Per Normal Activity

Some time ago, probably about a month or two ago, I was having a conversation with my father about my insomnia. This is already a subject that's touchy enough between the two of us, as on several occasions he's quite candidly told me he doesn't empathize with my condition at all and that he's never had trouble sleeping a single night in his life. A statement I'm sure is full of shit, although sadly I do believe he has an utter lack of empathy in my plight as an insomniac. Regardless this conversation wasn’t aided by the fact that my dumbass slut sister and her bastard child were buzzing around the kitchen, in close proximity to our conversation. The aforementioned dumb slutty sibling, Colleen, wasted little time in interrupting our conversation to inform my dad and I that she too, had insomnia. I immediately chimed in that she didn’t, however if she did, the last thing people with insomnia are supposed to do is drink caffeine. Given she’s a daily coffee drinker, I figured this would shut her up enough so that she’d back off and mind her own business. Of course it wasn’t and only added fuel to the fire, as she was now claiming that not only did she have insomnia but that I did not; and then went on to tell my dad how all I do is sleep all day. Needless to say what little patience I possess was now desolate.

“Bullshit,” I screamed out. “The only reason you say that is because when I finally crash and am able to sleep it’s usually in the day-time hours. That’s beside the fact that the primary reason you ever come downstairs in the first place is to pawn off your kid on me because you’re a terrible parent who ignores her the majority of the time.” “Don’t use that kind of language in front of Kadence,” my dad sternly warned me. “Well then tell this ignorant idiot to shut the hell up. She has no idea what real insomnia entails. And if she did, she’d know she’s doing the exact opposite of what any doctor would suggest, sitting a room all day doing nothing, drinking caffeinated beverages and not exercising. Since this point forward she’s continued to insist she has insomnia, whilst her habits have remained stagnant, unlike her weight.

Jumping forward to a time closer to our present, about a week ago I was looking for a large glass pitcher, which I use to refill the dogs’ water bowls. I scoured the kitchen but couldn’t find it. My dad and I agree on few things however one exception has been our intense displeasure with the way Colleen “re-organizes” the kitchen. Her methods of sorting make little sense and genuinely just annoy my dad and me. Out of my frustration it was at this moment I decided to take some vindictive action. I hid her coffee pot, displaced all her types of coffee and coffee related condiments in various locations. For the last week or so, she either hasn’t noticed or has made her degenerate baby’s daddy who had been hanging around the house buy her pre-made coffee elsewhere. This week however, he along with their kid is back in South Carolina, which means as a broke jobless bitch without a car or a license, she could no longer outsource for coffee and was finally forced to look for her missing coffee pot. Last night I heard her questioning my father about the location of the coffee pot and I was impressed with his Clinton-esque manner of speech. I had previously told him I intended on hiding various things from Colleen to deliberately annoy her, so he knew full well that the coffee pot was deliberately hidden, along with the identity of the perpetrator. Yet he was totally forthright and honest with her that he didn’t know where the coffee pot was and tactful in his responses, none of which even hinted toward incriminating me.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011: I run out on an errand at the request of my youngest sister to pick up a prescription from a doctor’s office roughly 5 minutes away when I’m approached by Colleen, inquiring about the location of her coffee pot. And the game begins. “Have you seen my coffee pot?” she asks me, in a neutral non-accusatory manner. “Yeah,” I reply. “I’ve seen it.” “Oh, do you know where it is?” She eagerly asked. “Nope,” I immediately responded. “But I thought you said you’ve seen it?” She questioned. “It’s in our kitchen on a daily basis of course I’ve seen it… just not recently,” I said as I subsequently slammed the front door in her face before she could inquire any further.

I returned roughly 10 minutes later and laid the prescription I had been asked to pick up on the kitchen counter. As I opened my door to head downstairs I notice Colleen is in the kitchen, frantically looking for her coffee pot. So far so good, I think to myself. “So… you really don’t know where my coffee pot is?” she asks me in a suspicious tone. “No,” I reply. “And if I did, I wouldn’t admit it.” “So then you hid it!” she exclaimed. “I never said that, I simply said if I knew where it was, I wouldn’t tell you. Don’t waste your time, you’ll never find it.” I closed my door and walked downstairs, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

Our kitchen is only one room and although it has significant storage space in it’s amplitude of kitchen cabinets. I knew it was only a matter of time before she found the coffee pot, given that I had hidden it along with all of her coffee related crap in there. I also knew after finding said coffee pot, that I claimed she’d never find, she’d feel a sense of victory, of indomitability. It was inevitable, predictable and of course only a ruse to cover up its true genius. I’d hidden all her coffee condiments in places I knew she wouldn’t have bothered looking; especially after she had found her “holy grail” that was her coffee pot. The only condiment she had left was a bowl of sugar, which I replaced with salt, which lay innocently the entire time right next to the coffee maker. Thus, she’d victoriously make her first batch of coffee, pour salt in it and ruin it herself.
A short time later I ventured upstairs to get a vitamin supplement from my upstairs cabinet when I notice my top step is soaking wet. Immediately I look toward Yago, whose been locked down the basement with me since one of our bitches is in heat. Whenever he does something wrong, he immediately bows his head and avoids eye contact with me. Then I notice this liquid is browner looking and partially splattered on both sides of the wall. Given how narrow my basement stairwell is, this would’ve been a very impressive urination display, if it were in fact urine, which of course it wasn’t. I come upstairs and my sister is beaming with victory. “You think you’re so smart. You said I’d never find it. I found it in less than 5 minutes,” she proudly stated. “Then you poured a bunch of salt in your coffee and ruined it, just like I had planned all along, dumb bitch.” And just like that her face turned from victor to victim. No doubt aided by the smile spread across my face and my pleasant demeanor despite just having coffee poured all over my top basement step. Having already cleaned up the mess which was obviously the bad coffee she had made, I trotted down the stairs whistling along the way. Despite the fact that she was no-doubt left in an angry state, the fact that she had the last word by soaking my top step, I’m sure was enough for her to feel that we were even. Perhaps if she had read the motto of some of the Morton’s salt I replaced her sugar with she’d have seen the foreshadowing: When it rains, it pours.

Still in a fairly good mood about what had just transpired I contemplated my next plan of action. I initially thought of dumping a large pitcher of water all over her bed. But the ramifications of such would just be her monopolizing the laundry machine – as she often does anyway – and really that’d be more of an inconvenience to my dad. As I brainstormed about various things I could perhaps dump on her possessions and which of those would be most fitting I realized I glanced over a much easier and more effective solution. The answer lied in the source: where the problem had started: the kitchen. Of course this answer lied in my kitchen. And it had been lying there, covered in black mold, filled with green-yellow opaque water which had been sitting stagnant and smelling foul for months. It was a medium-sized Tupperware bowl with once-unfinished food lining its sides, which had long since been overtaken by mold, bacteria and fungus. So I nonchalantly walked upstairs and grabbed a pair of latex rubber gloves and put them on. I poured a slight amount of the putrid water out so I wouldn’t spill it on my trip upstairs and subsequently to Colleen’s room. I also took the liberty of cleaning all the most disgusting parts of the bacterial growths, located on the bowls outer rims and placed them inside the tepid repulsive liquid, where they’d serve my purpose perfectly. Once I had finished the task at hand I wasted no time. I slowly, carefully and deliberately walked up the stairs, right past Colleen who was in the kitchen and shouted “Hey what are you doing!?” and poured the entire bowl of filth in the middle of her carpet. The putrescence splashed anything in the vicinity and foul odor engulfed her tiny room. “Oh okay!” she shouted. “Well now I’m just going to do something to something of yours again,” she said. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” I ask in amusement. “When you’re not here I’ll just go downstairs, she says.” “I have a lock on my door, thanks for the warning.” “Fine then your car,” she says. I briefly laugh for a moment then reply, “I’ll just lock that too.” “Just face it,” I say. “You can’t win.” “Yes I can!” she immediately exclaims. “I’m smarter than you, faster than you, stronger than you and most importantly better than you,” I calmly state. “You’re a piece of shit, you have nothing on me, and you can’t win.” She walks away her head still held high, the typical response of denial for a victim of yet another:
Reality Check

