Multi-cultural.
While losing my ice hockey game last night, I ran into another one of those mega-cocky fuckbags that plays down a level to feel like he's got a big penis or something.
He shot at me all night from all angles and got no goals, yet, every time he hit the crossbar or came close, he'd skate by me and smirk. Smirk cockily, no less.
So I tried to explain to him that he was welcome to attempt more shots if he'd like by saying, "Keep trying, fuckbucket!"
He didn't appreciate that, still, he kept trying, must be a real go-getter, that one.
I thought I was so damn clever, thinking up the word "fuckbucket" until I read Dinky's diary and saw that she described her day as "Fuckity buckets."
Damn those Aussies and their unique way of wording things.
I swear they can say the dumbest thing the neatest way.
I could say, "I gotta go take a shit," but an Aussie would say, "I'm gonna show my arse a ringadingsaroo," or something like that.
Me and the Girl are off to fabulous PUEEEERRRRRTO VALLARRRRRRRRTA tomorrow. She got us a smokin' deal through her work, so we get to pretend we're fat, American, tourists for a few days.
I've already got my translation book handy. Here are some helpful phrases I've found:
No gracias, si he obtenido la abundancia de mierda barata en mi casa que hice fuera de papel de crespón y mierda de asno ya.
No thank you, if I've got plenty of cheap shit in my house that I made out of crepe paper and donkey shit already.
¿Por qué mantiene la sopa saliendo de mi como?
Why does soup keep coming out of my ass?
Sí, usted puede besar a mi novia, pero quiero una bebida de su tequila primero, tu quiera uno también
Yes, you can kiss my girlfriend, but I want a drink of your tequila first, you might want one too.
¿Lechastes un pedo, o asi jueles?
Did you fart, or do you just smell that way?
They're gonna love me.
Posted by JuddHole
This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.I hurt all over… but I am a Champion.
My body likes to tell me things ever-so-subtly.
Why don't we stay home tonight?
-Can't, playing ice hockey tonight.
Shit man, one fucking night off isn't too much to ask. I'm tired and everything hurts.
-I'm the GOALIE, it's not like we can just skip out, and maybe we wouldn't BE so fucking tired if you'd help me get some goddam sleep.
That shit is as much your problem as it is mine, bitch. Who gives a fuck what kind of fish you should next put into the saltwater tank? Damn, worry about that shit while you're at work.
Now is when even my hair starts to get tired and achy. Memorial Day beat me up with the Volleyball and the drinking, then I won me a championship in roller hockey last night.
The game went well. I won the MVP for making some tough saves, and then standing around. I don't think I did near as much as my personal choice for MVP, Gonzo. He's amazing. My favorite hairy, tattooed, six-and-a-half-foot Mexican went and won the game for us.
We were down 2-0 because the other team has one of those SuperGoodGuys and we, well, don't. SuperGoodGuy walked around all of my teammates, waddawadda waddawadda, and scored, DING-off-the-crossbar, twice. Not lookin' good for the home team.
Then Gonzo got hog-tied in the corner with some guy, they both went down and Gonzo decided that the best way to get up was to use the other guy's face as a step. That's when SuperGoodGuy thought he'd step in.
Gonzo lacks certain catches and switches in his brain. One of these is the one that says, "Just because that guy is coming at you doesn't mean he's going to knock your shit out, so don't punch him in the fucking head." He did, and scuffling ensued. After being separated and learning that he was going to be thrown out for fighting, we were treated to another missing switch in his brain.
This would be the one that says, "Probably not a good idea to share with the ref your thoughts on his sexual preferences, his ancestry, or his possible preference for intercourse with his mother."
Penalties. Lots and lots of penalties. But the bonus... SuperGoodGuy got thrown out too. Atta boy, Gonz, take one for the team.
We came back and won 5-2 making me a two-time champ, baby.
This is from last season, so no Gonzo, but next time I'm in the shower with him, I'll get some nice shots of his hairy, tattooed ass.
