Me O, Fat bitches 3

So, it is fairly unusual for me to get shot down by pseudo-intellectual hoes. Unfortunately that is exactly what happened this evening. Having a BA in philosophy allows me almost an impregnable offensive cocktail conversation against anyone. However, tonight I managed to get shot down by even fat broads who obviously fancied themselves intellectuals.

Honestly, if I was still in college in Eugene, I would have pulled at least one of these broads. I dont know what the problem is. Because out here in the Bay it has been proven to be increasingly difficult to get a casual lay for R3d in even the most mediocre of senses.

Yeah, I am pushing 30, but whatever. I can still pwn your normal everyday grad student action seeking female with some sort of garbage philosophical insight. I mean frankly it isnt that hard. But tonight these broads actually tried to sucker me into buying them drinks.

Can you believe that? The mighty R3d being suckered into buying random broads drinks? Hell no!
Red doesnt even tip broads well if they dissemble to him.
What makes some average looking punker broad think I am going to buy her a drink on my tab? EH?

Rest assured fellow reader, no drinks were purchased but for myself, and the ambiguos perpetraitors were ignored to the fullest extent of bar etiquette. God dammed broads.

I am looking forward to curing my hangover tomorrow with the Mike James drunkfest. GL social maladroits. May your skills prove as poorly as mine.

Posted by The_R3d_Scare @ 5:56 am EDT | Permalink | 6 Comments

Man I Dig Customs

Had a blast playing customs again with people from the site.  I feel like everyone is forcing me to get better with all the intense matches, and on top of that they are just a cool group of people.  I like it.  I am ecstatic in fact.  This community is so magnanimous it is awesome.  Shout outs:  Neks, Soup Nazzi, Clutch, Royal, Mo Ron, Moesly, EggMayne/Radiobirdman, and Freefall.  Good games fellas.  Chibius, show up to practice sometime bro. 

I'll post a story about the record breaking shutout I managed to pull at the rockabilly show, when I feel better about myself.  I did see Little Miss Sunshine last night, and it did help me feel better about failing. 

A few random unimportant points regarding the movie and its aesthetic.  The family's encomium at the end of the film was touching, if not a bit contrived.  The metaphor of the broken down van on the highway I found very interesting, however the overall commentary of the film was a bit too much like a Wes Anderson piece for my tastes.  It follows almost the same exact themes as Life Aquatic, but is not executed as well, or with as much style.  Little Miss Sunshine provides a much more sensationalistic approach to film making than Anderson does, so if you like Anderson's themes but not his dry style, then this film will be enjoyable for you.  It is not as comedic in nature as its marketing machine would have you think, however there are some laugh out loud moments.

Someone go watch The Tin Drum now and post something interesting in the blog comments.  I want to talk about this film, and get other people's opinions on it.

Posted by The_R3d_Scare @ 12:06 am EDT | Permalink | 0 Comments

Lots-O-Driving

Man I love blogging. No one should ever really care about the mundane meanderings of my weekend, yet writing about them here gives me a false sense of overly grandiouse self importance. I love it.

So, I drove up to Salem Oregon from San Francisco just to LAN with the EggMayne and his crew. We played Halo 2 for almost two days straight, and it was a blast. Playing on LAN with good players is an obscene amount of fun. Everyone can shoot across the map, lag is never an issue, and you get to talk hard smack to people's faces. I would have owned harder, but I was hung over from visiting old college buddies in Eugene (which by the way is my favorite town to get absolutely faded in). Of course this meant that Egg and I missed out on some practices with our ladder team, but Freefall is a nice guy, and I am sure he will understand.

On the drive back was when a moderately interesting story took place. I'm cruising through Medford, doing about ninety-five, which I know is foolish given the amount of Oregon State Troopers on the I-5 corridor. Especially stupid if you have lived in Oregon and you know how implacable the Troopers are once they have you pulled over. Yet I'm speeding anyway, hoping to make an eight hour drive into six and a half, and of course just outside of Medford I get caught. Now I see the Trooper's car just in time to say "oh shit!" to myself, and downshift to get a little decrease in speed. However this only saves me about ten miles per hour on my ticket, which is already going to be obscenely high in price.

