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South Carolina Emergency Room

Fate leads me into some funny circumstances.

These things can only happen to me.

I was not hurt or sick, but without going into the reason why, I found myself in South Carolina on Saturday night, waiting for a cab, in front of the emergency room of hospital.

I was pissed off because I didn't want to be there, waiting for that cab, which was late.

I was there a long time.

The people who came in and out of the emergency room though... they were very interesting.

I saw people bleeding, and people who got carried in unconscious.

I saw babies crying, and drunk people staggering around yelling. I saw an old woman in a wheel chair who didn't know where she was.

But the most astonishing and funniest thing was a conversation I heard.

Three kids about 16 years old with heavy heavy southern accents. One kid was big and fat, about 16 years old, wearing a straw fishing hat with the ends poking out all over the place like huck Finn. The next kid -skinny as a rail with a straw cowboy hat and feathers on it, and this little kid who must have been about 10. He looked pretty normal.

Here's the conversation;

Fat Kid: "Oooooh is she gonna be mad atchyooo!"

Cowboy kid: "Why the hell should she be mad at me? I didn't tell him to eat it!"

Normal kid: "I cain't believe he didn't spit it out!"

Fat Kid: "Well he's the crazy ass who ate it!"

Cowboy kid: "It ain't mah fault! I didn't make him eat it!"

Fat kid: "She is gonna be so pissed atchyoo!"

Normal kid: "I really thought he was gonna spit it out... cain't believe he ate it!"

The cab came. I got in.

I have no idea what the hell that was all about.

AV Guy Rant (from 2002) Foot Odor & A Weird Day, (Parts 1 & 2)

Today weird stuff just kept happening.
I went to work and these people from some miserable country had taken over the hotel... In the ballroom...
It's this religious cult with some name so friggin' long and hard to pronounce that you get hernia trying to say it.
They were having this wacko-cult slurpie burpin', chant and bang fest in the grand ballroom.

All they rented from me were 6 easels to put giant pictures of some ugly rat faced hag on.
She ( The divine Rat-face Hag) was walkin' around getting adored all over the place, and all these hippies and vacant faced zombies were following her around throwing flowers and moaning, and banging tabla drums and finger cymbals while howling her name.
People were stumbling around dazed like they had all been huffing tilex, with long white robes on, and you could smell burning punks and bad B.O.

I retreated into my office to nurse a slight hangover, to have a cup of coffee and watch Maury Povitch sending bed wetters to bootcamp on TV.

When I stepped out, I tripped and almost did a header- Someone had piled about twenty pairs of shoes in front of my office door while I was in there watching the bed wetters do pushups.

It turns out that if you wanna be in this cult, you have to remove your shoes and leave them at the door before you stumble inside the ballroom to howl at Mother Rat-Face.
So now there's 1200 people in there bellowing like drilled sheep, and 2400 hippie sandals by the door, (give or take an amputee)

I have to pee my coffee out, so I go into the men's room. I stand at the urinal and this bald headed old cretin moves right up next to me and says in a seven-eleven accent, "Would you please help me untie the knot in my robe, sir?"

I'm right in the middle of makin' Godzilla cry, but Ghandi's slip-knot needs attention. So I finish the prance & dance part, and start helpin " Grasshopper" untangle his robe, but the knot is too tight, and I can't seem to loosen it, and while I'm struggling to undo his friggin "Mandress" I realize that if anyone walks in from the hotel, anyone that knows me, they could get the wrong impression and think I'm pullin' a "George Michael" here. A rest area robe-probe.
As I try to untie the belt of this robe I get a whiff of this cretin.
Woof!
Gunga Din here stinks! BAD!
So I just stop, and tell stinky-twinkie "I'm sorry,I can't get it." ...And I left him there still fighting the knot.
Screw him. Smelly wierdo! Buy some friggin' pants! ...or a knife.


So I get outta there, go hide in the office again, so I kick twenty more pair of stinky shoes away
from my office door, wondering,"if I call him, will doctor Scholls make house calls?"

I decided I'd had enough Ratface worship and bathroom encounters with Robe-probing Ravi Shankar look-alikes, so I decided to go home and take a shower in Desinex.

Part (2)

I picked up my kid and brought him to his karate school for a lesson
at 4 o'clock, and well, it isn't really Karate, it's Martial arts called Chung Moo Doe, which to me sounds like some Chinese guy who can't decide about hiring a cow as a prostitute.

Again I find myself in a place where all I can smell is foot odor.

I'm gonna get athlete's f*ckin' NOSE soon, I swear! I considered chopping up a Tic-Tac and snorting it.

The instructor is teaching the kids 2 things today;
(1) how to kick someone in the balls, and (2) how to keep someone from kicking you in the
balls.
I'm sitting in the waiting room with more smelly shoes, all this foot odor is makin' me goofy.
I secretly fantasize about kicking various people in the balls.

