Tag Archives: Captain Trips

More Lessons Learned…

… from “The Last Ship.”

Yeah, it’s been awhile, but hey, most of the funny/fucked up shit that happens to me has to do with The Concubine (without her knowledge), and I almost feel bad shaming her on Teh Interwebz.  I know, weird, right?  Me feeling shame.  But anyhoo…

LESSONS LEARNED FROM “THE LAST SHIP”

Episode 1

  • The CDC is never here to save YOU, dumbass.  They’re here to save other people. FROM you. (Actually, I already knew this.)
  • Jason Dean is still smokin’ fuckin’ hot.  My argument:
And still WAAAAAY too hot for Phoebe Halliwell.

And still WAAAAAY too hot for Phoebe Halliwell.

  • Don’t even fucking THINK about killing the dog, inexplicable Russian ninjas.  I WILL CUT YOU.
  • Two words:  JAYNE COBB! That is all.
The Hero of Canton

The Hero of Canton

  • Jason Dean and Jayne Cobb manage to make up for that actress who looks like she smelled a fart.
  • We are, at this moment, potentially 2 months away from President Boehner.  Wait, wait, stop cutting yourself, I said POTENTIALLY.
  • Radio silence is NEVER for your own protection.
  • When all else fails, fucking do it yourself.  Fear of electrocution is for PUSSIES.
  • If you fail to answer your phone, I’m totally allowed to come over to your place and steal your popcorn and mac n’ cheese.
  • We get issued protective face shields for a reason.  DUMBASS.

(although you did make the right choice, ma brotha.  ain’t goin’ out like that.)

BONUS:  Having kids and a wife is NOT. FUCKING. WORTH IT.  The Night’s Watch has the right idea.

AND ONE CAVEAT:  Naming a character “Dr. Scott” makes me want to throw toilet paper.

I love you, my Hooligans.  And I’ll try to do better!

HH

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Filed under At the Movies, Getchore LEARN on!, I Rule You, The Idiot Box, The Many Husbands of Hoody

The White Man’s Medicine

Y’all may have picked up what I’m putting down already… to be on as many drugs as I am, I’m really not a huge fan of what Dear Sweet Mama and I like to call “The White Man’s Medicine.”  Being of Indian extraction (feather, not dot), and being somewhat of amateur herbalists to boot, both of us would rather fix ourselves with tea and a compress than a mess o’ pills… but sometimes, tea don’t cut it.

BUT… Neither does the white devil!

Remember when Chuckweasel’s mama had the stroke and had to be in the hospital for awhile?  Luckily, she made a really good recovery, the only trouble being that her blood pressure stayed way too high, which they kinda figured caused the stroke in the first place.  So Dr. Custer fills her full of blood-pressure pills (5 kinds. FIVE!) and sends her on her way.

Cut to yesterday, when poor Chuckweasel’s mama had to have surgery to remove a nodule on her adrenal gland… which they think may be the reason her blood pressure was so out of wack in the first place, and taking it off may fix that.

REALLY?

It’s been MONTHS of Dr. Feelgood prescribing all sorts of medications to treat her SYMPTOMS, but no one ever thought to look for the CAUSE?  My guess is they just looked at her age and figured, “Well, a lot of people get high blood pressure as they get older” and called it a day.  The same way doctors REPEATEDLY told my own Dear Sweet Mama that her chest pain was “just gas” because “women your age don’t have heart attacks.”  Well, now we know she’s got a birth defect in her heart… where’s your gas now, DOC?

All in all, I am all in favor of the pills the pills the marvelous pills that keep me from shooting people and enable me to eat, well, food, but treating the symptoms is not enough.  Fucking make it better, or pass the peyote.

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Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, Chuckweasel, I'm Confused, La Vida Loca, SCIENCE!, White Man's Medicine, WTF???

