For one last time I need y'all t'roll

My evening has just gone down the crapper.

No joke. I spent most of the afternoon chillin' out with my two-year-old nephew while my sister went and had her nails done or something like that. He's a cool kid. He calls me "Uncle Dude!" or usually just "DUDE!" for two reasons. 1. He hasn't really mastered the use of more than one syllable and 2. I taught him how to say the word 'dude'. I tried correcting him the first couple of times, but I gave up. I figure there are worse things to be called and Uncle Dude beats Uncle Crazy Bastard any day of the week in my book.

So I had fun with that, watched The Ringer, then I was gonna work out while I watched the Sox/yanks game. Well I was about to get started... then it all hit the fan. It's the top of the 4th and the stankee's are winning 13-3. I can't watch anymore. Every time a yankee scores a run God kills a kitten, those cruel cruel bastards. They're definitely not cat people.

So instead I'm going to put off my workout and ramble on here for a bit. I haven't done it for a while, and some new junk is going on, so I thought I'd ramble a bit.

To add to my misfortune I wanted to write this up while listening to some Jay-Z shtuff, no luck, the only cd I have is scratched beyond recognition for my laptop.

Stuff like that makes me want to kill a kitten.

Stupid yankees.

I guess I'll settle for some Rage Against The Machine

Hold on... the disc has to load...

Okay, anyway, let's go. I've been hanging out with some new folks lately since the kids I usually chill out with have jobs and school and ladyfriends and are generally too busy for ole Jason these days. It's all good though, I'm not drinkin' H8orade or anything like that. I still love alls of my friends (Except you, Alex Trebek, you're in the doghouse for sure), life just gets busy, so no worries.

So, yeah, back to the word on the street. So I've been spreading around the Jason lately, which is just fine because there's plenty of me to go around. Went bowling with some folks at Fat Cats on... oh... wednesday? thursday? with Andrew, Charlie, Jenn, Kendra and Taylor... I know I'm forgetting somebody. Good times, the music was too loud in that place so I couldn't really talk that much and get to know anybody, so these folks' first impression of me was my retarded bowling style. Where I bowl the ball and then use all sorts of body language to try and convince the ball to go where I want it to go. It somewhat resembles John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. Yeah, it's horrible. Went to Dee's over on 7th East and 21st South and ate like three plates of breakfast food while everybody else nursed drinks and cheese fries. Oh yeah, I know how to make an impression, but I was STAHVING! Then we started discussing the physical proportions of Ron Jeremy's body when I get smacked in the side with a piece of wet bread. I look over to the other side of the room and see this angry hispanic guy staring me down. My first reaction is like "What the feck is wrong with that guy?" Then after spending a few minutes getting good and pissed off I decide to go talk to the manager about it, as soon as he sees me talking to her he gets up and comes over, wife-beater and all.

"Dude, what the hell's your problem man?" He says.
"I don't have a problem, Dude, except that you chucked a piece of bread at me."
"I didn't throw sh*t! Why you goin' off blaming me!?! I didn't throw sh*t! I didn't throw sh*t! How do you know they didn't throw it?" He says, pointing at the only other people in that part of the restaurant, a table of five with grandma and grandpa and all that.
"Yeah, whatever dude."
"Yo, you got a f*ckin' problem? Let's step outside"
"Whatever, I aint steppin' outside with you."
"Why the f*ck not?"
"Because I'm not fighting anybody over a piece of f*cking bread, broseph." (I was also pretty sure he had a knife on him or something. The last thing I want after eating my lumberjack breakfast is a good knifing. That I can do without.)

So he tried to square off with me, the manager yelled at him to not cause trouble, and I just walked away. He argued with the manager for fifteen more minutes and ended up leaving. When we left an hour later I was sure to have my keys poking out of my fist just in case a crazy wife-beater man popped out of nowhere looking for a fight. Fortunately he wasn't around, so that ended that.

Saturday night was tons better. There was a gathering of fourteen or so folks at Andrew's place. Good times man, good times. Cards, pool, Guitar Hero and good people, that's all you really need in life, that and maybe a bar of soap and some toilet paper, but let's not get picky eh?

Anyhow, I've killed plenty of time writing this, so I'm gonna go put on Scarface and try and get some reps in.