big Ed, Tommy was "instructed" to flush out a covey of quail, meaning, of course, that Big Ed grabbed Tommy by the scruff of his neck, (humans don't typically have scruffs, but poor Tommy does now), and hurled him into a briar patch. When no quail exited the briars, Tommy was blamed for scaring them all off. This was followed by taunts of, "C'mon outta there, Brer Rabbit!" by Big Ed. Tommy of course knew better than to talk back to Big Ed, having learned his lesson a couple of years ago after a six month hospital stay.
According to Tommy, the briar patch scenario was repeated numerous times over the course of the day, complete with the Brer Rabbit reference after every toss, until Tommy was finally allowed to walk home.
But, don't feel sorrow for Tommy, for he is both a liar and a cheat. Let me ask you this. When was the last time he looked you in the eye while telling a story?
The last time he visited your house, was your liquor cabinet not significantly lighter?
Of course it was. You know I speak the truth, and it's only a matter of time before he does it again. So, feel no pity for Big Stupid Tommy. His Big Ed pains are mearly his penance. Mine, however, are punishment for a crime I never commited.
What's making Angry Jack angry today?
Dirty laundry.
Empty cabinets.
The way my car window whistles in the wind when it gets wet.
Monday, December 29, 2003
E-mail
If for some reason anybody would like to contact me, the e-mail is: AngryJack13@aol.com
This was just now created since the damn comment box is nonexistent.
If for some reason anybody would like to contact me, the e-mail is: AngryJack13@aol.com
This was just now created since the damn comment box is nonexistent.
Technology Shmeknology
Damn it to the bloody, pus-filled, ankle-biting, bowels of HELL!! Why doesn't anything ever work the way I want it to the first time? The most recent post on this site was posted days after I friggin wrote it. Also, I've tried to add a comments board on this thing. Do you see a comments board? I didn't think so. But that's okay. No one's gonna read this damn thing, and I wouldn't want to hear from you losers anyway. Kidding! I kid cause I love.
Other recent mishaps I've had with gadgets:
Yesterday- My lady friend needed a new ink cartridge for her printer, so, nice guy that I am, I went and bought one for her, and, cheap bastard that I am, I decided to go for a refill kit instead of an actual cartridge. My left hand is blue. My right hand has yellow fingers. The refilled cartridges are in the trash. I'll be buying her new ones tomorrow.
Today- Stepping into a restroom to do my bidness, I noticed that the fixtures had been replaced with new "efficient" self-controlling gadgets. The toilet that flushes itself, the automatic faucet, etc. After doing the aforementioned bidness, I stepped over to wash my hands. Grabbing a couple of squirts of soap, I stuck my hands under the faucet. Nothing. I tried again. Nothing. I swore at the faucet and exited the restroom, soapy hand and all. Taking a quick peek around to see if anyone was nearby, I yanked open the door to the women's restroom and was immediately met with a shout of, "Wait! NO!" from inside. I frantically tried to shut the door. This proved quite difficult, what with the door having a pneumatic hinge. The door gave an angry pssshhhhh! and finally shut. Moments later a woman exited, looked at me, and said, "I thought I had it locked." Apparently she wasn't disturbed by the fact that a man was trying to get into the women's restroom. I quickly stepped in to wash my hands, then even more quickly left. One, because I was in the ladies room, and, two, because she had made poopies.
Okay, so maybe the website problems are my fault. It's amazing that they'll just let any jackass (AngryJackass?) set up one of these blogs, whether they know what the hell they're doing or not.
Big Stupid Tommy
I was recently on B. S. Tommy's website and noticed a short reference to my charming self. Simply, "Who is Angry Jack?" Apparently Mr. Tommy has an idea of who I am, but he feels the need to verify before he assaults me.
I'll say this to you, B. S. Tommy;
The first time we ever met, around March, 1856, you were on a make-shift raft in the middle of the Pacific ocean. The crew of the ship I was on pulled you out, much to your dismay. You claimed that you were the Admiral Bertram Van der Graff, one of the Queen's Own. Furthermore, you insisted that you didn't need to be rescued, since you weren't in any danger. You were attempting to find the "lousy vagabonds" who had made off with your pirate gold. I was the only one who detected the faint but pungent aroma of bullshit in the air. Our adventures after that included: A Turkish prison, diamond mines in Africa, a bitter rivalry over a Persian princess, and numerous others.
There. That should be more than enough information for you and your deductive mind.
I should also state, for the benefit of anyone who stumbles on to this site from B. S. Tommy's, that I am not as efficient as Tommy. I won't be posting something everyday, and when I do manage to post something, it won't be written nearly as eloquently as Tommy's. Hell, I can't even spell elokwently.
What's making Angry Jack angry today?
Wind.
Rain.
Windy rain.
People who go too fast with no lights on in the windy rain.
