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Feb. 8th, 2014

We are all searching for someone whose demons play well with ours.

Writer's Block: Remote control

What’s your favorite show on television?


Looking back and reading the old entries, I've realized that this journal pretty much was full of shit. Immature, whining shit. I deleted most of the entries, but for some reason I've decided to keep the journal itself. Call it sentimental horseshit, I guess.


May the warm winds of heaven blow softly upon your house.
May the Great Spirit bless all who enter there.
May your moccasins make happy tracks in many snows,
And may the rain bow always touch your shoulder.

-Cherokee Blessing

Dealing With Assholes (A Story)

This is for all of you who occasionally have a really bad day when you just need to take it out on someone!!! Don't take that bad day out on someone you know, take it out on someone you DON'T know!

Now get this. I was sitting at my desk, when I remembered a phone call I had to make. I found the number and dialed it. A man answered nicely saying, "Hello?" I politely said, "This is Patrick Hanifin, could I please speak to Robin Carter?"

Suddenly the phone was slammed down on me! I couldn't believe that anyone could be that rude. I tracked down Robin's correct number and called her. She had transposed the last two digits incorrectly.

After I hung up with Robin, I spotted the wrong number still lying there on my desk. I decided to call it again. When the same person once more answered, I yelled "You're an asshole!" and hung up. Next to his phone number I wrote the word "asshole," and put it in my desk drawer.

Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills, or had a really bad day, I'd call him up. He'd answer, and then I'd yell, "You're an asshole!" It would always cheer me up.

Later in the year the phone company introduced caller ID. This was a real disappointment for me, as I would have to stop calling the asshole.

Then one day I had an idea. I dialed his number, then heard his voice, "Hello." I made up a name. "Hi. This is the sales office of the telephone company and I'm just calling to see if you're familiar with our caller ID program?" He went, "No!" and slammed the phone down. I quickly called him back and said, "That's because you're an asshole!"

The reason I took the time to tell you this story, is to show you how if there's ever anything really bothering you, you can do something about it. Just dial 823-4863.

Then, one day this old lady at the mall really took her time pulling out of the parking space. I didn't think she was ever going to leave. Finally, her car began to move and she started to very slowly back out of the slot. I backed up a little more to give her plenty of room to pull out.

Great, I thought, she's finally leaving.

All of a sudden this black Camaro came flying up the parking aisle in the wrong direction and pulled into her space. I started honking my horn and yelling, "You can't just do that, buddy! I was here first!" The guy climbed out of his Camaro completely ignoring me. He walked toward the mall as if he didn't even hear me. I thought to myself, "this guy's an asshole; there sure are a lot of assholes in this world." I noticed he had a "For Sale" sign in the back window of his car. I wrote down the number. Then I hunted for another place to park.

A couple of days later, I'm at home sitting at my desk. I had just gotten off the phone after calling 823-4863 and yelling, "You're an asshole!" (It's really easy to call him now since I have his number on speed dial.) I noticed the phone number of the guy with the black Camaro lying on my desk and thought I'd better call this guy, too.

After a couple rings someone answered the phone and said, "Hello."

I said, "Is this the man with the black Camaro for sale?"

"Yes, it is."

"Can you tell me where I can see it?"

"Yes, I live at 1802 West 34th street. It's a yellow house and the car's parked right out front."

I said, "What's your name?"

"My name is Don Hansen."

"When's a good time to catch you, Don?"

"I'm home in the evenings."

"Listen Don, can I tell you something?"


"Don, you're an asshole!" And I slammed the phone down.

After I hung up I added Don Hansen's number to my speed dialer. For a while things seemed to be going better for me. Now when I had a problem I had two assholes to call. Then after several months of calling the assholes and hanging up on them, it just wasn't as enjoyable as it used to be. I gave the problem some serious thought and came up with a solution.

First, I had my phone dial Asshole #1. A man answered nicely saying, "Hello." I yelled "You're an asshole!" but I didn't hang up.

The asshole said, "Are you still there?"

I said, "Yeah."

He said, "Stop calling me."

I said, "No."

He said, "What's your name, pal?"

I said, "Don Hansen."

He said, "Where do you live?"

"1802 West 34th Street. It's a yellow house and my black Camaro's parked out front."

"I'm coming over right now, Don. You'd better start saying your prayers."

"Yeah, like I'm really scared, asshole!" and I hung up.

Then I called Asshole #2.

He answered, "Hello."

I said, "Hello, asshole!"

He said, "If I ever find out who you are..."

"You'll what?"

"I'll kick your ass, you piece of shit!"