Chuck McG Flees

The night before I recant this events of this morning, my father Chuck McGovern aka Chuck McG 3 inquired about any possible plans I had for the next day. That day being a Saturday, he told me he had some work for me to do. To anyone that knows even the slightest information about Chuck, myself obviously included, this was no suprise. Pretty much any remaining time he has between his full-time job as a CFO and his part-time job as a dance-instructor, he will fill with meaningless, tedious tasks. While some would call this "busy work," he would probably call it "free time." To put a little more emphasis on this point, he will go well out of his way to make sure he spends most, if not all of his free time engaging in such tasks I've often labeled, satirically so, as "Chuck McGovern's weekend projects."
Getting back to the story at hand, I told him I had planned on probably reading most of the day, but that was about it. Essentially my docket was wide open. I'm sure this came as a shock to him... "Well he repeated, I have some work for you to do if you're interested. What time do you plan on getting up?" "I have no idea," I replied. "I just told you yesterday one of the new perscriptions I picked up is supposedly an 'oldschool' sleep aid. Meaning it's supposed to knock you out. The doctor told me don't make any plans for the next 6-8 hours after taking it. So... yeah, I have no idea. I plan on getting as much sleep as my body allows me to."
He shrugged and briefly outlined for me some his plans which included driving the F-150 to downtown Charlotte so one of us, presumably him, could drive his other car back. I contemplated asking him a snyde question about his confidence in my ability to drive one of his vehicles, given his utter lack of confidence in my driving style but in the end I decided perhaps it was best to leave this for another time. A time when I'm not basically broke and relegated to taking any odd-job he will throw my way. "Alright," I say. "I'm not setting any alarms so I guess I'll talk to you when I get up."
I get up around 11:30AM. As I walk toward my light switch it's already evident that I was definately still feeling some of the physical effects of the sleep medication, which frankly suprised me. I'm also hungry as hell. So the first thing I do is head straight toward my kitchen and make a protein shake. I figure getting something in my system would be the best way to solve both problems of my hunger and lingering drug effects. I make a shake, grab a multivitamin and a fish-oil supplement and proceed through my typical morning routine. This usually consists of pulling up My Yahoo! homepage and then checking fagbook for any possibly entertaining updates or friends in need of my social signature; meaning people who have posted something I deem as 'stupid' that I will add my 51.3 cents to. Usually insulting or satirical in nature; often both.
After consuming about half of my shake I feel both my grogginess and hunger will quickly be resolved so I called my dad. Asking him if what the status was with his daily plan and if I had missed my window of opportunity. He told me I hadn't, he was on the way home in the F-350 and he'd see me soon. So I hang up and pick-up where I left off, purusing various articles that struck my eye on Yahoo!. Roughly 10 minutes later, my dad opens my basement door and shouts down "Are you ready to go?" As if he had mentioned any detail about being in some sort of rush or meeting some time-frame. "Uhhh.. almost" I yell back. He slams the door and I jump into action. I was already dressed so my answer was essentially true. Although it's noteworthy I didn't have my contacts in and there was an imminent need for me to defecate before I left on whatever dumbass errand we were running. As I didn't see either of these tasks as very time consuming, I headed straight to the source: the bathroom. I popped both my contacts in relatively quickly then sat down to complete the task at hand. No sooner does my ass hit the seat til I hear my dad's voice shouting out my name in an annoyed tone. "CHASE?!" "YES?" I shout back in an more annoyed tone. "What are you doing!? It's been 8 minutes already." "I'm going to the bathroom." I respond. "Come upstairs when you're ready," he replies. I hear him subsequently stomp up the stairs and slam the door.
After finishing my business I grabbed my wallet, phone and of course - my sunglasses - and knocked on his door. I notice all three of the dogs look toward the front door. Meaning he had definately already left the house. I open the front door and notice the F-150 is already gone and I'm immediately perturbed. I call his cell-phone. He doesn't answer and it goes to voicemail. I repeated this three times til I realized he probably wasn't going to pick up. Typical Chuck McGovern behaviour; act like a teenage girl. So I sent him a text, despite the fact I was relatively certain he wouldn't read it til long after he reached his destination or perhaps indefinately.

Me:Wtf is your problem? You said "come upstairs when you're ready." Not hey Chase I'm gonna come downstairs act like a jackass and leave.

Me: Way to act like a 3 year old.

Knowing full well these text messages probably wouldn't be read only fueled my anger at getting ready in such a rush only to be ditched without warning. So once again I call him back. Once again he doesn't answer. And once again I get his voicemail. This time I decide to leave a message. "Hi, this is Chase McGovern," I begin. "Since you've decided not to answer my calls, I'm going to keep calling you back and fill up your entire mailbox," then hung up. I then proceeded to keep calling him back repeatedly going through the alphabet as I left messages. I got about half-way through til I came to the conclusion I was probably only annoying myself much more than I could ever annoy him. Unfortunately for me, this is often the case regardless of who I am dealing with.
So I retreat to my basement, knowing he'll be back eventually, unable to avoid my impending confrontation. As I settled back down in the dark solitude of my basement my mood quickly followed suit and I was very quickly overwhelmed with feelings of tiredness. Perhaps it was my anger slowly diwndling, the darkness of my basement, the lingering sleep-drug effects or the most comforting fact that I'd probably annoyed him somewhat - just in the fact that he got mad enough to leave so quickly, thus disabling him to fully accomplish whatever his total plan for the day was, given it required two people. So I went back into the total abyss that is my bedroom and fell asleep for a few hours.
I woke back up and immediately listened down the hall, to see if I could hear his TV going. I could, so I wasted no time in going straight up the stairwell to confront him. "So... what's the deal?" I asked him. "What deal? There is no deal. I didn't feel like going down to Charlotte today." Total bullshit. "No I mean why'd you come downstairs and say "come up when you're ready," then just leave?" "I was in a rush, I waited and waited and waited. Then I decided to finally leave," he said. "Oh really," I replied in the most sarcastic tone I could manage (which, for the record, is ultra-sarcastic). "What exactly was the time period between these supposed 'ands'? If you were in such a rush, why didn't you even ONCE mention that to me? Don't you think that'd have been at all pertinent? Instead you tell me come up when I'm ready then just go? Who does that?" "I was already past exit 23 when you first called me," he replied. "Sounds like you were driving pretty recklessly, and you think I drive too fast." "Listen," he says. "I don't feel like arguing with you right now." "Arguing?!" I exclaim. "This isn't an argument. This is me asking you why you always have to behave like such a jerk. While you have no comeback whatsoever." He starts to laugh slightly. This means he's getting really annoyed. Before my dad completetly erupts, sort of similar to the fashion I often do, he always tries to laugh off the agitation at hand. "Don't you consider anyone else when making any decision? And you think Colleen is selfish... and you wonder where she gets it from?" "No I don't," he replies in the same half-laughing manner. "Good," I say. "Because it's pretty obvious."
He then got up and slammed his door and my face. "Typical behaviour for someone who has no comeback and nothing to say... or for a 16 year old girl," I shout through his door. I hear him laughing, probably half-laughing, half-fuming on the other side of the door. Also the typical behaviour of someone who has just been served up with a rather harsh: Reality Check.

End of the Road...

Most people who know me well know that there is one thing that annoys me above all else. When people break constitutional laws that our forefathers laid down for us in hopes of better, more fair lives. Well roughly a month ago I was taking one of my dogs for a walk down to the end of the street, where Lee Dukes Water Treatment plant happens to be located. It was a nice day out and I was in a fairly good mood until something vile caught the corner of my eye. I did a double-take and unfortunately but predictably, my eyes had not deceived me. It was a cross on public property. Being the upstanding citizen I am I decided the best plan of action was to turn it upside down. That way it would no longer be a religious symbol on public property. Happy with my good deed for the day, I walked back down the street to my house.
The next day was a hectic one for me but being the concerned citizen I am I managed to clear some time in my schedule to check if the rules of the United States of America were being upheld. Much to my dismay when I returned to the end of the street the cross was "right side" up and wedged further down in the ground. Initially I was confused. Who would want to blatantly disrespect America? A few minutes later it dawned on me this must have been the work of some type of evangelical terrorist cell. I knew I had to take action first before this situation escalated any further.
Jumping forward to about a week later, during each day of which this battle of the cross continued, I managed to procure what proved to be a decisive tool. The tool was none other than a huge red thick-tipped permanent marker. With my tool in hand I once again made the trek to the end of Babe Stillwell. I pulled the cross up from the ground, then shoved it back in upside down as I'd normally done. Then I wrote 9 9 9 in massive letters across both sides of it. Needless to say, the cross has never been back seen since.

