The hardcore life of a drug mule.

I got to do some drug-muling this week. Boy was it fun.

Wait, that sounds like an actual adventure, and not a twisted half-mirror image of one. I work for a pharmacy that specializes In supplying long term care facilities. Most facilities are on a 30 day cycle for their medications, meaning that they generally get one large shipment every 30 days. With exceptions being made for emergencies and new prescriptions. But all in all days are spent packing tens of thousands of dollars of medication for one delivery. All your eggs in one basket indeed.

Let me explain something about the facility in question. First, it is a depressing place to visit as they take care of and house car accident victims. I don't mean people who broke an arm in a car crash, I mean the folks who have come away permanently changed. Or just aren't there any more. One of the most depressing set of instructions ever seen on a script is probably "Apply to stumps." Really, when it comes to a place like this, those what die are the lucky ones. The rest are just vegetables and shells. Which is why, that if I get into an accident, I hope to buy the farm immediately.

I think that 16 year old kids, and people on DUI charges should be forced to visit... no, work at a place like the Facility. Videos and brochures and slogans are all nice, but you need to be able to experience in all visceral sensual detail what their decisions could lead to, either for themselves or for others. Let them apply ointments to the stumps of a vegetable for a few weeks. Let them interact with the brain-scrambled denizens that poke and prod and generally go on crazy.

And if they fail to learn the lesson, shoot them, as anyone that thick shouldn't be allowed to breed.

In seven months, this is the third time I've taken cycle to the Facility. The first time was because our driver decided to take a day off right as cycle was due. This was about two weeks after I started. I got to drive across the state and deliver the cycle. Which is for our little company a very big deal. Almost like, oh I don't know, some asshole captain of an oil tanker in say Alaska skiving off to get drunk and handing the job over to the peon who washes dishes. Except that I avoided grounding on any reefs.

This is all just to say, muling isn't my usual job, I just step in when needed.

Our driver promoted himself to the head of the delivery department. This happened when one of our competitors imploded and our business quadrupled in like a week. So they brought in a ton of new people and a half-dozen new drivers. Here's where my confusion begins, they have a load of drivers who are fully capable of taking an object from point a and leaving it at point b and then returning home. They have one woman who is dedicated to this route. Plus the self-styled manager of the delivery department carried cycle to this very Facility at least ten times in the past year, plus near daily visits in between.

When he stepped up, he gave his job to an older woman. One who has yet to win the confidence of some of management in her ability to take an object from point a and point b and then return. She's pissed off the goblin that works at the Facility, who just happens unpleasant creature who doesn't seem to like anyone or anything. So I was asked to go along to make things smoother.

Which brings me back...

It turns out that I wasn't just along as extra muscle, I was the actual driver and delivery monkey. This is a one person job, and I would have preferred to do it alone. Or better have our main driver take over.

If one of his hand picked followers is incapable of doing the job, shouldn't the head of the shipping department be the one who steps in? It's not like the man is busy, his days are spent chatting on the phone and taking two hour lunch breaks at Hooters. Yeah, this is great. I'm doing his job. I hope I get paid extra for it. I would like to be the head driver for a day. Hang out at Hooters. Wreck the company bathroom. Take an hour to fill one car up with gas. Creep out the female members of the staff and get away with it.

The drive over went quietly and smooth. How I like it.

There was yelling when we arrived, or so I heard tell of later. The warthog wasn't too pleased to see my copilot. She came out of the South Building and yelled "Don't you know where South is?" I pointed at the building and responded "Yeah, It's right there!" Had I wanted to see a real explosion, I could have said "Do you need directions?" But I like having my testicles whole and attached to my person, so I kept my mouth shut.

Beyond this, the delivery went rather smoothly. Dropped off meds, saw pretty girls. That's the one reason for a Facility visit for me, they have a lot of pretty girls working there. My company is sadly lacking on that front. Gotta go out and visit other companies to see natural beauties in their wild habitats. With luck, maybe I'll bring one home one day.

During the second to the last stop, one of the more mobile patients approached my copilot and asked a simple question "Did it hurt?" Now there are two possible reasons that I can think of for this question, and sadly he didn't opt for the first and instead finished with one of the classic pick-up lines. Only to immediately dive into a second, followed by a third. My copilot giggled the whole time. We don't think she usually gets that sort of attention.

