I came, I gamed, and I conquered...motherfucker.

Wow, what a week. I was groovin with some buds hardcore in just about everything this week, from Lost planet, to Gears of War, and mucho mucho (that means "more" for you English only bitches) others to say the least. Oh, and if you have been following this harrowing tales blog, you'll know that my keyboards take a beating due to inadvertent coffee spills, and ciggy burns. I swear, this keyboard I have atm, is a fuckin trooper. The "K" key for some reason still works, even though literally 3/4 of it looks like a melted plastic army man, remember, the ones ya used to torch with the can of Lysol and a match in the backyard and shit? Fuck, those army men cost me a serious ass beating once when I was about 8 or so. I was one serious fuckin child pyro, I gotta admit...anyways, my mom had just put in these new bathroom counters, and I swear they looked like some sort of funky ass camoflage made just for my army men to conquer and kill and cause mass fuckin mayhem on. I drop on my battalion of badasses on, and here comes the industrial size can of Lysol! (I gotta thank good ol' mom for buying that size, cripes you could torch some serious shit with that bug fuckin can) So I see that the grenade dude (the one in the perpetual throw motion) is about to fuck my boys up, so I target him first...Hayaaaaaaaaa motherufucker!! Take that!! That bitch went up like nuttin, and proceeded to melt not only onto my mom's new counter...but melted INTO mom's new counter. Oh fuck me...even when yer as young as that, you know the serious ass beating yer gonna get when you start fucking up shit that can't be just washed off. I literally went to my room after I made even more of a mess of it, by chipping the shit away as best I could with a fucking butterknife, which of course, made the shit worse.

Ok, let's see, sitting in my room, all I can think about is how shiny and nice and clean the old man's belt buckle looks right before he whips it off to cause serious damage to my ass cheeks. Well 15 minutes into that nightmare thought, good ol' mom, who is sniffing around the house like a fuckin bloodhound says..."something's burning in here, I can smell it!". She then asks me to help her find out where the smell is coming from. Of course i know, but thinking I'm one smart motherfucker, head to the back of the house, so I can draw her away from the bathroom. I say, "is this it?" way back in the kitchen, and she says she can't smell it and heads back down the hall. 10 seconds later all I hear is one word..."Oh!". Right then I'm shitting a brick, because dear old mom can lay down some ass whippin too, and all I can think about is how to fucking die so I don't get beat. She calls me into the bathroom shoiws me my handiwork and asks in a calm tone (calm tone = so fucking pissed she's about to have a coronary and shit) "Did you do this...son?" (Oh fuck, the "son" interjection is like a dagger to me, I know when I have no name, it's about to come) I then break into tears....and I start getting all wet faced and snotty, and start doing that hyperactive breathing and crying shit kids do when they are so fucked like I was...and I replied as quickly as I could through all my trauma....I say..."No mom." Mom looks at me and asks again..."Did you do this?" I reply after like 3 minutes of fast breath crying...."No mom." Then it comes, the 3rd asking of the question of doom. I have a choice here, since I know my mom like the back of a book, the 3rd try is due or die time see...if it don't come out after the 3rd one, you are so fucked, you just can't believe the pain and suffering you are gonna be in for. I mean, restriction, an ass whippin, no friends, no phone, no fuckin nuttin! So here it comes after another 2-3 minutes..."Did you do this?" And of course I wanna come clean, because I'm shittin baby seals and cantaloupe about now, so I say..."No mom, I swear to God I didn't!! Strike three motherfucker, yer out!!

Seeing as my mom is a devote religious type, the God part of my statement probably made her the most pissed, even though I just lied through my teeth 3 times as I looked her dead in the eye. Being that age, it seems kinda tough to come up with a story that woulda been a winner, seeing as I was the only one home at the time this shit happened. If my little bother had been there I though, he would be gettin a serious ass whippin now instead of me, because I woulda blamed this shit all over his ass. So now, I got mom wanting to kill me, and dad is like 2 hours away from getting off work. My life, in my opinion was over. All I could think about was ways to die again...oh how that would teach them both to be mad at me. I was thinking about ways to go so they would be sad and shit...yea, that would teach them! Beat me will they!! Anyway, after lie number 3, my mom laid into me, I got the "grab by the scruff of the neck, carry yer ass through the house while I spank yer ass treatment"...number 23A-6. Ahhh, the classic 23A-6. I numbered all the ass beatings in accordance with who did it, and how much discomfort it caused, seeing as I was a fuckin brat bastard when I was a kid, and got the shit spanked outta me pretty much daily. Of course no matter how much mom tried, she could never instill the kinda fear like dear old dad. Like I said before, that fuckin belt of his was some evil shit man. I hated to even go near it when it was on the floor. I shit you not, that was a scary motherfucker. T-minus 60 minutes until the dadster walked through the door...if he had a bad day at work, I was in for a few more wallops, so I was praying that no one pissed him off all day at work.