The Trooper pulls out onto the highway, rides my bumper, runs my plates, hits the lights and pulls me over. My dog is in the backseat sleeping, but anytime I slow down he gets up to see what is going on. So my dog starts baying at the Trooper when he comes up to my window (the dog is a hound, and he like to bay more than bark sometimes).

"Your dog bite?" the Trooper asks.

"No," I reply "he is just trying to defend me".

"Why don't you step outside," the Trooper says.

Of course I step outside driver's license and keys in my hand. The Trooper looks at my hands and I hold them open, because I want to make damn sure he knows I am not carrying a weapon.

"Where you headed?" He asks, and I tell him.

"Is there any reason you were going so fast?" He asks.

"No," I respond, looking down a bit like a coward.

"You on vacation?" He asks, which I think is an odd question, but I answer.

"Yeah, visiting some old college buddies in Eugene" I only said this, because it sounds less geeky than driving seven hours to play Halo 2 all weekend.

Oddly enough the conversation continues. He asks about my dog, says he has a dog in his car too. I check out his dog, we talk about it. He asks what I do, we talk about teaching. He tells me his wife is a teacher in Medford, and how great the salaries for teachers are in Oregon. Overall it was more like we were hanging out and having a few brewskies than the situation it really was, sans me being extremely nervous of course. When the conversation is finished he lets me go. Mind you this is the only time in my life, I have ever been let off by a cop. Usually they take one look at me and start writing out a ticket. I'm not sure what made this guy decide to just give me a warning, I'd like to think it was my dog, as he started the whole conversation really. So today he is getting pampered. I had him groomed professionally and bought him a new toy, I even bought some of those fattening doggy treats he likes so much. Hell we might even go for a hike later.

Thanks dog.



I know I promised to tell you the midget rockabilly king story, and rest assured it is much more entertaining. I'll post it when I am less tired and able to give it the truly verbose telling it deserves.

Boat drinks,

- The R3d Scare

Posted by The_R3d_Scare @ 12:55 pm EDT | Permalink | 2 Comments

First Ladder Match for KoH

We had a great set of games tonight against Moes Hoes.  Good match everyone, especially Budman, who had my number the last few games.

Off to some random rockabilly show.  I'm sure I will return intoxicated and with a few good stories to tell.

Posted by The_R3d_Scare @ 11:40 pm EDT | Permalink | 1 Comments

Great Night of H2!

Good games to everyone I played against and with tonight. I had more fun than a Brahma bull on Viagra, playing customs for hours with people from the site. Names that stand out: Caeser, Bioslayer, Chibius, Night, Turmoil, Torn&Tattered. Good games fellas. Of course big shout out to my main man EggMayne (aka Radiobirdman), good games mullet.

Back to work this week, subbing. Which translates to babysitting high school kids. I wish I could be phlegmatic about their seemingly endless repertoire of banal insults, but I am not. I hate them all.

Anyway, the roller derby story I promised to tell:

So after the bull dyke incident, my friend and I we were watching the bout, and the San Francisco All-stars are absolutely humiliating Las Vegas (I think the final score was approximately 113 to 56). The crowd is incredibly gregarious, and thus they are drinking heavily. This in turn leads to an absurdly long line of men waiting to use the restroom. Now at this point I had drank nearly fifteen brewskies and I had to urinate profusely. You know when you have to urinate so bad you start to sweat? That was me.

Long restroom lines and a bad need to urinate culminated into circumstances that forced me to relieve myself outdoors. Now this was not simply due to me feeling like a 60 year old man with a prostate condition. I mean sure, I didn't want to piss my pants like a kindergartener trapped inside an RV for twelve hours straight and not allowed to get out because it might "Screw up the time table" of the family vacation (Thanks dad!), but also I didn't want to see the god forsaken half time show with 300 pound broads doing burlesque routines. I mean, Jesus himself would have averted his eyes and cast judgment, believe you me (according to my friend, the part where some of the broads stripped to reveal they were actually men was an interesting sight).