A second high-point, if it can be considered so, involved an idiot man-child. Now, when you stand in the center of a group of angry women, and then make what can be considered sexist statements to them, you should expect to get a beating. He didn't seem to make that connection as they slapped him. He even asked why I didn't man up and help him. I called him a moron. That got a laugh.

Then the return trip. The trip out was quiet, the one back not so much so. I got to hear about the yelling, and autistic grand children and about a dozen other topics of less interest. I thought about the pretty girls.

My favorite quote from the entire experience was "Animals are alive." This wasn't from a head-paitent or a random crazy hobo, but my copilot just after we narrowly missed turning a living breathing turkey into something that could be squeezed through a feeding tube. I don't know what she meant by it - I think that this was my "If it weren't for my horse" moment. I've tried to dissect the statement, and the best I can come up with was that it was a philosophical observation about the changing of the weather and how animals seem to just re-appear again.

Or maybe she's just dumb.

Hercules Two: Clamation Boogaloo.

Adventures of Hercules
Lou Ferrigino

They made a sequel? Sweet Zombie Jesus, you have to be
kidding? Did they even watch the first movie before they slammed
down their cash to make the second? I thought not. Well
It's been two whole months, and then some, since I finished the Lou
Ferrigno Hercules movie. It took that long for the effects to
wear off and for me to recover from the shock. Unlike the first
movie, I managed to watch the entire thing without using the fast
forward button once. Like the first one, I had to turn the beast
off for a day and come back to it. It made my brain hurt.

Where to start. Well this movie seems to have been made by the
exact same people in the exact same style as the last. Same
cheesy 'special effects', same crap-tastic costuming, hell it even had
the same actors and the same freaking villain! I kid thee not,
the same actor playing the same villain. They resurrected the bad
guy, because he was oh so tough, you know with all the dieing he
managed to do in the end, and they used him again. Yeah, be
afraid Herc, be very afraid.

That's right. They resurrected King Minos, the evil user of
science, to fight against the power of the vaguely benevolent Gods and
the natural order of the universe. Was this movie funded by the
Roman Catholic church? I mean really, evil science? Science
the cause of chaos? In the end Minos didn't get any wicked ass
gizmos in which to battle the other bad guys with, he gets magic eye
beams, and a magic flaming sword. Make up your minds damn
it. is he supposed to be using a kick ass orbital death-ray
launched by the evil United States, or is he using the evil black
magic, invented by the United States? One or the other please.

Well the second movie actually seems to follow a plot that is at times
nearly makes sense. Well the story goes that Zeus' six magic
thunderbolts of something or other were stolen by some rebellious
goddesses led by Hera. These disaffected Hippies, thought to
gain, I'm not quite sure why they did it, but they did it anyway.
Well, yeah that's great, the thunderbolts are missing, the world is in
danger, send the Hercster to the rescue!

Well first of all, before all that started, some evil priests were
sacrificing a scantily clad babe to some god or demon of fire.
Two other scantily clad babes watch the goings on, and decide that they
don't like what they see, so they go for help. They consult a
pair psychedelic butterfly women, who tell them they need the help of
Hercules, and they'll find him in the forbidden valley. Just a
note, there's always a forbidden valley it seems in fantasy movies, and
the valley is forbidden for a very good reason. People in these
movies never seem to remember this fact.

Well The Herc gets to earth. The first thing he runs into is a
creature that I suppose is a werewolf, only it looks more like a
Greying cousin It from the Adams family, who happens to be wearing a
cheap baboon mask, with some dog-like sound effects added on top.
I'm not making this up, nor do I wish I were capable of making
something like this up. Brain Damage! Sadly the rest of the
movie doesn't get any better.

Once again to the so called special effects. The costumes are
cheap, both for the main human characters and for the monsters that
they fight. Some of the monsters use animation techniques.
Not that fancy-schmancy computer stuff, but the old fashioned
way. So old fashioned it seems, that they felt that they were
making it up as they went along. The stop-motion claymation that
they made use of, was out-done by such 1950s and 1960s fare as the
Sinbad films and Jason and the Argonots, not to mention Clash of the
Titians. No, it seemed more like a bad Gumby short at
times. The rest of the animation was just simplistic color,
bright primary hues mostly. Flat and boring.

