Dear Facebook Diary (6/1/12)

This could easily be the most boring summer of my life. Thus far I have done nothing but work and sit on my ass. I am not working enough to have ample amounts of money but I am working enough to not have time to travel, and even if I could I would not have enough money to do so. I am still memorizing monologues and adding them to my online resume as well as trying to write a couple of scripts and whatever. It’s difficult for me to come up with shit to write when I’m feeling so uninspired. I was turned down from the pilot about the homo that likes black dicks because the producer wanted a genuine homosexual man to play the part as a way of representing the homosexual community. I never thought that I would ever take the side of calling myself gay during an argument over my sexual preference, but in this case I did. I told him that I was bisexual and he still didn’t believe it. This flattered the machismo doucher in me but the logical bored out of his mind this summer part of me was extremely pissed off. I’m still chugging along though. I got a callback, or an e-mail-back from Troma Films (of Toxic Avenger fame) and they were interested in me but said that I looked too old to play a teen, but I looked too young to play an adult. Lloyd Kaufman is directing “Return to Nuke ‘Em High” in New Jersey this summer and I would love to be involved in a Troma film despite only receiving another IMDB credit and another nudge towards a SAG membership card. The original “Nuke ‘Em High” is an unprecedented achievement in modern film and I would sacrifice an inch of height to partake in its sequel. That’s a bold statement from a man of my stature.

As of today I hadn’t been to church in nearly a week. When I say “nearly a week” I mean since Monday. And when I say “church” I mean Wal-Mart. I am neck deep into my pursuit of the Bruce Lee body and I am now dropping below 165 pounds. That’s a big achievement for me because that is the lightest that I have been since the last time that I weighed less than 165 pounds. Anyway, because of my diet I am going through egg whites and ground turkey faster than a pederast goes through baseball cards and duct tape. So tonight I decided to attend the late mass at Wal-Mart to replenish my cache of animal byproducts. I arrived at Wal-Mart around 10:20 PM and had filled my basket with the necessary items by 10:25. I do not waste my time while navigating Wal-Mart. I am a soldier of fortune as soon as I set foot between those automatic opening doors.

So it was 10:25 and I had already satisfied my shopping requirements of obtaining turkey and eggs. As I explained earlier, this is a very boring summer and I figured that I would waste some time by browsing the variety of vitamins that Wal-Mart offers to its non-vitamin using shoppers. Here is a life-hack Dear Diary. I have been very sore lately because I am still moving heavy fucking iron with my body but now I am not eating as much. Using enzymes is a good way to alleviate muscle pain brought on by DOMS, or delayed onset muscle soreness that is the result of tearing down your myofibers with kilos of metal.

So I was kneeling down and looking at the cheap bottles of Multi-Enzymes while already knowing that wasn’t going to buy them. I looked over to my left and saw a little Hispanic boy staring at me. He couldn’t have been older than three and there wasn’t another adult in sight. I smiled and waved at him as I would with any other toddler or a mentally impaired person and I continued to peruse the enzymes. He then began to walk towards me. I said, “Hey little guy, how are you?” I didn’t even bother asking him what the fuck he was doing out at 10:25 PM while being a toddler, let alone not being within eyesight of a legal guardian. He smiled and laughed as if he were watching “Yo Gabba-Gabba” and that put a smile on my face as well. He suddenly ran towards me as if he were going to give me a hug or something. I turned slightly towards him while still kneeling, not knowing what to expect. This kid was only a toddler. He has not lived long enough to acquire a large internal stockpile of anger and sexual embarrassments to fuel his fury and put a chip on his shoulder as most adults have. However, this little fucking Niño managed to spend every peso of his anger savings account on one swift kick to my dick. What he lacked in strength he made up for with precision. Getting kicked in the balls really isn’t that big of a deal unless the punter hits the sweet spot and apparently my penis was vacationing in the West and this little Spaniard’s foot attacked from the East, landing directly into my wedding tackle with nothing but the thin protective sheath of my cargo shorts and the soft cushioning of my epididymis to slow his kick. A sharp alarm of pain rang through my beanbag to the inside of my right leg and into my stomach. My instant response was a muttered, “Motherfucker!” and I shot up straight onto my feet. I towered over this little assailant from south of the border and stared down at him with eyes of wrath and male vengeance for his unprovoked attack upon the very capital of my manhood. He stared up at me with the same shit-eating grin that he had been giving me before. His smile changed from that of an innocent toddler greeting a stranger to that of a sinister villain that was hell-bent on destroying my very soul, and yet he hadn’t moved a muscle on his face. There were no other adults in sight and the thought of ramming his still soft head clear through the arm cuff of the free blood pressure testing machine ran through my head. The only witness would be the security guy watching the monitors from the security cameras, and someone like that would be so lost and desperate in their life that I’m sure I could convince them to destroy the tapes just by offering him a bottle of Black Velvet Whiskey to drown his pains for one more night. The toddler’s mother appeared from around the corner and walked towards us. She looked me in the eye without the slightest hint of emotion, picked up her son, and disappeared around the corner with him. I’m guessing that they do this shit all the time. Having traveled a few times I even checked my pockets to make sure they hadn’t magically stolen something from me. I’m not sure if I did that out of instinct or ingrained racism.

The pain slowly faded away as I medicated it with a vodka tonic with lime juice during my homemade fourth meal. My anger subsided with the pain too. I can’t be mad at a little kid; kids are great. I was stationed as a high-ranking preschool teacher on the University of Denver campus for a couple of years, and I received excellent feedback from the parents. In fact, I kind of admire the little bastard now that I’m looking back on it. Speaking of bastards, for the third year in a row I have picked the winning horse to win the Scripps Spelling Bee. But this year I didn’t put any money on it. My fellow coworker Matt picked Upton Sinclair, a little black boy from Jamaica. I picked a little Indian looking girl named Snuffleupagus Ahmadinejad to win and I was right. I don’t pick them right from the start but I pick my horse once there are only ten or so children left and I’m almost always right. Upton went out fairly quick but Snarflethegarthok maintained her pace without a hiccup and brought me a much needed victory. My reward was nothing more than a, “How the fuck did you know she’d win?” from Matt. And it was well worth it.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s