Don’t Know Whatcha Got…

‘Til it’s gone, ya know.  And since my poor car is currently on the list of things that are gone (damn transmission!), I thought I’d offer y’all a little gem I made up for The Book of Face ages ago (reworked slightly, of course!).  I present:

THINGS I WILL MISS WHEN THE WORLD GOES TO HELL

INNA BUCKET

  1. Central Heat may in fact be the thing I miss absolutely the most.  I freakin’ HATE to be cold and a fire just don’t cut it.
  2. Liquor/wine/beer I don’t have to make for myself.  Check out my high school chemistry grades if you think me trying my hand at moonshinin’ won’t end in blood.
  3. This one got tooken from me already (thanks, pancreas!): The freedom to eat whatever I want, whenever I want.  Still, I figure I’ll look back at chicken and rice FONDLY when all there is to eat is looter-meat.
  4. Being able to go places . Walking sucks and horses can be assholes, so it’s really not worth it.
  5. Water I don’t have to boil or filter… wait, I live in Wes’BYGAWD Virginny, I don’t have that NOW.  How about, water I don’t have to CARRY?
  6. Hate to say it, but I will miss the hell outta TV.  Oh, idiot box, we hardly knew ye.
  7. Books, especially new books.  Stephen King ain’t gonna be cranking out the next bestseller when the crops need a-sowin’.
  8. The ease of communication.  Even with Kevin Costner delivering the mail, he still can’t beat the phone and the interwebz.
  9. STORES!  Much as I hate to shop, if I need a new outfit, I go out and buy it.  If Laura Ingalls wanted a new outfit, she freakin’ MADE IT.  Suffice it to say, when the End Times come I’ll be wearing a potato sack.
  10. Meat I don’t have to catch, raise or kill.
  11. Antibiotics — sometimes you really gotta hand it to the White Man’s Medicine.
  12. Strangely enough, the government.  It was nice having someone to blame.
  13. The ability to be SURPRISED by the weather (“well, hot damn, it’s snowin’!”).  An agrarian society won’t have that luxury.
  14. Speaking of luxuries, how about safety, security and just general fuckin’ around time… say bye-bye to all that!
  15. Toilet paper, and while I’m at it, Kotex… and while I’m at THAT, Monistat.
  16. PAPER… FUCKING… TOWELS.  You think it’s funny, but you know how pissed off you get when you’re out?  Now imagine that’s FOREVER.
  17. Music I don’t have to make myself.  All I play is clarinet, and that badly.
  18. Vitamin tablets.  Gonna get the scurvy.

And because I couldn’t leave y’all without some serious deep thoughts to ponder all weekend..

19.  The way it feels to live your life NOT having ever had to kill someone.

20.  The ineffable luxury of being able to feel pity.

So that’s it — time to get one of those Australian dogs and attach knives to our hubcaps.  THUNDERDOME!!!!!!!!!!!

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Filed under At the Movies, GENIUS!, Getchore LEARN on!, I Rule You, La Vida Loca, Only in Wes' BYGAWD Virginny, Weep for Humanity, White Man's Medicine

I Love Paris in the Springtime…

… but I absolutely HATE my office in the fall.  That’s because by now, everybody’s used up all their sick time, so when they get the Death Plague, THEY COME IN ANYWAY!  Wagging their germs behind them.

I, being isolated in my own little room very early in the morning, am usually safe from their diseases… but then I was stupid.  The receptionist asked me to print something out from her computer Friday morning (yes, the computers are still so fucked up I couldn’t access the file from here)… and I did it.

I only remembered when I woke up basically zombified Monday morning — that bitch had been snottin’ and snortin’ around all week!  And I touched her filthy keyboard AND her grody phone!  So, yeah, I gave myself the plague, which pisses me off, ’cause I had plans  this weekend and now everything’s up in the air!

Unless people just wanna come hang out with me while I sit on the toilet…

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Filed under La Vida Loca, Reality Bites, SCIENCE!, White Man's Medicine, WTF???, Youse Guys

How Many Times Do I Have to Say It?

GRRRRRRRRR.  I thought we had already established this:  OUTSIDE. SUCKS.  There is no reason to go there except to get from one place to another, and we won’t even have to do THAT once those lying scientific bastards build us a transporter!

I’m sure y’all can guess, we had another outdoor wedding reception this weekend.  In the cold.  And the rain.  IN A TENT.  Which was bad enough, until I heard this woman (who had brought her BABY to the chilly Death Tent) tell some other woman that the baby “had been sick.”  So I look at the kid, and I swear to Jeebus, I think it had the mumps.  Like, its face was all swole up or something.  DO PEOPLE EVEN GET MUMPS ANYMORE?  And WHY did you bring the little mumpy bastard out amongst people, anyway, much less to the chilly Death Tent?

Then we’re standing there, playing music and minding our own, when this woman comes up to Chuckweasel.  Apparently she had been going to sing a song at the reception, but she’s too sick.  So she says this to Chuckweasel AS SHE’S SHAKING HIS HAND!  Chuckweasel doesn’t even want ME to touch him when I’m sick, lady!  Keep them hands to yo’self!