I never want to hear that again
Me and the Girl used to play in a 9-ball league at this bar nearby. I dropped out to play ice hockey, so now I get to be home when she comes in half-lit and climbs into bed with me.
It's great when she passes out and I can hear her belly, Seinfeldian-like, talking to me... and it's not happy. Shit though, she's out cold, no problem. I fall asleep.
Anyone who's a parent or has dogs has woken up in the middle of the night to that noise. You know that noise that portends a nice batch of stomach stew coming forth unto your bed or carpet.
I heard the splorking-splashing of something in the toilet and, for the first, and hopefully ONLY, time in my entire life, I thought, "I hope to god that's her ass makin' that noise." Then I heard the noise taper into a cough and I was glad it wasn't her ass... until I figured out what it was.
"Awwww, noooo...." I groaned as I climbed out of bed.
I tell you folks what love is. It's not just holding her hair while she yaks, oh no. It's gagging, fighting back the urge to vomit myself, holding her hair, rubbing her cold, sweaty back, and gently, oh-so gently making her feel like a complete ass.
"Damn, honey, that's pretty foul."
She laughed and urped at the same time. It didn't sound pleasant. I made a face like this: EEWWWAAAHHGGUUULLL.
She said, "I feel so stupid, I thought I was doing so well tonight with holding my liquor, then I go to bed and wake up doing this."
"Yeah, that is pretty stupid."
I'm so sensitive and supportive sometimes, I almost make myself sick.
Posted by JuddHole
This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.In a crowded bar, how can you tell if there are any Texans?
Answer: They'll tell you.
Texas sucks.
Not all of it. There are parts that I genuinely enjoyed in my 4 years there. But, for the most part, it's hot, sticky, flat, and, if it has any water, the shit is brown and doesn't move.
I guess Texas isn't that bad. It's so fucking big that there are some really cool places to go. In fact, Texas wouldn't suck anywhere near as bad as it does except for one thing:
It's full of Texans.
There's not a ton of criteria for being a Texan. You basically have to have an undeniable love for anything even remotely related to the state of Texas, to believe that anything Texas-related is the biggest and bestest ever, and have zero compunctions with telling this to everyone in the fucking world.
Oh, and you have to be fat and talk funny.
Talking funny is the easy part. First, lower your IQ about 40 points, then add a syllable to every word. "Boy" becomes "Boy-yuh", "Judd" becomes "Juh-uhdd" and so forth. My college hockey coach used to say that the two best words in the Texas language were "Buff-ay". Boy-yuh, those fuckers can eat. Everything they eat is presented as a Buff-ay, because entrees just aren't big enough.
If you're a Texan and you're not fat, then you have to have someone in your immediate family that makes up for it. I'm pretty sure there's a state allocation of fat on a per family basis. If you're the skinny one, then your sister has to be fucking huge.
My cousin graduated last weekend. She's one of the low-fats, so, naturally, her mother, grandmother, aunt, and remaining cousins are all grotesquely obese.
I flew down in hopes of making an attempt at reconnecting to my biological family. It's nice to be so far removed from them because I get to pull the same shit as with my "adopted" families. I get to skip the drama and politics and just show up for beer and barbecue. I even had a talk with my father and for the first time EVER he admitted his shortcomings as a parent and we conversed like two adults would, instead of the way JudgementalOverbearingPrick used to talk to PetulantRebelliousChild.
I won't lie, it was a damn good time. There are some things I miss about Texasland, like killer barbecue and Shiner Bock beer.
I miss fishing with my Uncle "B". This guy was a projected 3rd round pick offensive lineman out of Purdue in the 80's and blew his knee his senior year. His bouncy-cheerleader-Texan girlfriend dropped him like a hot rock and his NFL hopes were trashed, so he went to grad school, met my aunt (one of the fat ones, but an awesome lady and loads of fun), had some fat kids, and became a HS math teacher. And he loves to fish. Doesn't matter if it's in the dirty soup Texans call water, or if it's here in Colorado with our cold, clear streams, we smoke us some cigars, drink cold beer and fish at our white-trashiest best.