Short, Cold and Sweet
On a totally unrelated note yesterday night I was driving down my driveway for a Slushy run. Anyone who has been down my driveway knows that it's basically like a tunnel with an overgrown fence on one side and overgrown bushes on the other side. So driveway drivebys being somewhat close encounters are a very regular thing. Although I suppose my perspective is somewhat limited because I'm not a fat fuck, which brings me to my next point... my fat sister Caitlin is motioning something meaningless to me as I am approaching her in my car. An even more rotund individual and my other sisters bastard child are accompanying her. So as I have notoriously done before, I ignored her and drove past her to attain my slushy. I arrive back home and walk in the door and my fat sister, her horizontally similar friend and my dad are staring me down.
I shut the door calmly all the while savoring my slushy as deliberately as possible. Caitlin immediately starts bitching at me about how I almost hit her and BC. It's worth noting at this point that basically for the duration of this slushy run I'm so high I was having enough trouble keeping a straight face. All 3 of them stared me down for around 5 seconds before I asked, struggling not to laugh
"Are you joking right now?"
"No! I'm not joking you almost hit Kadence [aka BC(the rest of the family uses her 'given' name)]" Caitlin shrieked back.
"Oh I'm sorry, I figured you'd have to have been joking to think anyone could ever miss you."
Not one of them said a word. So after the appropriate amount of time to let my comment sink in I walked past all of them through my basement door. Then I slammed it and my straight-face-demeanor instantly caved in as I laughed hysterically the rest of the way down the stairwell, my laughter echoing in the ears of the victim of yet another, Reality Check.

Basement Invasion

As of late my basement has come under attack of a new pest. Every night for the past two weeks probably, I have had to eliminate at least a dozen millipedes that for some reason keep crawling into my basement. Tragically I can empathize with their cause, because the basement is indeed a great breeding ground for vermin; probably the reason my dad wanted his daughter and grandaughter to live here. Chuck McMillipedionaire. Great minds. Anyhow as serious a problem as this millipede invasion has been, the basement has been invaded by a different pest this past night. The end of June is here and apparently it's that time of year when The Man's Charm shines it's brightest, or so I've come to experience.
Jumping back to last evening I had just awoken from an afternoon-turned-evening nap. I had been out in the sun earlier relaxing on my beach chair earlier in the afternoon after I finished my workout, so when I noticed it was darker outside I immediately went up to move my chair out of the driveway where I left it, because my dad would - and has - run it over. As I walked outside my dad was moving something in and out of someones car - the details of which I couldnt care less, and he informed me that someone was nice enough to move my chair or he'd have ran it over. My sister, her apparent boyfriend and "bff" Whitney were sitting on the steps, smoking cigarettes. "Well... Thanks someone." I replied and went to pick up my chair and go back inside. As I picked up my chair and wrapped the towel around it so that I was able to carry both more manageably with one arm I received an unprovoked but coy "hey, Chase," from my sisters friend Whitney who shot me a look. Looking back on the incident now I fear I may have inadvertantly given her The Man's Look here, the truth of this incident will probably never be known. So I did the only thing to do in such a situation and replied back with a "hey," of my own. Slick. "It's been a while since I've seen you," she said. I then walked back past all of them, back into the house and back down the basement. My libido having had successfully filled its quota of sexual tension for the night, I proceeded to take a GB and play some video games for the next 2 hours or so until I fell asleep once again on my couch.
It's 1:24 am when I wake back up. I was starving so I made myself a "Total Sickness" shake and browsed Anarchy Online forums while casually walking back and forth between my bathroom preparing my next GB. No sooner did I finish my shake than was I startled by some rustling and slight tapping on my basement back door. Yago and I both look at one another as another knocking comes, this time slightly heavier. He barks and I go to answer the door. I open it and it's Whitney. We exchange heated "heys" once again as Yago barks at her like he is going to kill her. I calm him down and ask her whats up. "You locked me out!" She exclaimed. "I just woke up. What are you talking about?" I reply. "Oh. The upstairs door, you locked it,' she said. Which I had for some odd reason earlier. Normally the door itself isnt even totally shut, by slightly ajar so the dogs can roam the entire house. "Well are you going to come in?" I ask, "I can't stand keeping this door open." Just as she starts to come in I notice my sister coming in right behind her. Luckily, once they both came inside she (my sister) proceeded to walk straight past us and went back upstairs. How unfortunate. "So what's up?" I ask. "Well how are you I haven't seen you in forever," she says. She then proceeded to hug me and then subsequently criticize my hugging method, or lackthereof - like ALL girls do. I explained to her that I had been out in the sun earlier and I was probably dirty. "So what? Everyones dirty. I'm dirty," she says. "Interesting," I replied, as I shot her a look. We proceeded to talk for a little while about nothing in particular. She asked me what I had been up to and I explained to her the various subtleties of my daily existance. One of the details we discussed of course was my GB and proper it's usage; something I proceeded to demonstrate. After we sat on the couch and she giggled for a little while I decided maybe I should take some conversational initiative. So I asked her what she had been up to? "Nothing," she replied. The perfect reply. The very thing I say to everyone else to instantly dismiss any encouragement of a conversation I feel is going in that 'usual' or 'typical' direction I'd like to avoid. "Really?!" I reply. "So really nothing like me then?" She shook her head. "Haha. Awesome," I said as I was truly appreciating this situational irony in its moment. Then she asked me what the story was with my drinking situation or lackthereof. Filling me in on the details she had received from my sister; all of which were incorrect. When I inform her of my pancreatitis she asked me several questions regarding it and then suggested I get a second or third opinion before I decide to doom myself with this diagnosis indefinately. She said as a nurse, which I just discovered she was, you really couldn't trust most doctors. I told her I was pretty certain to her dismay while she continued to try and convince me otherwise. For some reason or another the conversation then shifted to me feeling I'm always the exception to the rule. To plead my case I explained to her a quick breakdown of my eating habits and lack of family or really any social structure. Then the conversation takes an unexpected turn.
"So, where should we go out on a date?" she asks me, smiling. I sort of freeze and smile uncomfortably. "What?" "Yeah, where are you going to take me?" She asked. "Uh.. I don't even know where I would go that I could actually eat anything around here," I replied, honestly. Her eyes get sort of wide for a second. "No, I meant that literally. I really don't even know anywhere around here that I would be able to go and eat food I like... unless you like pizza?" "I don't like pizza," she quickly replied - of course. "It's the sauce." "Oh you don't like tomato sauce?" I ask. "Not unless it's the really meaty kind," she says - to which I start to laugh while she looks puzzled til I inform her that's the exact type I dislike.
A little more time passes by and just as the conversation is beginning to completely fade my sister comes back down, nodoubt curious of her friend's whereabouts and if she is ready to start watching some movie. She starts talking about her kid and how impressionable it is and we begin to talk about memory and I mention that children really won't remember anything before the age of 3 anyhow. She disagrees of course and we begin to talk about genetics. Of course the conversation thereafter mostly entailed me telling her she had no idea about genes, and then asking her if she knew what DNA stood for. Neither she nor Whitney did of course and when I told them it was acid they both agreed I was talking about something different, although neither wanted to consult Wikipedia. I then made a snyde comment directed at my sister about gene expression to which she said she was glad she didn't have my genes because Im not social enough. I replied that people are stupid and I was comfortable with my level of sociability. Just then Whitney asks if I thought my sister was stupid. I immediately replied "yes," much to her dismay and then my sister proceeded to say she didn't care. Then Whitney insisted upon me giving them both grounds for my claim. "Are you serious?" I replied. "She didn't even graduate from highschool." "Yes, I did," my sister informs me. "That doesn't count." The that I'm referring to in this case was her 'special' highschool where people who drop out of real high school go to make up time at their own pace. "What do you mean that doesn't count?" Whitney exclaimed. "I mean it's not even real high school," I said. "I graduated from that school too," she informed me. This was something I had not anticipated. "So are you calling me stupid too?" "Hey I didn't call anyone anything." I said. "You kind of threw yourself under the bus on this one." Having clearly had enough of this discussion, my sister got up and walked back upstairs, leaving both of us alone once again, lying on my couch.
Somehow the tension of the previous moment had evaporated. Part of this was no doubt due to the fact that I took another GB break at this point. So I continue to play music while she shoots down most of my song selection. At this point I was getting bored and I no longer felt like putting forth any effort whatsoever into entertaining someone. "Well, what do you want to do?" I ask her. When she says she doesn't care I suggest we watch a DVD and ask her if she likes "Sunny" to which she replies that it was "gay." Provoking a brief subsquent discussion of the usage of the word "gay" as a general pejorative. As one would probably guess the conversation did not involve the actual use of the word pejorative. It was at this point I got up the courage to just blatantly suggest we should just make out instead. A suggestion which unfortunately never came into fruition as she laughed and never replied. Slightly tired, annoyed and no longer willing to attempt to make any further conversation I slowly start to overtake the portion of the couch we're sharing in an attempt to encourage her to leave. In a minute or so she relocated to my computer chair, subsquently telling me it was uncomfortable as she tried to lie down in it akwardly. She then informed me that she was going across the room to my leather couch, where she fell asleep almost immediately and remains now. Once again I remain both the victim and author of... yet another,
Reality Check.