Oh, I can't forget my favorite part of the movie, the Amazons fight
scene. Chicks with guns kick ass. It is a proven
fact. Much ass is kicked by chicks with guns. I cannot
reiterate this enough. Imagine my surprise and delight when the
Amazons were about to attack. And then disappointment when I
discovered it was just a bunch of men in drag. That's right kids,
rather than getting real amazon like women, they just dressed men up in
drag, gave them fake breasts and everything, and then dubbed it all
over with womens voices. No wonder the Amazons lost, not only
were they poseurs, they were also a group of confused young men.

Then there were the absolutely confusing aspects of the movie.
Zeus, at one point, confronts his arch nemesis chaos. I shall now
recreate the scene for you...

Chaos-chick: We're a lot alike you know, we balance things
between us?

Zeus: Oh yeah? Well poopy head, I gots me the time on my
side baby!

*A giant animated skull comes down and zaps her with a death-ray*

Zeus: Eat it clown!

I don't get it either. It seemed random, like it was added simply
for the chance to let their effects crew draw a giant skull and then
have it attack someone. The entire movie was like that. It
also went along with the first flick in it's blatant attempts to
butcher the original classical mythology. Though at least this time
there weren't any giant robots to fight against. The movie did
make a fair attempt at destroying my sanity and giving me epileptic
seizures. Why did I pay money for this crap?

The worst part is, I have failed to learn my lesson and keep watching crappy movies.

Adventures in Bad 80s Cinema 1

Hercules - Lou Ferrigino

Well I found myself in Shopko as I was in need of toothpaste. All the
colors and flavors, I did have myself a good time all the way to at the
checkout line at the end. Well there lo and behold stood the usual
selection of $9.99 dvds. Having nothing else to do during my wait for
the old ladies in line ahead of me I decided to peruse their selection.


You've probably guessed that Hercules caught my eye. It wasn't even old
school Herc. It was the new(ish) Lou Friggno(aka the hulk) from the
early 80s. I should probably say it wasn't an it, it was a they. Yes,
two movies for 9.99 and they're Herc movies! I've seen a lot of Herc
movies, as a fairly avid fan of the MST3K, so on impulse I dropped my
$10 for this dvd. I could have asked myself "What's the worse that can
happen," But as I've said, I've watched a lot of MST3K, I already knew
the worst.

I know what you're thinkin, Lou Friggno as the Hercster? Who could turn
that down? Not me. Not me.

I will say right now, impulse items suck.

First of all there's the Mythology aspect. Now for an analogy. Imagine
a little midget dressed in Greek attire, this little one is Greek
Mythology. Now imagine three large men who are built like Lou Friggno,
and hung like mr ed, they're the director and the producers and whoever
else was involved in the making of this piece of work.

Lou 1 - Hey, look at that, I've always wanted to have sex with a midget.
Lou 2 - Me too.
Lou 3 - I like shiny things!

The midget - Hey guys...Eeep.

Well to make a long story short, no lubrication was involved and the
midget couldn't walk right for a month. You can fill in the rest
yourself and store it in your wank tank for as long as you need.


It really wasn't good. It was like potluck of Herc, Herc Cliff Notes.
If the notes were concocted by a autistic stoner child who kept on
getting suduced away by the wonderful, tasty chips that come off the
wall under the kitchen window. Thank god for this kid, because
otherwise I would have never known that Alantis was the capital city of
Thebes. Guess my grasp of history and Geography was a bit off.

Well then onto special effects. What can I say? It was the early 80s
and Disco was in it's final death throes, but sadly it wasn't dead yet,
at least not in this movie. Think the Bionic Man sound effect, but for
the deaf. They would add random flashes and shapes of color to signify
that the Hercenheimer was doing something noteworthy beyond flexing his
pecs and being all oily and confused.

Some of the idea's were fairly cool, just poorly executed. Jason and
the Argonots from how ever many decades earlier was more believable. As
was the stop motion claymation from those terrible Sinbad movies from
the 60s.