Meanwhile, This blouzah "Aunt Vicki" is in there with two bratty kids about 2 and 3 years old. The 3 year old, Salvi, is having speech problems, the 2 year old is having problems with the speed of light.
He's bouncin' off the walls like ricochet rabbit.
Speech impediment Salvi is playing trucks. But he calls them F*cks.
He rolls a small white one under the bench where I am sitting, he then goes under my legs and under the bench trying to get it.
Vicki sees this. "Salvi! whaddayou doin'?" she cackles hideously.
"I'm gettin' dat F*CK, aunt Vickie"
"No it's TR*CK Salvi boy," she snaps.
"F*ck," he sings.
"No no no! TRUCK! TRUCK!
T-R-U-C-K
and what kind of TRUCK is it?" She asks sweetly.
"A ICE CREAM F*CK!" says Salvi.

Zippy, the accelerated 2 year old, wings a red iron vehicle dangerously close to Swearing Salvi's head. It lands and becomes visible in the foot fungus cultivation area.
The two brats lock into mortal combat to gain control of the red toy.
"Fire Fu*ck!" I want dat Fire F*ck!

Vicki to the rescue..."Salvi you let Zippy have it!"
" I want a FIRE F*CK! He can take a DUMP F*CK!"
"What about this white one?" Vicki says.
"No! No I don't want a ICE CREAM F*CK!
I WANT MY FIRE F*CK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I stood up and walked outside, waiting in the rain for my kid to come out and kick me in the balls.

WEIRD DAY, huh?

West Coast Trip 2006

I just got back from another trip last night. This time it was Anaheim California for a week

Texas before that, and I'm going back again to Texas in a few weeks. Also scheduled is Chicago, Florida, South Carolina, New York...

You can keep the west coast. It's hot, it smells and nobody speaks friggin' English. It sounds like they're gargling when they talk.

Everything costs an arm and a leg.
They all carry around these giant wallets full of arms and legs.
The cash registers are huge and bloody.

I ate at Starbucks all the time.

"I'll have a Grande Chai Latte, with soy milk, and a roast beef on focaccia bread." I'd say

Then some runty little bastard would gargle at me:

""GargleGargleGargle Dat wull be two legs GargleGargle und vun armGargleGargle and a peenkie sir GargleGargleGargleGargle"

I almost missed my flight back, but I met one of the actors from LOST in LAX Airport. I don't know his name but he's that Iranian looking mid eastern guy on the show. Good looking guy. Probably a little lite in the loafers though, judging by the leather he was wearing.

I was standing in line sweating my ass off, hoping I wouldn't miss the flight, which was boarding while I waited in this unbelievably L O N G security line,

Meanwhile, to my left there was another much shorter line. Mr.Moviestar turns to me and complains (with some kind of British poofy accent), "They are herding us like cattle."

I sez, "Yah, tell me about it! I hope I don't miss my flight. I'm late. Are they gonna make us take off our shoes?"

He says, "Of course! They treat us like cattle!"

Then he decides to complain to one of the security people.

"Why can't we go into THAT line? It is much shorter! This does not make sense."

The security runt shrugged with a bored look and said "GargleGargleGargleGargle!"

"Don't expect any kind of logic out of him!" I said (removing my sneakers)

"Like cattle!" he says, "It makes no sense!"

Then some broad from the line next to us lets out a howl "OH MY GOD! IT'S YOU!!! The Guy from LOST! ARE YOU FROM LOST?"

Poof-boy says "Yes." nervously. Suddenly I recognize him too. He's the terrorist guy from lost. Suddenly he's not just a greasy looking poofter who hates cattle.

The broad runs up and reaches across the ribbon divider thing, and hugs the little terrorist movie star, and the next thing you know he's signing autographs for people.

Then I get to security.

Some guy gargles something about my laptop, and GargleGargle "Do I have any GargleGargleGargleGargle or gels, or anything that would stick him as he fished through my back pack?"

"No."

I walk through the metal detector.
It goes off.
Some big ugly bastard pulls me aside:

"GargleGargle?"

"What?"

"Remove a you belt GargleGargleGargleGargle cell-phone, GargleGargle!"

I take my belt off throw it on the conveyor belt with my phone and walk through.

Suddenly everyone is gargling all around me, I'm trying to collect my shit and put my laptop back in the bag, and put my shoes on at the same time, and I'm dropping shit and stumbling around and my pants are falling down, and I'm late, and the movie star is waving goodbye and the guys with the ties are gargling at me to hurry up, and I'm sweating and looking at my watch which I put back on upside down, and I look at my ticket and it says gate C 23. So I go up to some asshole with a white shirt on.

"Where's gate C23?"

"WAAAYYY over there! (pointing) Then take a right and go upstairs by the Gargle!"

I have no f*cking idea what the last part was but I start running like a water buffalo in that direction.

The I hear them announce "Last call for flight 222 to Phoenix Now Boarding! All passengers MUST GargleGargle at this time!"

I'm running and puffing and sweating with the pack on my back and my pant's falling down, because I never had time to put my belt back on. I shit you not, it was about a quarter of a mile. I thought I was gonna have a friggin' heart attack and drop dead right there, but I made it!

I was the last guy to board the plane, and everyone was glaring at me. I must have smelled farging fragrant too after that run. They announced that they would not be serving any drinks because of the horrible turbulence that was expected and we had to remain seated.
I dry swallowed two valiums, and when the plane landed I didn't give shit about it any more.