April Fools

That's right. All of you who actually believed that I would ever be pulled over are the real victims of yesterdays Reality Check. My Tercel is indomitable, unimpoundable and I will never be pulled over. Reality Check, faggots.

Tercel: Impounded to Hell

So early today I was on the way back home from a veterinary appointment with my dog Yago in the back seat when I decided to reward myself for no particular reason with a Sunkist slushy. I had also been hoping to see the new slushy machine Cashions had purchased - over two months ago - up and running. Predictably upon entering I immeditately noticed it was still empty and looked like no had even touched it. I was dissappointed but not so much that I didnt intend to fully enjoy my Sunkist slushy anyway. So I get in line to pay my special VIP discount price of 50 cents and walk toward my car to see Yago eagerly awaiting my return. As I'm getting in I notice a Huntersville cop pull into the Cashions parking lot. Given that I am riding dirty, literally, at any given time I am in the Tercel, I decide to wait to see what he does before starting up my car. He proceeded to park his car on the other side of the gas meter from me, with his car facing inward so that he would have to back up first to get out if another person was in front of him. Since another person was I decided it was safe for me to pull out of my spot and head toward the light that takes me home to my beloved basement. Upon pulling out of my gas spot however my chance to turn into the straight/left-turn lane at the light was obstructed by some retarded bitch who had just pulled in from highway 73 and was trying to turn left into the CVS parking lot. In her defense there were cars blocking her immediate passage into the parking lot, however if she had merely pulled a few meters foward she could've simply gone into the parking lot further back. I noticed the cars in the lane directly accross the street beginning to turn which meant that the light would cycle to my lane of the intersection next. As always, I had my driver's side window down and I start to motion for the woman to continue driving and that she could get into the parking lot further back. She was totally oblivious to what was going on of course, and upon noticing my probably frantic hand gestures, proceeded to look more confused. Luckily she took that opportunity to do absolutely fucking nothing. She continued to sit there, blocking not only me and anyone else trying to get out of the Cashions parking lot AND all the people trying to pull into the shopping center entrance in back of her. FUCKING IDIOT. At this point the little patience I had was completely gone and I lose it and start screaming at her out the window. "Go you fucking stupid bitch!" "Get the fuck out of the god damn way" She looks like she is panicking inside the car and flicks me off, all the while continuing to sit there, not moving a damn inch. By this point the light had gone to yellow and I knew I wasn't going to make the light. Finally after all the cars from the lane I had been seeking to enter and which had been partially in her way had gone through the light, she makes her left into the CVS parking lot. At this point I'm really considering following her into the CVS parking lot and flipping out on her but I did have Yago in the back seat, so I decided it was best just to stomach my anger and take him home; where I could relieve my temper with a more natural remedy; rather than raging out on some dumb bitch. So I proceed to turn into the straight/left-turn lane; I'm the first car in the intersection so I know I'll make the light this time with no worries. Just about this time, I glance behind me to see all the cars who had been blocked behind me all had gone into the right-turn lane beside me. I also notice the cop who had parked next to me - like 10 minutes ago - backing up his car. I immediately look to my right to see if I can switch lanes and just make a hard right and get the fuck out of the parking lot because I did not want to take the chance of him - or any cop - pulling directly in back of my car and finding some excuse to pull me over. Predictably I am blocked by a person who is just sitting there waiting for the light to turn green before he will make a right-turn... "God damnit," I think. I see the cop turn his car around and is clearly coming to my lane of the intersection for if he wanted to turn right he wouldn't have turned his car around after backing out and left the parking lot from another angle. I see no one coming up in back of me and at this point I know there is nothing I can do but sit there and try to look innocent - one of the few skills I seem to totally lack. I thought to myself at least I had Yago in the backseat so that would probably help my chances of not being pulled over because usually people don't like to bother drivers with large intimidating animals in the backseat. So I start to pet his head and excite him slightly, so the officer in back of me will clearly see he is present. I'm watching the officers face to see if I think he is relaying any kind of information to anyone and I notice him clearly communicating with someone, however I don't panic because I'm sure police officers have lots of really stupid things to discuss. The intersection accross the street is cleared to go so I know my time sitting in front of this cop will soon come to and end. My light turns green and I proceed to go and drive the speed limit toward Babe Stillwell. The officer seemed in no hurry at all to keep pace with me so I was relieved, temporarily. Then about a half-mile later right as I'm approaching Blythe Landing he flicks his lights on. Fuck. He's still a good ways in back of me so I hope maybe its for another reason, despite the fact that knowing my luck, that was probably not the case. I pull over to the Blythe landing entry turn lane, hoping he will pass me. He doesn't. He slows down and pulls right up to my bumper. I know I'm about to get told somehow. So I calm myself and go through my usual list of excuses in my head. Roughly 7 minutes later this fucking faggot finally gets out of his car to come talk to me.
"Do you know why I pulled you over today sir?" He asks. "Well, I know I wasn't speeding... so no," I respond. "We've received several complaints about a red car from people in the Birkdale area that matches your cars description." I stare him down doing my best to look like I have no idea what he is talking about. "Well first of all, this isn't even my car," I inform him. "This is my dad's car. I'm only doing him a favor and picking up his dog from the Vet. Look at how dirty this car is; no one drives it." Given the fact that I have literally NEVER cleaned my car I thought this was about as good as an excuse as I could've mustered. He seems to believe me. Then the inevitable shitty part comes. "Let me see your license and registration," he asks. I know the car is registered so I go to reach for that. I find it and hand it to him, then proceed to try and give him an excuse why I didn't have my license. "Listen officer, I don't even have my wallet on me. I actually lost it the other day.. I normally don't drive at all - I was just doing my dad this favor." "So you're driving without a license?" He asks? "Yeah... I guess," I reply sheepishly. He doesn't look annoyed at this point so I'm still hoping I might get off with a warning. He asks me my full name. Instantaneously I cycle through all of my various aliases in my head trying to decide if I should tell him the truth or not. I decide to let Roger McCormick sit this one out and I tell him my real name. Whether or not that was a good decision is a fact that will perhaps never be known. He tells me to wait and returns to his car.
Another 5 minutes later he returns to me window. "Well Charles... it looks like you're driving with a suspended license," he tells me. "What?!" I reply, genuinely trying to sound as suprised as possible. "How is that possible? I just paid my insurance! - knowing full well this has nothing to do with anything. Why would I pay for that if I didn't have a license?" "I don't know what to tell you," he replied. "But your license is suspended. You shouldn't be on the road. I can take you to jail right now." The fact the he used "can" instead of "going to" was at least a glimmer of hope for me to grasp, so I try to stay positive. "Now listen, here's what's going to happen," he continues. "I see you have your dog in the car and I believe you that this isn't in fact your car," he says. "But since you were driving without a license there has to be some kind of penalty for that. I'm going to impound this car so you need to make sure to tell your dad that. And since you have your dog here and I see you live close by, I'm going to let you leave your car here and walk home," he says. "A tow-truck is on its way now." I start to walk away when he shouts at me to stop. "Hey! That's not it, get back here son!" He actually called me son. "This is for you. And you'd better show up for this one," he exclaims as he hands me a ticket for a court date. Although this completely sucks ass it is better than me spending a night in jail and Yago being taken into animal control custody. Unfortunately it results in the poor Tercel getting a much underserved...
Reality Check.