Herc ends up fighting three, count them, three different robots. I
shall repeat that last word since it bears repeating. Robots. Now to
repeat the statement one more time, Herc fights robots. I must have
fallen asleep in in my Myth classes, because I don't recall this
chapter of the stories. I know that Godzilla once fought a robot. Steve
Urkel too had a android nemesis. But Herc? They must have lost this
technology with the burning of the Library at Alexandria. To think of
all that we lost! Makes me wonder if the Egyptians had a Deathstar
floating around the Nile.

The swords and armor were made from what looked like shiny plastic.
They were of the vein of what one would expect from that era of movie
making. Gaudy and poorly thought out.

Once again, this is a movie from the early 80s, and a Herc movie to
boot. It leaves one last question. Where are the breasts? You have a
movie that had so much potential to be the fodder for late night
Cinemax addicts, and they threw it all away. The only exposed breasts
belonged to Lou, and though they were rather large, they also lacked
the soft allure of the female bosom. The entire movie is full of
fairly attractive women, and all of them scantily clad, would it been
so difficult to have them wrestle in mud? It's not like there's any
integrity left to the film anyhow.

Round and round they go.

The general theme to this blog, at least in the beginning was that I would visit a place with my camera and take pictures along the way. Pretty damn simple. Except that I've been writing about adventures that don't really require photos, and I've not been bringing my camera since most of the events have arrived on short notice. It doesn't help that I went from having a lot of free time but no money to some extra money but little free-time. Paradoxes are a bitch. Growing up sucks. Here we are. Thus, I don't update too often. Only when something new and vaguely interesting comes into my life.

I live a dull life, as these pages will attest.

We kicked off the evening with BBQ at Sandmanns. If you ever visit town, be sure to give them a whirl. The food is inexpensive, plentiful and delicious. To the point that I feel the need to pimp them here to people who live across the far corners of the world.

I really don't enjoy spectator sports. Before I got lazy, I used to love playing games like soccer (football for the rest of the world) and badminton. I was reasonably decent at baseball, I even liked to run. Then, I graduated high school and drifted more towards geek culture and the computer gaming and general nerdiness. Yeah, I've played Dungeons and Dragons, and despite that I do one day entertain hopes that I will actually get to kiss a girl. It'll happen. Maybe. If I'm really lucky.

Anyhow, I just don't excited about watching other people play games. I don't gamble, and I'm not playing. I have nothing invested in whether or not a team wins are loses. I've lived in too many places to be attached to a club just by the fact that they 'represent' my home school/city/state. I've always been like that. I just take no pride in something that arbitrary and lame. Somebody else won a game that I wasn't playing. Meh.

But then, I watched Blood on the Flat Track: Rat City Roller Girls over that wonderful service that is Netflix. I found a new sport to appreciate.

Roller Derby has been around in one form or another since the 1930s. It's popularity waxes and wanes over the years and has been experiencing a resurgence over the last decade or so as leagues pop up all over the country. I hear it's really quite popular over on the west coast. But here in the midwest we have managed to cobble together a few teams. Which is cool, since It means that I didn't have to go far to experience this new delight.

Let me describe Roller Derby. Imagine one of those ancient Roman Chariot races where the chariots try to speed around the course and pass each other while beating the crap out of their . Roller Derby is kind of the same, in the fact that wheeled competitors are going around in circles around a track while inflicting harm. That's about where the comparison ends. Derby is a team sport where the opposing teams wear roller skates. The basic gist is as follows, there are about six players from each team on the floor. They're broken into two groups. The pack is made up of the majority of the players. They skate around in circles together as a big group, elbowing one another and generally carrying on in good fun.

Now for the scoring of points. Each team has a player called a Jammer. They start well behind the pack a moment or so after each round begins. The Jammer's job is to try and pass as many of the opposing players as possible. For each player they pass, they are awarded one point. There's some strategy here. The first Jammer to pass the entire pack is given the title of lead Jammer. It is in their power to call off the round whenever they please. Thus the strategic element to the game.