Damn it to the bloody, pus-filled, ankle-biting, bowels of HELL!! Why doesn't anything ever work the way I want it to the first time? The most recent post on this site was posted days after I friggin wrote it. Also, I've tried to add a comments board on this thing. Do you see a comments board? I didn't think so. But that's okay. No one's gonna read this damn thing, and I wouldn't want to hear from you losers anyway. Kidding! I kid cause I love.
Other recent mishaps I've had with gadgets:
Yesterday- My lady friend needed a new ink cartridge for her printer, so, nice guy that I am, I went and bought one for her, and, cheap bastard that I am, I decided to go for a refill kit instead of an actual cartridge. My left hand is blue. My right hand has yellow fingers. The refilled cartridges are in the trash. I'll be buying her new ones tomorrow.
Today- Stepping into a restroom to do my bidness, I noticed that the fixtures had been replaced with new "efficient" self-controlling gadgets. The toilet that flushes itself, the automatic faucet, etc. After doing the aforementioned bidness, I stepped over to wash my hands. Grabbing a couple of squirts of soap, I stuck my hands under the faucet. Nothing. I tried again. Nothing. I swore at the faucet and exited the restroom, soapy hand and all. Taking a quick peek around to see if anyone was nearby, I yanked open the door to the women's restroom and was immediately met with a shout of, "Wait! NO!" from inside. I frantically tried to shut the door. This proved quite difficult, what with the door having a pneumatic hinge. The door gave an angry pssshhhhh! and finally shut. Moments later a woman exited, looked at me, and said, "I thought I had it locked." Apparently she wasn't disturbed by the fact that a man was trying to get into the women's restroom. I quickly stepped in to wash my hands, then even more quickly left. One, because I was in the ladies room, and, two, because she had made poopies.
Okay, so maybe the website problems are my fault. It's amazing that they'll just let any jackass (AngryJackass?) set up one of these blogs, whether they know what the hell they're doing or not.
Big Stupid Tommy
I was recently on B. S. Tommy's website and noticed a short reference to my charming self. Simply, "Who is Angry Jack?" Apparently Mr. Tommy has an idea of who I am, but he feels the need to verify before he assaults me.
I'll say this to you, B. S. Tommy;
The first time we ever met, around March, 1856, you were on a make-shift raft in the middle of the Pacific ocean. The crew of the ship I was on pulled you out, much to your dismay. You claimed that you were the Admiral Bertram Van der Graff, one of the Queen's Own. Furthermore, you insisted that you didn't need to be rescued, since you weren't in any danger. You were attempting to find the "lousy vagabonds" who had made off with your pirate gold. I was the only one who detected the faint but pungent aroma of bullshit in the air. Our adventures after that included: A Turkish prison, diamond mines in Africa, a bitter rivalry over a Persian princess, and numerous others.
There. That should be more than enough information for you and your deductive mind.
I should also state, for the benefit of anyone who stumbles on to this site from B. S. Tommy's, that I am not as efficient as Tommy. I won't be posting something everyday, and when I do manage to post something, it won't be written nearly as eloquently as Tommy's. Hell, I can't even spell elokwently.
What's making Angry Jack angry today?
Wind.
Rain.
Windy rain.
People who go too fast with no lights on in the windy rain.
Tuesday, December 23, 2003
Problems already.
Well sonuvabitch. I can't seem to figure this damn thing out. It's not as if it's overly complicated or anything. All you do is type some shit, preview, then post. Simple, right? Nope. Somehow when I preview I manage to simultaneously post. Five minutes after I've set this thing up and I'm already pissed off. Angry Jack indeed.
You know what? Forget it. What do you care about Jack's problems? You should go drink some more egg nog.
Alright kiddies, we're gonna try this again. Wish me luck.
Well sonuvabitch. I can't seem to figure this damn thing out. It's not as if it's overly complicated or anything. All you do is type some shit, preview, then post. Simple, right? Nope. Somehow when I preview I manage to simultaneously post. Five minutes after I've set this thing up and I'm already pissed off. Angry Jack indeed.
You know what? Forget it. What do you care about Jack's problems? You should go drink some more egg nog.
Alright kiddies, we're gonna try this again. Wish me luck.
Follower, not so much a Leader.
That's it. No more will I be jealous of others reading of the adventures of Big Stupid Tommy. His workplace mishaps; his ballroom dancing; his dragon slaying! The time has come for me, Angry Jack, to create my own blog. And, well, here it is. Am I following on the heels of Tommy And Evil Hippy? You're goddamn right. You wanna fight about it? Cause I sure as hell don't.
That's it. No more will I be jealous of others reading of the adventures of Big Stupid Tommy. His workplace mishaps; his ballroom dancing; his dragon slaying! The time has come for me, Angry Jack, to create my own blog. And, well, here it is. Am I following on the heels of Tommy And Evil Hippy? You're goddamn right. You wanna fight about it? Cause I sure as hell don't.