Enemy of the State

In order to put this next short story in context I'm going to have to jump back to recall an event that occurred about two weeks ago. It was late on a Thursday night and I'd just arrived home after I had already promised earlier in the evening I would help Chuck McGovern with one of his many unnecessary automotive errands. To those who aren't already aware, I've labeled Mr. McGovern with the term 'automotive hypochondriac.' In other words, if anything at all goes wrong or even looks like it might go wrong with any of his vehicles (he has 6), he insists on taking it to his mechanic. If that habit weren't annoying enough on its own the only mechanic he will take any of his cars to is around a half hour away. Needless to say this was hardly the first trip we had made to drop off one of his cars late at night for no apparent reason. However I had already agreed and I was still in a good mood from hanging out at a friends earlier so I didn't mind for once. I pulled out of my street with him behind me and off we were for a pleasant night drive, or so I thought. Traffic on the way to the highway was pretty much non-existent since it was past 11:00 pm so we quickly made our way to the entry ramp. This is where things began to take a turn for the worse... I pulled on the highway still ahead of him and merged into the right lane of traffic. There was a large truck blocking the left lane so I had to wait until I could merge into the supposed 'fast' lane. Predictably the person in front of me is going 10 miles an hour under the speed limit so I continued to follow him waiting for my chance to change lanes. Just as the other lane finally cleared my dad and a few of the other drivers all stuck behind me and the slow driver in front of me, merge over to the left lane and began to accelerate past him. So I followed suit and merged into the left lane in order to do the same. Just as the new driver in front of me cleared the slow moving car now to my right he decides to slow down for some reason. As he was still in the fast lane at this point I am now stuck behind a 2 car blockade. Although slightly annoyed this was nothing I didn't experience every time I ventured out into Charlotte area traffic, so no big deal. Of course as I glanced back to my right I see my dad and the car previously obstructing my path fly past me on the right lane. Once again I follow suit and finally manage to navigate around the two retarded moving obstacles. No sooner would I finally manage to attain a decent high speed than to have my progress thwarted by yet another two car blockade up ahead. The driver in the right lane appeared to be going slightly faster so I jumped in line behind him, hoping to pass this second set of oblivious morons. Predictably the car I pulled behind slowed down and once again I see my dad pass me, this time to my left. Assuming he had planned on speeding up as well I changed lanes for the umpteenth time and pulled behind him. It was at this point he decided to slow down. Once again there I was stuck behind yet another blockade and now my temper is beginning to flare since I'm positive my dad is blocking me for one of two reasons. Those reasons being to either intentionally annoy me or because he is trying to enforce some kind of dumbass driving lesson and 'forcing' me to slow down. I rode behind them both for approximately the next 5 miles. By this point I was completely overcome by my temper and almost seething with rage, knowing my dad was intentionally trying to bother me when I was doing him a favor. A retarded meaningless favor nonetheless. For whatever reason the car to my right had finally started to actually exceed the speed limit by this point so I attempted to follow him to circumvent my dads retarded attempt to do whatever the fuck it was he was attempting to do. At this point he starts swerving slowly back and forth between his lane and partially into my lane recklessly, perhaps to make sure I won't feel safe navigating around him. I was so mad at this point I considered just turning around and going home, especially since my dad's driving behaviour was so outrageous. Mr rage however, knows no rationality and I was now determined to get around my dad. I pulled up to the back of my dads car as close as I could to let him know he needed to get the fuck out of my way. Apparently the message wasn't received as he did not budge. Just then I saw an opening as the car in the right lane was roughly two car lengths ahead of him. Immediately I gunned it and the turbo gauge the Volvo I was driving, or as I refer to it: the turbometer, shot up all the way. It was at this point I saw the fucking retard was slowing down once again for no apparent reason so my window was closing quickly. I decided to commit to my move and I put the pedal to the floor as I squeezed in between he and my dad. As I looked in the rear view mirror I could see my dad was not pleased with this stunt, not that I gave a shit - at all. I finally sped off way ahead to my destined exit only to just miss the green light and get caught first in line at a long red light waiting to turn left. A minute or two later my dad finally catches up and pulls up behind the car in the other left turn lane, a Chrysler 300. The light finally switches and I immediately put the pedal to the floor off the light in an attempt to make sure I wasn't caught behind anyone once the both lanes merged to a single lane up ahead. Of course as soon as I do so the next light up ahead turned red and I had to quickly slam on the brakes. No sooner did I finishing making a complete stop when the Chrysler 300 followed by my dad both blatantly ran the red light in stereo ensuring they'd both remain in front of me for the entire rest of the trip down this single lane road. My blood was boiling. Not only was my dads dumbass plan to either annoy me or attempt to curb my speeding working, but random fucking idiots in traffic were cooperating with him to seemingly team up against me. I followed them both til the next red-light where we all were turning left. The second the light turned green I laid on the horn before either of them could have possibly reacted and held on it for the next 10 seconds or so. The Chrysler 300 finally started speeding up perhaps getting the hint that I was in no mood to be trifled with but regardless I still remained trapped behind Chuck McGovern. Approximately a mile later we finally reached our destination. As I saw my dad park his car I heard him slam the doors and although I was still overwhelmed with rage I was pleased my attempt at annoying him by laying on the horn at him worked as intended. He then took his belongings out of his BMW and put them in the back seat of the Volvo I was driving, once again slamming the door and walked over to the drop box and put in his keys. Then out of the mirror I notice him walk up all the way around to the drivers side of the car. So I patiently waited for him to approach my window. The moment he did I rolled down my window and intentionally clicked my elbow down on the door lock, locking all of the doors in front of him blatantly. "Get out, I'm driving" he said. "No you aren't," I replied. "You're riding home with me, or you're not riding home at all," I said in the angriest tone I possibly could. This clearly annoyed him even more and he replied "Fine then I'll call the police and report the car stolen!" Thinking he had called my bluff. Too bad The Man plays for keeps.. "Okay, bye," I replied. Then rolled up the window and sped off home to go get a slushy. Leaving him stranded without a car in the middle of the night a half hour away in Mooresville. Like a bitch...
As previously stated these events occurred roughly 2 weeks prior to the events to come. Chuck McGovern and I still hadn't exchanged words since the automotive incident and I knew he was still mad. Completely understandable as I would be too if I had embarrassed myself and gotten completely told. I was in my bathroom and I had just taken a monster gravity bong hit and I was feeling pretty damn good... and really damn high. I exited my bathroom and plopped down on my computer chair and began enjoying the slushy waiting for me as I was listening to music on my computer. No sooner did I take my first slurp 'til my dad walked up behind me and startled me with "you lost your license," dropping the letter and enclosed document on my desk and then walking off. Completely high and disoriented I glance over the document... the state of North Carolina has suspended my license indefinately. I had just been served up with yet another unneeded... Reality Check.