I’ve been pounding oscillococcinum and Vitamin C ever since, but it’s coming, I feel it.  Luckily I didn’t get sick fast enough to ruin the Red Lobster Experience with Poor Ol’ Dad — Hoody woulda cut a bitch.

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Filed under Chuckweasel, He's the DJ I'm the Rapper, La Vida Loca, Reality Bites, Weep for Humanity, White Man's Medicine, WTF???

It’s All Over, People

Well, it’s a good damn thing we got our Apocolists and Don’t Give a Shit Kits sorted out… ’cause le Apocolypse c’est arrive’, y’all.  Yesterday morning I not only made a joke about the President on the radio (which I try not to do, ’cause I feel sorry for the man)… but also… Glenn Beck AGREED with me.  All the signs are there, folks.  We’re fucked.

I still think the joke was pretty funny, but I’ll let y’all be the judges… Here’s the situation:  The 2 main yay-hoo’s (we call them “DJ’s) on my show asked me, as the news girl, to explain the U.S. debt crisis.  And here is what I said:

“Basically, it’s like this:  China keeps calling the White House on the phone and comin’ to the door with the sheriff, and poor ol’ Barack and Michelle have to hide behind the couch eating Ramen in the dark to pretend they’re not home.”

Yes, it’s funny, but I usually try not to make Obama jokes because I LIKE him, and my radio station… does not.  We’ll leave it at that.

BUT THEN:  when I was on my way home from the WalMart (doing my grocery shopping in the style of Ernest Hemingway — liquor, notebooks and catfood).  So anyhoo, I was listening to Glenn Beck on the way home, waiting for him to start crying because his tears taste like sunshine… when he said something  horrifyingly similar to this.  Basically, he was encouraging us members of the media to remember what we were like before we got so jaded and cynical and drunk and go back to actually trying to HELP PEOPLE.  Now, his idea of “helping” and mine are drastically different… I vote for looking out for your fellow man and trying to do the most good — or at least the least HARM — that you can, while he… seems to favor throwing anvils at drowning people.  But still, the fact that we agree even a little… upsetting.

Also, I was inexplicably pleasant to the GenPop during my shopping (I blame the fact that Sprite, which I drink at home, does NOT have caffiene whereas Mountain Dew, which is what’s in the machine at work, MOST. DEFINITELY. DOES.)  Which has led me to the germ of a new Insidious Plot… more on that tomorrow!

OKAY — A THIRD SIGN.  Overnight, I had the most graphic sex dream… about Prince Charles.  And not young, reasonably not-too-bad-plus-hey-he’s-royalty Prince Charles… CURRENT Prince Charles.  And let me tell you, nothin’ against the man, bless his lil’ pea-pickin’ heart… but when you have a sex dream about Prince Charles, there is a point at which you DESPERATELY want to wake up… and once that point passes, you start hoping you never wake up ever again.  I still feel like I smell like H.P. Sauce and incontinence pants.

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Filed under GENIUS!, I Rule You, La Vida Loca, My Secret Shame(s), Weep for Humanity

Was This the Point?

Okay, so not only did the physical therapy beat me like Apollo Creed, it also seems to have given me a RAGING sinus infection.  All I know is, I was FINE before I went, then got a sore throat the next day, which I thought was just the changing weather crap.  But TODAY, oh TODAY!  I can’t hear.  I mean, I’m not exactly deaf, but everything I hear seems to be coming from INSIDE my head… including my own voice.  So it’s off to the Doc-in-a-Box instead of P/T… which reminds me!

They have a sign at the sports medicine place as you come in the door which says: “If you have <<massively long list of cold and flu-like symptoms>>, please call to reschedule your appointment.”  And I, being a good little Do-Bee, ACTUALLY STOPPED AND THOUGHT ABOUT IT before I went in.  Like it was a checklist.  (And before you ask, yes, I do the same thing with roller coasters).  But then I get IN there, and it’s chock full of cholera-spreading old people!  Lemme tell you soemthing, once I’m that old and fucked up, I won’t be doin’ this P/T shit no more.  I’ll be laying up in bed hollerin’ for Petey to bring Mama her reachin’ stick.  THAT’S MY RIGHT AS AN AMERICAN, DAMMIT. 

Gonna make this a short one and get back to work, which today amounts to “Marlee Matlin Shouts the News”… really shoulda took a sick day, but there’s no one here to call in TO!

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Filed under La Vida Loca, WTF???