Off-Season Shit List: Spring Edition

When people say, "spring has sprung," you should hit them in the teeth with a pick axe. Here in central Florida, we get a lot assholes who talk about the weather because they're otherwise boring people from some other state that sucks rhino balls. But it's actually the best time of the year around here: temperate, breezy and gorgeous ... except for the god damned pollen.

Ever since I was a kid, I activated my mucous membranes hourly by chugging chocolate milk or squirting Easy Cheese straight down my gullet. Then, the fine yellow dust that plants give off when they're trying to make more plants drives my sinuses TO THE BRINK OF INSANITY. Every year for about six weeks I look like a stoned shithead who just woke up from a 10-year nap. I'm constantly wary of dripping my snot all over anyone within arm's reach, and every shirt I own has crusty sleeves from the incessant face-wiping. It doesn't help that I work in a fitness center that's more dusty than Cloris Leachman's vag.

So I treat spring just like winter: pretend it's too cold and don't go outside. Everything is covered with the poisonous bukkake of the entire plant world and I will remain in my bubble like a young John Travolta and wait that shit out.

After the Steelers got beat in the Super Bowl, I've been in a sad state of anger and depression. I won't be as happy as I was that night for some time now; frustrated and impatient for some ultraviolence. Kind of like after Big Ben goes home alone after a night of roughing up drunk chicks. After the game, there was a lot of celebrating; mostly because the Black Eyed Peas' show was over. Sadly, I couldn't bring myself to throw Molotov cocktails or overturn cars because I was too drunk in preparation for what I thought would be a Pittsburgh win. In my efforts to numb the pain, I drank something called Hijos de Villa. It's Mexican tequila and it is a fucking horrorshow. You know how really good tequila just eases down your palate and gives you that warm, gentle tug in your stomach? This is nothing like that. It tastes like some gaucho wrung out a 60 year-old Juarez whore's bedsheets after quitting time and bottled that shit.

The cap came off with the protective seal intact, which led me to believe that the quality product was removed and an even shittier, cheaper tequila was funneled in, probably in the back office of the shit-smelling package store that I bought it from. It came with a cardboard stand to display the glass pistol/bottle proudly, and two "caballito" shot glasses, which were promptly shattered by me. It says "The Way the West Was Won," across the top of the box. I can't wait for our National Guard to flatten the entire Northern border of Mexico. That's right! The Yanquis will use Predator drones to win the West back! Then, I'll watch a Speedy Gonzalez marathon and pour this piss out. For my dead homies.


I always need constant entertainment while I drive to keep me from steering into traffic, but now I have to provide my own. I cancelled my Sirius/XM Radio subscription yesterday, without regrets. My favorite neurotic truth-spouter, Howard Stern has pissed me off by being a whiny gash and barely coming in to work any more. Instead, they've had request shows for the last week and a half now. I can't justify paying $18 a month for that disappointment, so I'm left to my own classic CD collection: Limp Bizkit and Korn, anyone? I KNOW Y'ALL BE LOVIN' THIS -ISH RIGHT HERE!

So obviously, I'm listening to the radio a lot. A local classic rock station just changed it's programming to anything north of the 80's, including grunge and hair band stuff. That's okay, but over on the hip hop station, Whiz Khalifa's 'Black and Yellow' is only just now in heavy rotation. This song encapsulates everything that's wrong with hip hop: the lazy four-note hook created on some shitty Casio keyboard, a talentless charisma-free MC and NO SAMPLE. This track makes me want more white rappers in the game: THAT'S how bad it is.


The Daytona 500 was Sunday, and the only reason I know this is because twenty thousand assholes are out on their motorcycles revving their engines and screaming up and down the roads like some teenage fucktards who want girls to notice them. I'm about 200 yards from a busy road, and I slept with one of my ears plugged with silicone, the other down into the pillow AND I WAS STILL AWAKENED.

I live near the airport in Orlando, which means all the assholes who couldn't get a hotel in Daytona stayed here. The only reason I could manage to fall back asleep was remembering the time a guy showed me pictures from a motorcycle accident. Pieces of torso from an unlucky crotch rocket enthusiast littered an otherwise trash-free highway. He had a high-speed encounter with the wire support on a power pole. Sadly, he didn't feel a thing and it was all over too fast.

Summer is coming soon, and that means gas is creeping towards Mad Max prices. Back in January, some Tunisian fruit vendor got pissed off when a policewoman took his scale. So, like any other fruit vendor would have done, he went down to the government office and doused himself in gasoline. What happened next? They cleaned him up with a broom. Tidy people, those Tunisians.

This touched off a firestorm (ahem) of protesting across the Arab world and it's toppling dictators at the rate of one per week. Most of these assholes bribe their subjects to allow them to be ruled, but have corrupted the economy so much that you have to kick back cash to your rock quarry foreman just so you can throw something at the police. The Royal (ruling) family in Bahrain recently pledged $2700 to every citizen, but that wasn't enough to thin out the crowds. They're buggin' the fuck out and the new kids are scrambling for office.

More importantly, I'll personally spit in the face of a Saudi prince if it costs more than $45 to fill up my SUV. See you in June, everyone.