Road Retards

Once again another generally uneventful Summer has passed me by and fall has arrived. Whilst seasonal changes are generally irrelevant given that my basement habitat stays the same year-round this fall brings changes for me as well. Once again I have enrolled in classes at the local and reigning #1 community college in the nation, none other than Central Peidmont Community College; the crème de la crème of community colleges. Unfortunately, my path toward a supposed higher education also brings me on much more treacherous paths on a daily basis as well... the mean streets of Charlotte. Now you'd think with all the NASCAR related businesses and headquarters in Charlotte that perhaps it's citizens would embrace what it means to be a great driver and learn the rules of the road. Unfortunately, this could not be further from the truth. My daily commute to and from class has only brought me mental anguish as I attempt to navigate through the sea of retards that composes typical Charlotte traffic. Luckily I've equipped myself with the latest and most greatest automotive technology to do so: my 1991 Toyota Tercel - from hell. Devoid of any nonsensical features like power steering, power brakes, interior lighting or a working gas guage this is truly a vehicle for an automotive savant like myself.
Yesterday afternoon I had finished class for the day and I was making my way home as usual. I had driven about 10 miles when I heard and felt something off with the engine. I glanced at the tripometer and noticed it was within the 40 mile window where it had between a quarter of a tank and totally empty. Out of habit I glanced at my gas guage and of course it was way below empty - which tells me almost nothing since it looks the same once it has under a quarter of a tank in it regardless. So I decided to pursue the same plan of action I normally do everytime I find something wrong with my car. Ignore it. So I kept driving and a few miles later the sound and vibration returned. It was at this point I realized I was running out of gas imminently, so I pulled over to the Sunset Road exit lane coasted up the exit ramp. The entire time I was doing so I was swerving my car back and forth left to right to make sure my car would pick up any remaining fuel that might be sloshing around inside. I finally made it to the stoplight at the end of the ramp right as the Tercel died. No big deal. I put it in neutral swerved to the right and started it back up, coasting into a gas station about a quarter mile away. No harm done - I hope. So I fill up and pull out to the stoplight adjacent to the gas station to benefit from the green arrow while not having to worry about pulling out in front of 2 lanes of traffic. I soon realized that this lane could only go right for some retarded reason when I needed to go left so I drove along the road until I saw a place to potentially pull into and turn around. It was at this moment I noticed a guy in a chromed out Escalade on the other side of the street eyeing me. Or perhaps it was the McDonalds I just passed about a quarter mile ago on the right. Regardless I merged into the center lane between the yellow lines to pull in only to have him do the exact same thing about 20 yards away. "What a fucking idiot," I'm thinking... but my left turn was approaching so I kept driving forward. Unfortunately so does he until we are both stopped about 20 feet apart, staring each other down. Now if this scenario had played out on my way to class, I'd probably be irate and probably screaming at him already. However, since it was on the way home and I had nowhere to go and nothing to do for the remainder of the day, I embraced this staredown like I would any other. I never back down. About 5 seconds pass by and neither of us makes a single movement. It's at this point that I move my left hand from it's resting place atop my steering wheel, click the seat-recline lever on the left side of my drivers seat and slowly but meaningfully, recline and relax in the seat while subtly adjusting my black aviator sunglasses and giving him a little smirk. Slick. At this point it looked like I had him questioning whether or not I was actually ever going to move and I see him begin to talk with the girl in the passenger seat. Approximately 15 more seconds pass by without either of us budging and inch until I see him shake his head in frustration and begin to pull back onto the side of the road where he came from. As he began to pull beside me I saw his window rolling down as if he was going to say something to me. Luckily I always drive with my windows down so before he even had the chance to get his window all the way down I screamed out "learn how to fucking drive you god damn retard," and drove by him making my left turn. Out of my rear view mirror I saw his breaklights on and he was still sitting in the same place I had just insulted him; perhaps debating what he could do about it. A few seconds later he apparently realized the answer was nothing, as I saw him give up and pull into the McDonalds drive through. I'm lovin' it.

Almost Hit and Rant

It was later this same day in the evening when I was sitting bored in my basement bored, looking for something to do. It was a nice night out so I decided to go for a walk. It was a walk like any other until something odd happened at the end. As I was returning home and walking along the street in front of my house I saw some car pulling up behind me; nothing unusual so I kept walking listening to music. Then I see the lights get bright and slow down almost right behind me. I figured it had to have been my dad pulling up next to me to give me a ride down the driveway. So I turn to my left and this random car I didnt recognize was seriously inches from my leg. "Woah!" I screamed then locked eyes with the guy in the car who had to have been just as suprised if not even moreso to see me. "I ALMOST HIT YOU! I ALMOST HIT YOU! I ALMOST HIT YOU!" He screamed out to me. "How reassuring," I responded; although he still looked too alarmed to comprehend this or anything else I could've said. Then I see him begin to turn into the driveway right accross the street from mine. If only he had heard my snyde comment yet another one of my stupidass neighbors would've been given a much needed... Reality Check.

Lost Reality Check #1 - Good Cop, Dumb Cop.

I've decided to finally start posting some of my 'lost' Reality Check blogs-drafts finally after the unrelenting pressure of my massive reader base. Let me clarify that lost has nothing to do with the awesome (but extremely frustrating) television show, Lost. It simply means that these are old/outdated Reality Check posts which I had originally written some time ago but forgotten to publish. This is usually due to the fact that I essentially only blog when I'm wasted because its more fun and then save the post but forget to publish it moreoften than not.

Good Cop, Dumb Cop
This one happened slightly over two months ago, right around/after Christmas. I was over at the Douglas residence, playing one of my favorite games: You Honk, We Drink. Incase the name didn't suffice as a description it basically entails a bunch of people sitting in a yard near the road with a huge cardboard sign that reads 'U HONK WE DRINK' on it. It's a great game because not only do we get to drink and subsequently get enjoyment and drunk of course from it but lots of drivers have a fun time with it too. Unfortunately some of the neighbors accross the street don't share this sentiment; And continually call the police whenever we are trying to enjoy ourselves playing this game. We'd been playing for probably an hour-and-a-half to almost two hours when two police cars rolled up and parked in front of us, and the sign. Clearly the Huntersville PD has lots of important things to do when two cars show up for some young guys with a fucking sign in their yard. I was already slightly drunk and more than slightly pissed off at this point. So the officers, a woman and a man, get out of their cars and Jarred, whose mother owns the land, asks them what the problem is. The female officer is being cordial and polite about the entire affair and tries to explain the problem to us, that everytime someone complains theyre obligated to respond. Jarred informs her that we're, obviously, doing nothing wrong; And that if we take the sign down people will still honk anyhow. Then the male officer chimes in. "You're drinking in public. This is public intoxication." I'd had enough at this point so I immediately chimed in "how is this public intoxication? He owns this property and this sign is also on his property?" As this officer was clearly an idiot he would continue to try and rationalize his clearly dumb and wrong statement. "How exactly could this be construed as public intoxication?" I asked him once again. He clearly didn't have an actual answer so he pulled out his handcuffs and asked 'is someone tryin' to get arrested today?' Jarred who was talking to the female officer quickly chimed in and said no. I of course, was still perturbed and was wondering what exactly we had done wrong. So I again asked the officer "how is this public drunkeness? We're on private property?" He responded "Anytime anyone can see you drinking at all, it's public drunkeness." This statement was clearly 100% bullshit which only made me want to retaliate further. "No it's not..." I responded. "Are you telling me if I'm sitting in my house with all the windows open and someone happens to see me from the street then that's public intoxication?" Of course I asked him this with the expectation he'd finally give in and say no because he had already made a fool out of himself. Then he said "yes." So then I asked "so essentially, unless you're in a room with closed doors and no windows you can be arrested for public intoxication?" Then he asks me what I do for a living. I inform him that I'm a student. He then starts bobbing his head like a fucking moron, somehow pleased at my reply for some, I'm sure, retarded illogical reason. "What's your major?" he asks. At this point I freeze up for about a second. I don't want to say psychology because it'll just play into the exact traditional blue-collar interpretation of anything to do with the science, not that there is anything wrong with blue collar jobs. "So what are you majoring in?" he asked me again. "Street fighting." I said. And stared at him comletely straight faced, while everyone around me laughed. He immediately reached for his handcuffs and commented "well you're about to get a test in that today." When Jarred interjected and said "psychology." And then he just smiled and did his retarded ass overconfident head bob-thing again. "I knew it had to be psychology or law," he claimed. Yeah. I'm sure... Anyhow we finally took the sign down but the best part was yet to come. Both cops got back in there cars (while people were still honking at us, and we were still drinking) and then while the female cop was driving off she layed on the horn the entire time she was pulling away, while the male cop just drove off silently like a fucking prick, who was clearly mad. Yet another cop getting a...
Reality Check.