"Well, here's your chance. I'm coming over right now, asshole!"

And I hung up.

Then I picked up the phone and called the police. I told them I was at 1802 West 34th Street and that I was going to kill my gay lover as soon as he got home. Another quick call to Channel 13 about the gang war going down on West 34th Street.

After that I climbed into my car and headed over to 34th Street to watch the whole thing. Glorious! If you want to watch two assholes kicking the crap out of each other in front of 6 squad cars and a police helicopter...

I taped it all off the evening news. Ha ha ha ha!


Oh yes. It's a cheezburger.

Rock/paper/scissors, anyone?

I understand that scissors can beat paper, and I get how rock can beat scissors. But there's no fucking way paper can beat rock. Paper is supposed to magically wrap around rock, leaving it immobile? Why the hell can't paper do this to scissors? Screw scissors, why can't paper do this to people? Why aren't sheets of college-ruled notebook paper constantly suffocating students as they attempt to take notes in class? I'll tell you why: because paper can't beat anything. A rock would tear that shit up in two seconds. When I play RPS, I always choose rock. When someone claims to have beaten me with their paper, I can punch them in the face with my already clenched fist and say, "Oh shit, I'm sorry. I though paper would protect you, asshole."

Damn funny, 'cause it's true.

You scored as Satanism. Your beliefs most closely resemble those of Satanism! Before you scream, do a bit of research on it. Satanism is a religious or philosophical movement centered around Satan or another entity identified with Satan, or centered around the forces of nature, particularly human nature, represented by Satan as an archetype. To be a Satanist, you don't actually have to believe in Satan. Satanism generally focuses upon the spiritual advancement of the self, rather than upon submission to a deity or a set of moral codes. Do some research if you immediately think of the satanic cult stereotype. Your beliefs may also resemble those of earth-based religions such as paganism.

[See updated quiz called "Which religion is the right one for you? (new version)."]
















Which is the right religion for you? (old version)
created with QuizFarm.com

La Migra!!

[Foster and Mac have pulled a man over for speeding and are deciding what game to play]

Mac: All right, how about "Cat Game?"

Foster: "Cat Game?" What's the record?

Mac: Thorny did six, but I think you can do ten.

Foster: Ten? Starting right 'meow?'

[Mac laughs - they walk up to the car, and Foster taps on the driver side]

Larry Johnson: Sorry about the...

Foster: All right, meow. Hand over your license and registration.

[the man hands him his license]

Foster: Your registration? Hurry up, meow.

[Mac ticks off two fingers]

Larry Johnson: Sorry.

[the man laughs a little]

Foster: Is there something funny here boy?

Larry Johnson: Oh, no.

Foster: Then why you laughing, Mister... Larry Johnson?


Foster: All right meow, where were we?

Larry Johnson: Excuse me, [chuckles] are you saying 'meow?'

Foster: Am I saying 'meow?'

[Mac puts his fingers up for four, but makes an "eehhh" face, not sure of the last one]

Larry Johnson: I thought...

Foster: Don't think boy. Meow, do you know how fast you were going?

[man laughs]

Foster: Meow, what is so damn funny?

Larry Johnson: I could have sworn you said 'meow.'

Foster: Do I look like a cat to you, boy? Am I jumpin' around all nimbly bimbly from tree to tree?

[Mac is laughing]

Foster: Am I drinking milk from a saucer?

[feigned anger]

Foster: Do you see me eating mice?!

Foster: [Mac and the man are laughing] You stop laughing right meow!

Larry Johnson: [the man stops and swallows hard] Yes sir.

Foster: Meow I'm gonna have to give you a ticket on this one. No buts meow. It's the law.

[rips off the ticket and hands it to the man]

Foster: Not so funny meow, is it?

Foster: [about to leave, but turns back as Mac shakes his head] Meow!

Farva: Come on, Thorny, what game are you playing here? I can say "meow." I can say "moo." For twenty bucks, I'll call the guy a "chicken fucker."

[gets out of the car and walks to pulled-over vehicle]

Farva: [to couple] License and registration... chicken fucker!!

Mac: Oh, c'mon, we're like the sons you never had.

O'Hagan: If you were my son, Mac, I would've smothered you by now.

Mac: Smothered me in gravy, you big dirty man.

Farva: Hey, let's pop some Viagras and issue tickets with raging, mega-huge boners.

Thorny: You know, Farva, only you can make a dark man blush. And no, we're not doing it.

O'Hagan: [In an Irish accent] I'll believe ya when me shit turns purple and smells like rainbow sherbet.

