Sunday, April 05, 2009

pointless saturday post...

Shit. My eyes fucking hurt.

While the wifey was channel-surfing, we stumbled upon “The-Artist-Formerly-Known-As-Rustom-Padilla” dancing on GMA’s pointless slot-filler “Cool Center” doing his best/worst Morticia Addams impersonation.

This isn’t even about him being gay anymore. Either that, or one day he’ll just bust out the corset and claim to have created a fifth gender. Or maybe even a whole new species.

At least he/she doesn’t talk in a forced falsetto…

* * * * *

It’s amazing how a nation with such supposedly publicized levels of poverty always has malls chock-full of cars and not enough parking. Thus, resulting in something almost as bad as road rage, “parking rage.” Parking rage is when one is queued up near a parking slot where someone else is in the process of exiting, then someone else comes swooping in to try and fill the slot in before you do. This results in extreme indignation that causes one’s temper to flare.

Subsequent actions include blowing one’s horn for extended spells as an automotive equivalent to cursing and/or flipping someone the finger through dark tinted windows, then rolling down one’s windows and cursing directly and very eloquently.

If the above still do not prove effective, parking rage dictates that one alights from his vehicle and proceeds to confront the other guy through the other guy’s car window.

Usually, the cooler head (usually the offender who is probably feeling foolish at this point) will just back off. In some cases, the offender feels so foolish he tries to save what’s left of his dignity by snapping back at the parking-rager. This leads to the war of who has the bigger testicles, and who is most likely to be carrying a spare container of strip-sol to pour on the other guy’s vehicle.

Or in some cases, a baseball bat.

So one thing led to another and Mega Mall parking area guard comes in and stops me from going Dragonball on the other guy, who it turns out looks like he’s on the high side of the 40’s, but has the verbal maturity of a twelve-year-old. But yes, he leaves the scene anyway, with me heckling him for taking too long to weasel his way out of how I locked his car in from behind.

Wifey wants to kill me, Marge was crying in the car for having her sleep interrupted, and moments later the wifey points out the offending idiot walking around the mall.

Turns out he was over six feet tall.

I really ought to keep a container of strip-sol in the car… and medical insurance… I need medical insurance…

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