Flashlight

Before I started blogging I had sort of an unofficial-agreement with myself that none of my blogs would be sports related in anyway whatsoever. Mostly because 99% of sports blogs are so laden with fucking lame pop-culture crossover references theyre unbearable to read. And that most of the bloggers are huge fucking faggot ass tools. But I'll have to make an exception to my own rule to set up the context of this post.
I started drinking, hard, around 9am on Sunday. In preparation for the Nascar race of course. I was confident Jeff Gordon was going to do well, given he, along with Jimmy Johnson, is basically the best at "cookie-cutter" tracks, aka mile-and-a-half ovals. And of course he did do well. He led almost every single lap of the race, but the one that counted.. the last lap. I have a short temper to begin with but given that Gordon had lost, toward the end because of a bad call by his crewchief after he had led the entire race I was clearly pissed. The fact that I had drank around 12 Beast Lights just during the race probably didn't help this fact. I flipped out and this is where, I think, the flashlight incident happened. I can't say for sure because as soon as Gordon lost I chugged a couple of beers and semi-blacked out, aside from remembering parts of the flashlight incident. A 'Nascar nap' aka passout was definately imminent.
I wake up on my couch and look over the the clock on my iHome. My eyes are still tired as hell. It's 12:30. I immediately think damn, how am I this tired if I slept that long, until about a half a second later when I realized it was 12:30 AM, the middle of the night. The fact that no ambient sunlight was coming into my far basement window (I have the window near my computer blocked by cardboard 'blinds,' which consist of both Totino's and Milwaukee's Best Light boxes taped over the entire window) tipped me off to this fact pretty quickly. Damnit I think. I'm immediately frustrated by this blow to the schedule of my already screwed up circadian rhythm, especially since I know I won't be able to fall back asleep anytime soon. So I finally get the motivation to get up off the couch I had passed out on to go turn on nearest light switch. Then I notice a couple of things. The left side of my left foot hurts like hell and I'm almost hobbling on it to attempt to walk. I then notice several shards of some reflective material which appeared to be glass, broken glass of course, shining the ambient light coming from my computer back at me. It was at this point I noticed the bruise I had on my inner-right bicep. I'm not really one to complain about bruises, injuruies or pain but I have absolutely no clue how a person would get bruises in these two places. The outside of a left-foot and then the inside of a right bicep. I just can't even comprehend how either would happen accidentally. So I finally flick on the light switch. I see shards of broken glass all over the floor. I'm initially confused. After gathering all the shards I walk over to the garbage can and see a fucked up flashlight lying in the garbage bag and remembered some of my previous destruction. When I subsequently looked at the dent in my door my suspicions were confirmed. I had gotten so mad that Jeff Gordon had lost the Nascar race earlier that I for some reason took a flashlight and threw it as hard as I possibly could against my basement (metal) door. Which I guess isn't all bad since if I threw it against anything else there would be a massive hole in the wall. The thing that intrigues me most is why I chose a flashlight among the huge array of other, harder unbreakable metal things. I'm guessing it was just blind rage but unfortunately this is a question I will probably never know the true answer to. Hopefully these winter storms don't get more severe because if the lights go out now I'll be stuck in the dark and I'll have given myself, yet another, reality check.

Road Trip...

So, a couple of weeks ago I was asked for a favor by a friend of mine. The same friend who tore down my backyard fence, punched multiple holes in my wall, cockblocked me and.. oh yeah, broke my ribs. Of course, everyone has realized by now this friend is named Jarred Douglas. Well, he and a few other potheads/initiates (Loud Josh, Mac, Jarred Sims some other people whose names I didn't care enough to remember) had decided they were in the mood for an adventure. So they set out to hike the App-trail (Appalachian Mountain Trail) in the middle of the winter. Sounds fun. A lot more fun than, say... sitting inside, getting wasted and taking for granted the joys that modern technology provide for us. When I was first propositioned by a certain dumbass Douglas, his request was a simple one. Since his mom, as awesome as she is, has awful vision he wanted me to drive the van she had rented back, so she wouldn't have to. As this was definately a scenario I could empathize with, I gladly agreed; especially after he told me he could make the drive up-state and thus, I only had to deal with the drive back home.
It's this point where this tale takes an unfortunate turn.
2:13 PM: Jarred, Josh, Mac and friends are dropped off somewhere right on the Tennessee-North Carolina border; which was also convienently the highest point of elevation in either state. It's at this moment where we were first bombarded by a barrage of snow. Luckily, I was more than prepared for this sudden storm. I was equipped with thong-sandals, a t-shirt and no jacket. However, I had made my promise and I was ready for the return trek home, or so I thought. The snow was piling up faster than anyone had expected. Even the weather personel on the radio were shocked. They said this was abnormal for a snow storm. The storm had all the characteristics of a flash-flood, just with snow instead of rain. Which was, an accurate description given there were frequent lightning strikes surrounding us.
So we're (Mrs. Douglas and I) going approximately 30-35mph at this point (on the highway), since going any faster would be suicidal in the massive 12-person behemoth van I was driving back. I could feel its back wheels slipping out from under me constantly, it was miserable. Then I notice the gas gauge; it was on E. If only the both of us would've listened to the infinite knowledge of Jarred Douglas earlier in the trip who had assured us we had plenty of fuel to make it all the way down the mountain. Alas, we did not. Even though we had only gone a few miles across the NC border I told Mrs. Douglas that I was getting off at the next exit I saw with a gas station, period. We did and suprisingly we got off at some strange-ass NC-Tennessee-border gas station/store/smoke-shop that was having customer appreciation day. So we pull up to this place, in the middle of nowhere and over a foot of snow of course, and there are these gas station workers, sitting outside grilling hot-dogs and hamburgers on this charcoal grill with this hilarious cardboard sign that says 'customer appreciation day,' on it. When I entered the establishment to use the restroom I also noticed they had a shitload of hookahs; aka bongs in there too. Awesome. Anyhow, Mrs. Douglas got her free hot-dog and we were back on the road; or so it would seem.
So we get back on interstate-25 for around.. say.. 3 minutes at most. Then IT comes. Boom. Roadblock. Travelality Check. It's somewhere after 3:00 (pm). So we waited. Then the first hour roles by; no movement.
5:13 not one inch; at this point I really really have to go to the bathroom but I really don't want to get out of the van with sandals on and freeze my ass off, I also haven't eaten anything all day but a couple of shitty fries from Arby's and some dissappointing gummy worms, which I wished were Trolli - Sour Brite Crawlers.
8:00 - It's dark, obviously. We still haven't moved, at all. I still have to take a piss, so I get out -in my sandals - in over a foot of snow and find a UPS truck to urinate behind. That's what brown did for me, I guess. Luckily we were one of the few vehicles that were able to crank out the heat the entire time since we had just filled up with gas prior to this debacle so I warmed up quickly.
8:30 (pm) - We're still sitting in the same place. The exact fucking same god damn place. I'm seething, unable to exert my outward rage in any acceptable form. Then it happens. Yes! Glory! A highway-patrol/saviour walks by our van! Mrs. Douglas rolls down the window and asks: 'excuse me sir, what exactly is the problem?' He responds 'Oh a tracktor trailer jack-knifed up ahead, and then another one jack-knifed ahead of it so the rescue crew couldn't get to it before they take care of the other truck. Mrs. Douglas then asked the exact question I was thinking... "That's it? So what took so long?" Officer: "Well rescue crews couldn't get to it. And after we got them both cleared a tree fell down right in the middle of the bridge. (I almost totally lose it at this point) Would you believe that?" Mrs. Douglas starts laughing and conversing with the officer. I am on the brink of erupting. Mrs Douglas then asks: "So when can we look to get out of here?" The officer responds: "Probably 10:30ish." "Alright," she says, and we wait.
11:30 - I arouse from my reclining position in the drivers seat to see headlights flickering and movement up ahead. I am joyous. Finally! We start moving. My excitement is hindered when we stop approximately a quarter of a mile later, maybe less. God fucking damnit. Another stupid-ass cop sidles up to the side of our van of misery and Mrs. Douglas once again, rightfully so, questions him. 'Hey, what's the hold up?' she asked. 'Another tractor trailer jack-knifed,' said the piece of shit officer. I thought you had just fixed that problem, we both asked. 'Yeah but right after we did, another one jack-knifed in the same place. By now, you'd hope these fucking morons would've seen a pattern; but not yet. It'd take approximately 5-more jack-knifed trucks, in a row mind you, for them to realize this and finally tell all the trucks to pull over. Fucking idiots.
12:00 (am) - I'm still sitting in the van, contemplating killing myself. The exact spot we seemed to have been stranded in had no radio signal - whatsover. Despite the fact that about a hundred feet ago we had both Charlotte and (Tr)Ashville stations. Mrs. Douglas laughed at that... needless to say, I did not. We spotted another officer walking by. So once again Mrs. D asked him what the scenario was. His reply was: 'Yeah we probably won't get through this all night, you better find a motel or just sleep in your car, sorry but we aren't going anywhere.' It was at this point I, obviously, was at my breaking point. I contemplated getting out and trying to falsely 'juke' out a car on the other side of the road and just die. Although I knew Mrs. Douglas couldn't drive home so I knew I was stuck in the land of the living, for now; and probably not to much longer anyhow.
12:58 - I see a plow truck finally drive past us on the right side. I am speechless. The same douchebag cop who tells us we won't move all night comes by again to tell us we've got a plow truck ahead and we're good to go! Yes. So we finally get moving. Albeit slower than 30mph the entire time but we were at least making progress. Meanwhile Mrs. Douglas is constantly asking me to drive, if I am hungry and telling me to let her know if I get tired, which I kept telling her, isn't possible. Even though I know she obviously means well.
2:04 - We finally get off of I-25, and travel onto I-40. We had been on I-25 this entire time, for a duration of less than 5 miles.
2:59 - We're still on I-40 and it's total anarchy. While normally I'd appreciate that, not driving a 12-person rear-wheel drive behemoth in downright abysmal conditions. I've never seen so many cars off of the road; I could honestly say there was minimum 1 wrecked car every mile. That's beside the people I saw wreck in front of me trying to pass me because I was going a safe speed in the only 'safe' lane that existed. I even saw this one dumbass white pickup truck try to gun it and pass me and another person only to fishtail and then SLAM into the median, like a bitch. It's always chevy pickup guys who pull that kind of dumbass shit for some reason.
5:31 (AM) - Finally we get to I-77 and unfortunately the conditions aren't much better than I-40. Although any improvement is better I suppose. Random patches of unplowed snow/ice/sleet still happen randomly so I still can't go faster than 30mph. Finally around Mooresville, exit 36, I am able to go above 40mph for the first time the entire fucking god damn trip. And then slightly past that I actually could achieve the speed limit of 55 near exit 31. An hour-and-fucking-half trip up to Asheville turned to 20 god-damn hours.
6:43 - I pulled up to the Douglas residence. Mrs Douglas goes: 'Boy I can't wait to tell Jarred about this! He will not believe it, I'm tellin' you Chase he won't believe it! I promise you!' Me: 'Mrs. Douglas, I can personally guarantee you that he will. I'm here.'
Chalk up another big RC (reality check) for C-McG-4.