The fishing was great except we were on his boat. I'm pretty ground-bound. I don't know shit about boats, so anytime he needed something done, I just tried to get out of the way and feel useless.
I had a classic cartoon moment when we were drifting in a little inlet off of Lake Belton and were going ass-end into a cliff-face. I saw the trolling line (small pole with small minnow who shakes what-his-mama-gave-him in hopes of enticing a larger fish) was caught in a hole in the cliff wall, and the closer we got, the more the pole looked like it was going to snap and carve my left eyeball out. I thought I could handle this, as I didn't figure I needed any boatology lessons to push the boat away from the cliff. I was wrong, I desperately need "How Not to be a Fucking Dumbass on a Boat 101" and apparently the accompanying lab.
I found out that it doesn't take a very big push, especially from a big kid like me, to make a 14 foot fishing boat move rapidly across still waters. I found this out while I still had my hands on the cliff face and my feet, and the boat, were quickly going the opposite direction.
It's times like these in my life, that I get an idea in my head that I can do something that can really only happen in a cartoon or a Jackie Chan movie. I'm not Jackie Chan, but I always feel like I COULD be. I knew I couldn't balance back onto the boat, so I thought that I could just find some good hand-holds, grip the cliff face, swing my feet off of the boat and cling to the wall Spidey-style. Then I'd wait, being very Ninja-like, for my uncle to back the boat up and pick me up.
That's when the cartoon moment kicked in. Gracefully as a pregnant Yak, I slipped off the edge of the boat and swung into the cliff wall.
"OOOF!" I grunt.
Then I find out that the handholds I found are actually sharp edges of shale from bird's nests and my hands are bleeding.
"Whuunh..." I let go and slide down the cliff-face like a loogie on a windshield.
Least the water's warm.
Then Uncle Fucker is laughing too goddam hard to hit the trolling motor and come back and get me. So I have to swim with my sandals in my fucking hand (turns out they float when they come off your feet) and the trolling rod as well as my fly rod in my other hand.
Then he's laughing too fucking hard to help me into the goddam boat. I could climb up the huge outboard motor until a certain point, then everything I touched was slick with oil and I'd go right back into the fucking water.
That sombitch must of lost 5 pounds laughing at my ass.
We did catch a bunch of fish though and I hardly cared when they would stick their spiney-fin-death-pokers into the gashes on my hands, because it was such a good time. That, and I was completely shithoused.
When we got back to the house, my little fat cousin was exceptionally sweet as she dumped antiseptic soap directly into the open wounds on my hands and chest and cleaned me up.
I don't know how Jackie Chan does that shit.
I think I need to practice.
Bump, Set... SPIKE... then help her up and apologize.
This Memorial Day was probably one of the only times in my life I did what everyone else was doing on a National holiday. Usually, I'm working, fishing, or too drunk to pretend I can be normal and therefore miss out on all the fun.
Yesterday, me and the Girl went to Washington Park with a big bunch of friends. We set up a volleyball net, busted out a frickin' hackysack, drank assloads of beer and went nuts on every other holiday cliché we could think of. We had a "Big Sandwich" as there was no grill available, we drank shit beer, as there are no bottles allowed, and we skated around the park holding hands and looking svelte. Okay, we didn't do that last one.
I found out that even though I've only played once in Junior High P.E. class, I am a volleyball GOD. Turns out you don't really need any skill, talent, or smarts (amen to that shit). All you need is hustle.
That's awesome, because that's really all that I've got.
I dove, I dug and I ran after every damn ball near me. Course, I ran over the girls a few times, but they learned to get out of the way after awhile.
Sometimes, I worry if I really am that big of an asshole, running over girls to make a play in backyard volleyball and all.
But, you should've SEEN the play.
Maybe I AM Jackie Chan.
Oh, I'm a mess today, but I was a fucking champ yesterday.
Our Roller-Hockey-Championship-of-the-Universe game is tonight too. Now I've got to figure out a way to get my back to straighten, how to get my arms over my head, and how to walk with larger than 8-inch steps sometime in the next 3 hours.
I think we may be fucked.
Wish me luck.