My mom of course is now on the phone to dad, he's about to leave the job, and start his commute, when all I hear is, "Guess what your son did yadda yadda yadda"...oh fuck, she made me sound like Manson and shit. Then I hear her sign off with, "You had better do something about this when you get home!". Those words were like the last nail in the coffin for me. I knew my ass was gonna be throbbing in T-minus 45 minutes now. I don't know about any of you...but lemme tell ya, when there is impending doom on the horizon, I start to freak out and think up some serious shit in how to escape it. First off I was gonna run away from home, so for whatever reason, I need to fast pack "essentials" for my life on the run. What do I take? 5 pairs of underwear, and 2 t-shirts. In my thinking, I can wear the same pants and socks forever, but I can't have dirty fuckin undies now can I? Plus they were easy to pack...I just stuffed all of the shit into my pants, so I didn't have to carry any of it. Fuckin' brilliant if you ask me! Ok, so here I am, scavenging the necessary shit I need to (undies and shirts) and they are now all crammed into my pants, so I look like some kinda freak with a gland problem in my crotch and shit, when mom walks in and sees me heading for the open window. She snags my young ass and makes me "unpack". I know she was trying her ass off not to laugh, but it took me years to realise that shit. She says sit down and don't move...T-minus 10 minutes until dad walks in.

T-minus 5 minutes and I start crying. It wasn't real crying, it was that mom, "please don't let dad kill me" kinda crying. But I guess that counter was a bit over the top when it came to my ass being spared. She just said, "knock it off, that aint working today". Fuck that, now I really start crying because I'm all terrified and shit. Then I hear my old man's car pull up into the driveway. I stop crying so I can hear the plan of abuse heading my way when he walks in and chats it up with my mom. They were kinda quiet for a bit, and I strained like fuck to hear what they were saying, then the old man walks into the bathroom, and looks at my new decorative skills on the counter, and just went..."well shit, that's not gonna be easy to replace now is it?" He then walks into my room, where I'm sitting on my bed, and closes the door. I say "hello dad, how was work today?" He replies..."It was shit". My mind is now going bonkers, and I think my asshole puckered so hard, I sucked up some of the bed linens. He asks..."that counter in the bathroom, the new one your mom just had put in...did you burn an army man on it, and let it burn through the counter?" Now, my mom is someone who takes a bit of shit, but dad don't, ever. I mean ever. Instead of replying to his question, I just drop my head and start doing the "quiet sniffle crying" shit. He then tells me, if I tell him the truth, I won't get beat for it. I'm thinking I just lost my hearing and shit, this is too fuckin good to be true, so I keep my head down, and keep up the sniveling. He brings my head up, and asks again, and I know I heard him right this time, so of course I say, "Yes dad, I did burn the army man into the counter". What a fuckin relief!! My dad then gets up and walks out of the room, and I'm just sitting there, amazed like I just saw a fucking alien or some shit. I literally cannot move because it was surreal for me not to get an ass whippin for this disaster. Woohooo!

Now, I think all of 1 minute went by, and I start putting my clothes away (undies and t-shirts) that I had for my trip. When all of a sudden, the old man bursts through the door, and whips off his belt, grabs my narry little ass, and goes to town on the southern end. SSHHHWWWACK!! This is for lying to your mother....SSHHHWWWACK!! This is for lying to your mother and me!! SSHHHWWWACK!! SSHHHWWWACK!! SSHHHWWWACK!! You will...SSHHHWWWACK!! not ever...SSHHHWWWACK!! SSHHHWWWACK!! SSHHHWWWACK!! lie to me...SSHHHWWWACK!! SSHHHWWWACK!! SSHHHWWWACK!! or SSHHHWWWACK!! SSHHHWWWACK!! your mother SSHHHWWWACK!! SSHHHWWWACK!! SSHHHWWWACK!! got it???!!! SSHHHWWWACK!! SSHHHWWWACK!! Once he got done tanning my ass, I swear I blamed myself for lying like a fuckin rug to my mom, over something anyone else woulda just given up because they weren't stupid enough like me to even try to get away with this shit. Damn...all that drama over a fucking army man toy. I swore I wasn't gonna play with those evil fuckin plastic men ever again. Well, that is until dear old mom bought another industrial sized can of Lysol that is. You can't play army men without ammo...you know? All I know was to never fuckin play army men in the bathroom again, because after all, no kid, no matter how fucked up, would do some shit like that twice. Now...under my bed in my room, that's another story...those fuckers look glorious in the dark when they're flaring up and shit!! Ahhh, to be young again...damn I miss that shit.

Wow, I was gonna talk about games wasn't I? Well shit, guess you'll have to check out my next entry bitchasses. I now have to go answer all my spam in my mail. I really think that Kenya guy needs my help, so I'm off to the bank!! Have fun, and remember, if you see me on Live, say hello...or at least say piss off or something. If I see you first, I'll definitely tell you what I think about you, bitches.

PUN

Thought of the day: Imagine at least 10 ways you can use butter without using it in cooking. On your mark, get set, go!