A weekend at the faire – And the winner is…

Oh baby, is that a broadsword, or are you just happy to see me..?

Naw, sweet cheeks … that really is a broadsword, but it doesn’t mean I’m any less happy to see you.

Oooh, I can’t resist a man who carries a broadsword, and wears a Kurt Warner football jersey to the Renaissance Faire… kiss me now! /dives in for spontaneous make out session

Continue reading “A weekend at the faire – And the winner is…”

A weekend at the faire – One cougar, to rule them all

After Sarah and I watched the teenage pregnancy couple walking away, our eyes did not go bored again much longer, because this immaculate specimen came into our lives very shortly afterward. All weekend long, I had been singing the Cougarlife.com jingle that I had been hearing on Sirius since I’ve gotten it, and therefore, all women with semblance of children, or looked like they had children were being labeled cougars, all weekend long. This one, we ended up calling the Queen of Cougars (who ranks just below the Fairy Godcougar whom was unphotographable), despite the fact that we saw that she was technically married still, which meant that she was not the definitive, divorced mother cougar, but it certainly didn’t mean she didn’t go on the prowl looking for sex with younger men. Didn’t matter though, because she was a total cougar, whether or not she realized it.

Continue reading “A weekend at the faire – One cougar, to rule them all”

The new world, off kilter

Superman screamed across the Atlantic, going at a speed undetectable by human eyes.  He got a late jump on the missiles, and he actually worried if he would make it on time.  Superman narrowed his eyes and focused hard on trying to fly faster, thinking if he could hit the speeds in which he could essentially turn the Earth the opposite direction on its axis, and turn time back to just a few minutes ago, to where he could hope to prevent the launch of these nukes.  But as hard as he flew, he couldn’t catch up.

He was within visual sight of the first two mushroom clouds that emerged from Moscow.  Superman slouched in failure, as the savior of the world couldn’t prevent such destruction.  This moment of desperation was ill-timed, however, as screeching right past his head were several more missiles, headed in the opposite direction, at an amazingly fast speed.  Superman took off, hoping to intercept these Russian missiles, but again, his moments of hesitation proved to be costly.  By the time he got within visual of the remains of the New York skyline, all he saw were clouds of smoke, and dark skies.

I wake up in my dad’s old Caprice Classic station wagon.  My family is together, my mother, father, and sister.

“We’re here,” my dad says.  Where is “here,” I’m thinking?  It’s our new home, it’s explained to me.

New home?  What happened to my old home?

Continue reading “The new world, off kilter”

A weekend at the faire – Teenage pregnancy forthcoming

Oh you thought I was done with the Renfest photos and stories? Oh hell no.

Oh dude, these sky chairs are sweet. I’m soooo comfortable in them!

Aww, but what about meeeee? Where am I going to siiiiit?

Huh huh… c’mere baby, why don’t you sit on my lap…

Noooowoooo… we can’t do that right hereeeeee..!

Sure you can babe /proceeds to attempt to finger her in public

Continue reading “A weekend at the faire – Teenage pregnancy forthcoming”

Dear world

PowerPoint is not graphic design software, never has, and never will be. If you wish for me to work on PowerPoint for your companies, I will do such since I am a slave to the rat race, but know that making me do such, I will harbor legitimate hatred for you and your company. Fuck PowerPoint and fuck you too.

What’s douchier than people who drive BMW cars?

Guys who drive BMW motorcycles.  There’s a guy in the office that needs to let everyone know that he drives a BMW motorcycle, indicative by the way he’s always wearing his fluorescent green BMW “air shell” jacket in the office, despite the fact that it’s 87 degrees in the City of Atlanta right now.  And the way he perches his fluorescent green BMW helmet on the edge of his desk, so that everyone who walks by or looks down the corridor can see it, like a beacon of douchiness in the office.  I have to imagine that when he’s in his full autocross get-up, he looks like a fucking lightning bug humping a football, or at least, like someone who ate something radioactive.

Needless to say, having been here for the last two months, I’ve got a fairly good grasp of the people who work here, and most importantly for the sake of conversation, the people I don’t really care for, and are capable of griping about in brog format.  Furthermore, I’ve been here long enough to where I now feel entitled to gripe about my job, more so than when I was here, greener than Lex Luger.

Continue reading “What’s douchier than people who drive BMW cars?”