NBA Finals

Originally, I was planning on making a post a day or two after game one of the finals happened, to inform my massive reader-base on which player received the much anticipated McGovern Player of the Game award for game one - And the subsequent points other players received. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to do so since the page I had tracked the stats on was pilfered from my McGovern Player of the Game spiral notepad. Since I had been inebriated while watching game one, I originally thought I might have put it on the wrong notepad. After searching and subsequently discovering every other notepad in the basement I ruled out the already unlikely scenario that I had lost it. Then I thought back to the last time I had seen it and had an epiphany; I had been trying to figure out who would have a motive and/or access to my records when it hit me. History repeats itself... In the past a certain Mexican friend of mine had obviously been jealous of my highly accoladed finals picks, even to the extent of tearing all my previous records up out of frustration, obviously for my higher understanding for the intricacies of the NBA and sports in general. This same feaster of fajitas was also present the night before I noticed the page missing. I even remembered him picking up the notebook and commenting on my points and picks. After I realized the assailant's identity, I wasn't angry; just merely dissappointed. Luckily, I remembered whom exactly the McGovern Player of the Game (Game 1) was - Kobe Bryant, with a score of +8. Unluckily, I can't list the scores of all the other players at this time.

On to game two... Game two was definately more entertaining than game one in it's entirety. I'm pretty sure between the third and fourth quarters neither team deviated from a lead of less than 3 points. Although I want the Lakers to win the series, I was rooting for the Magic; I'd like it to go to at least six or seven games, for entertainment purposes - and because the Magic having been disrespected this entire post-season, deserve some (respect). Although respect isn't entirely deserved from basically anyone on either team given that the referees this season are blind, retarded, inconsistent or flat out don't know the rules. It annoys the shit out of me that this post season - which I've watched the vast majority of has probably been the best post season I've seen in a long time and yet the calls are utterly contrary. Hopefully that's not a catch 22 scenario. Early in the playoffs there were so many flagrants - obvious ones - the refs needed to 'crack down' to an extent, but now they're just calling fouls on everything and every quarter gets essentially doubled; it's retarded.

LeBron. Yes the same over-rated football player who is now watching the finals from his couch rather than in person. Yes, I said football player on purpose. He is the consensus 'best player in the NBA," yet the majority - I'd even go as far as 65% - of the time he drives to the basket he simultaneously can't and isn't trying to score. He just runs, as fast as he can at anyone within the supposed restricted area near the rim and... decks them, as hard as he can. It's stupid. He can essentially draw a foul, at any moment of any game, any time he wants; especially because he's LeBron James; his stardom only intensifies this fact. This is yet another reason the Kobe vs. LeBron debate ends swiftly in the Bryant camp; Kobe doesn't have to resort to this to score. I was so frustrated at LeBron's practice of this - not that I blame him, if the refs are going to continually call it why wouldn't he - in the Eastern Conference Finals I created a newfound category in the McGovern Player of the Finals just for him. It's also an inaugural in that it's the first one not to be related to person actually playing in the finals. Everytime LeBron's name is mentioned during the finals, he gets a score of -1 on the McGovern Player of the Game scoring card. Originally, I thought I'd only give him a -1 when an announcer or player mentioned his name, but after seeing those fucking annoying Kobe/LeBron puppet commercials I decided he should be repremanded for every single time. Especially because his dumb-failure ass is sitting on his couch and watching every single one of those commercials, getting a much deserved...
Reality Check.

PS. Here is the part I'm sure you've all been waiting for, the scores for McGovern Player of the Game - Game 2:
Lakers:
Ariza: +4
Gaso: +4
Bynum: 0
Bryant: +7
Fisher: +4
Odom: +7
Walton: 0
Farmar: +1
Vujacic: 0
Brown: 0

Magic:
Alston: +1
Lewis: +12**
Howard: +8
Turkoglu: +9
Lee: 0
Pietrus: +2
Battie: 0
Gortat: 0
Nelson: +1
Redick: +1

LeBron: -24***

*These are overall/final scores.
**Bold+Italics indicates McGovern Player of the Game
***Jeff Gordon

March Mediocrity

Incase anyone couldn't tell, I haven't checked my blog in a while and apparently, I had this one in the que for a while. Unfortunately it'd have been way more appropriate in March, however I figure better late than never. Also, it's still applies to all gay college sports.


To be honest, I have never 'got' college sports; well, more importantly why ANYONE likes them. I guess there is the whole "I'm in college so it's a free excuse to get drunk appeal," however I'm pretty sure most of the big college sports fans (who are all huge tools for the record) use this more of an excuse than anything. I can understand why, to be honest. The regular season (I'm mostly talking about college basketball hence the 'March' reference but a lot of this refers to the even more stupid college football.) in college sports in general make no sense. "Hey, let's play a lot of games that are slightly meaningfull to have people rank us on reputation! SWEEET! Obviously I'm talking more about college BB than the NCAA tournament, but honestly it's overhyped and overdone. Although at least it has a semblance of a 'playoff' style as opposed to college football. People say college sports are fun to watch? I don't get it. Do people like seeing 90% of games being boring blowouts? Do people enjoy scrubs making dumbass mistakes to screw their own team over? Do people like seeing no traveling during the month of March (sarcasm)? Do people in their right mind honestly compare any of these games to professional sports? There is only one word which explains why anyone would do so; okay well two: alchohol, loyalty (stupidity); wait 3, boredome?



Yes, I know, this arguement has already been made for football on espn ALL the time. I've heard certain supposed self-imposed sports guru's claim 'The NBA sucks, they don't play til the 4th quarter." You idiots and mexican friends of mine know who you are. Luckily the opinion of most of those mentioned are idiots and it isn't supported by the NBA season (who I'm sure they'll claim to follow - through sports center, no doubt.) It's alright though, we can always look at the 'more exciting' NCAA tournament, which for lots of teams makes the regular season irrelevant and then when it doesn't has idiots saying 'Cinderalla' hundreds of times. Then it can just rely on refs, who can't or don't call travels and luck - of course.


Stewart Scott: One of the biggest tools ever (wink).
Fuck tiger woods.