O'Hagan: I swear to God, I'm going to pistol whip the next guy who says, "Shenanigans!"

Mac: [yelling to Farva in the next room] Hey Farva, what's the name of that restaurant you like with all the goofy stuff on the wall and the mozzarella sticks?

Farva: You mean Shenanigans?


[they hold out their guns]

Thorny: Where are your shoes?

Foster: What are you, the shoe police?

Thorny: I am, and you owe me 20 laps around the bar.

Foster: Black magic only works on the rookie.

Thorny: That's "brown magic."

Grady: I will have the enchilada platter with two tacos and no guacamole. Mike?

Smy: Yeah, Chief, I'll have a CHINCHILLA! [laughter]

Rabbit: I don't get it. Tacos?

Thorny: They think I'm Mexican.

Rabbit: [confused] You're not?

O'Hagan: I'm sorry, Bruce. These boys get that syrup in 'em, they get all antsy in my pantsy.

Captain O'Hagan: The bulletproof cup? I invented this gag, Rabbit. Only in my day, the rookie got naked.

[fires at the car window, shooting out the glass]

Captain O'Hagan: ...and we also used blanks. You're a sick motherfucker, Mac.

Mac: Thanks for that, Captain!

Foster: We could be like Cagney and Lacy.

Ursula: Right. Except Cagney and Lacy were both women.


Foster: I could be Lacy.

Thorny: [chugs a full container of syrup] I am all that is man!

[Mac gets shot in the crotch by Foster while wearing the steel groin cup]

Foster: How you feelin' there, Mac?

Mac: [on the ground spasming] Good enough... to FUCK YOUR MOTHER!!

Ursula: [talking into voice filter] Freeze motherfucker.

Foster: Oh, god, please don't shoot me. I'm naked.

Ursula: Drop your coat and grab your toes.

Foster: What?

Ursula: I'm gonna show you where the wild goos goes.

Foster: Uh, this isn't happening. I'm a police officer. Ursula, help.

Ursula: Baby, I'm gonna butter your bread.

[Foster turns, sees Ursula "holding him up"]

Ursula: [still talking into the voice filter] You don't have these at your station?

Foster: I don't suppose you have a fresh pair of underwear I can borrow?

Ursula: I'm not sure you could fit into my panties.

Mac: ...and that was the second time I got crabs.

Thorny: Stinks like sex in here.

Officer Smy: [through bullhorn, to Foster, who appears to be having sex with a bear] Bear... bearfucker, do you need assistance?

Officer Burton: How's the view from sugar heaven, bitch?

Mac: No, Farva, you are under arrest for being a complete and total fuckhead!!

College Boy 3: [licks the window a few times, turns to his paranoid companions and smiles] The snozzberries taste like snozzberries.

Farva: Give me a double bacon cheeseburger.

Dimpus Burger Kid: [into mic] Double bacon cheeseburger. It's for a cop.

Farva: What the hell's that all about? You gonna spit in it now?

Dimpus Burger Kid: No, I just told him that so he makes it good.

[into mic] Don't spit in that cop's burger.

[to Farva] Want me to Dimp-A-Size your meal for 25 cents?

Farva: Want me to Punch-A-Size your face, for free?

Dimpus Burger Kid: It's only 25 cents, and look how much you get.

Thorny: Look, kid, he doesn't want it.

Farva: Gimme a liter cola.

Dimpus Burger Guy: A what?

Farva: A liter cola.

Dimpus Burger Kid: [into mic] 'Liter' cola? Do we sell 'Liter' cola?

Thorny: Just order a large, Farva.

Farva: I don't want a Large Farva. I want a goddamn liter cola.

Dimpus Burger Kid: I don't know what that is.

Farva: [slowly starts shouting] Liter is French for grabs kid by shirt] "give me my fucking cola before I break vous fucking lips!"

Rabbit: See, a lot of drug dealers use stickers to mark their products. Like a brand name.

Farva: See? Where'd you learn that, Cheech? Drug school?

Captain O'Hagan: Shut up, Farva. Did that bag you pulled off these College kids have that sticker?

Rabbit: Ummm...[checks the sack of weed in his pocket] I don't believe it did.

Mac: How's your shooting, Thorny?

Thorny: Good. I've been dead on all morning.

Mac: What about that little guy?

[points to a bullet hole in the shooting target's crotch]

Thorny: Who, that little guy? I wouldn't worry about that little guy.

Mac: Your mother should've swallowed you, Rando!

Captain O'Hagan: Damn it Jeff, stop being gay!