Needless to say, I walk outside towards the street in order to find a dark corner in which to abate the nagging rage of my bladder. Behold! Not more than twenty yards away lay some bushes, perfect and ripe for me to fertilize with my nutritious urine. I stumbled foreword like a man dying of thirst in the desert, making those last few steps towards his oasis. This corner was a godsend I tell you, nothing less. As I was walking (or most likely stumbling) I hear the pitter patter of dress shoes running upon blacktop behind me. Rest assured, there is no doubt, even in my drunken state, I was able to realize that whoever the proprietors of the shoes were, they were indeed running towards me (maybe even chasing me). Here, I am faced with a choice. Continue to stumble towards my much needed respite or turn and face whatever it is the owners of those shoes had in store for me. In the end, pragmatism reared its ugly head, and someone grabbed me from behind by the collar of my shirt.

Of course I almost piss my pants like the aforementioned kindergartener, as I am yanked back. I grunted and forced my bladder to control itself, as the perspiration increased upon my brow. I wanted to cry.

I turned around slowly, my legs nearly crossed, and before me stood the Midget Rockabilly King of Oakland, and his two stooges. Now I like rockabilly, for the most part I even like rockabilly guys and gals. I especially like hot young Betty Sues all dressed up in their rockabilly getup. So I am not particularly biased in this sort of a situation. And I say this fellow was a midget, but that is just a bit of an embellishment. Sure he was shorter than I, and I am a bit of a short dude (5'9" or so), it might not be fair to call him a midget, but my dear blog readers I assure you, he was as close to a midget as anyone can be (except maybe that guy Oscar in The Tin Drum, which by the way is probably the best German movie ever made). Anyway, this midget is rockabillied out. I mean full tilt booie. Sweet white and black leather dress shoes, hair that is so meticulously groomed you know he didn't do it himself, flannel shirt, toothpick in his mouth, arms tatted up more times than my ex-girlfriend gets banged out (which is a lot in case you were wondering), and of course the tight blue jeans rolled up at the bottom. Rolled up quite a bit in his case. Then there were his two stooges. Each at least a foot taller than the king, muscle bound oafish looking mooks, that for some reason seemed to follow the Midget Rockabilly King like a couple of cur dogs. It was the tougher looking of these gents that, (despite his follower personality, looked as though he was quite a pugilist) had taken me by the collar.

"Bro!" The Midget Rockabilly King exclaimed, "Bro!".
I looked a bit taken aback, I mean a double exclamation of bro, after his lackey had me by the collar... is that really necessary? Either way, he looked drunk and pissed.

"Bro, did you just throw an Old Milwaukee at me in there?!?" he asked me abrasively.

"uhmmmm... No" I stammer, strictly out of my intense need to urinate and having nothing to do with fear.

I took a closer inspection of the king at this point, and sure enough there was what appeared to be liquid splattered willy nilly all over his clothes.

"I swear I saw you" the king says, and the signs of an inner debate are clear upon his countenance.

To which I slur "Dude, I don't even buy Old Milwaukee, I drink PBR. I think you are mistaken", as if they could even corroborate my story, or as if it was even a decent alibi.

At which point his two muscle men are saying almost in unison, "Is this the dude? Is this the dude?", clearly ready to pound me out like a sorority girl at her first kegger. Which, to be honest, was the thing I definately did not need, to get beat down next to the Oakland airport by the Midget Rockabilly King and his two stooges.

His Droogs, as EggMayne is fond of saying.

Somehow I finally managed to talk these guys down, stating that "I just needed to take a piss, can we talk about it afterward?" and "I'm too drunk to even really aim a beer can properly". So they leave me alone and go walk back inside. And I did pee a little, but only in my boxers... I swear.

Good journey,

- The R3d Scare

Posted by The_R3d_Scare @ 5:30 am EDT | Permalink | 1 Comments