Then you have the coach, whose job it is to stand on the sidelines and yell “Skate faster!” and “Keep Skating.” The dude must be somebody's retarded brother. The special guy that wears a bike helmet and swim floaties wherever he goes, and he was just given the job to shut him up and make him feel special. Really, a coach on the sidelines is nearly completely useless in this sport. But hey, I love how the absurdity adds to the color. Don't change a thing.

Honestly, the spectacle gets repetitive quick for people like me. Roller Derby is rather linear and simple in nature. The players always go in the same direction. They always have the same goals. It's about like NASCAR, but with more intentional violence and far less deadly crashes. Yeah, they're really not allowed to get too physical out on the floor.

Where does it get interesting then? Well, here abouts anyway, the Roller Derby teams are almost entirely made up of female members. That's right. Girls on skates. Wait, it gets better. Girls in skimpy outfits on skates. Glee! Sex and violence. All the aspects that make for good entertainment. Women in hotpants and stockings bouncing off one-another.

That's about it. But what more does anyone need?

So, I had several weeks heads-up with the derby. I knew it was coming. I could have brought my camera. But I didn't. Why? Well, for the same reasons I don't often get pics at conventions of girls. I just feel like an utter perv. I am a perv. I know this. Known it for a while. But I don't like to draw attention to the fact.

But, should you ever get a chance, take in a match and make sure you experience this great sport live. Girls in skimpy outfits grinding and colliding with one another. Life is good.

The local league has two teams, and they import other teams to play against from such places as Chicago, Kalamazoo and Stepford CT. After watching Blood on the Flat Track, I looked up Roller Derby on my old friend Google and found our local league. I mentioned it to the Fat Man, who had also seen the documentary, and we made plans to hit it for my birthday celebration this year. Last year it was the Art Institute in Chicago. God, I'm a dork.

I'm waiting for the day that Derby gets the international attention that it disturbs. When it replaces soccer/football as the world's sport. Not likely to happen, since flat tracks and rollerskates are a lot more expensive than a ball and a field. But hey, it can at least make a showing in the Olympics. If Synchronized Swimming is recognized, Roller Derby is desperately under represented.

Meeting Crazy Number 2 - Electric Boogaloo!

So, more in the realm of both driving the manual, and meeting the crazies. I'm an office monkey by trade, I was hired to pick up the slack where needed. That is my job, deliver mail, run to the bank, pick up office supplies, clean the office, data entry. Whatever task doesn't have a specific position to cover it, I get to do it. Fine, it keeps my day a bit varied and a little free. And thus a little more interesting.

Thus, when called, I get to step in for our delivery driver, head across the state and drop off some supplies at a facility that the company services. (or even drop off supplies in town)

All the patients in the facility are victims of car accidents and have, among other things, suffered head trauma and brain damage. Some of the residents are a bit on the crazy side. Most have been rather friendly. The sister says that the most depressing instructions she's ever read involved a cream that stated 'apply to stumps'. That's the kind of place I get to visit. I'm much more careful around cars these days, whether it's driving or just crossing the street. After dealing with people who are no longer what they were, I don't want to end up the same way.

And please don't bring up the one-eyed man who doesn't like to wear his glass eye or eye-patch.

I must say that I am spoiled. My aged Lumina has cruise control. Cruise control is nice on long car trips, you set it and the car stays at a constant speed, going up or down hills. I was rather disappointed and surprised when I hit the cruise button in the company car and nothing happened. Even after I pressed it five more times. Hey, it could have just been a short, we don't exactly have a top of the line luxury car. Nope, no luck there. I discovered the next morning that there's a master switch on the steering-wheel I didn't know about that turns the cruise control on and off. Once again my ignorance has defeated me

I was in for an evening of cramped muscles and watching the odometer. Huzzah!

The night was a little longer, and the drive a bit shorter for the lack of Cruise Control. Usually I try and keep within about five miles of the speed limit either way. For that trip? I tried to keep it under 80. It's a funny psychological glitch that drives people to join the herd. Countless times during those four hours on the road I found myself unconsciously accelerating as another car passed me by, or sped up on my tail. These pressures are a bit easier to ignore when the car runs itself. Instead, I have to confront my sheepish tendencies. Bahh ha ha ha!

Somewhere around 2 or 2.5 hours and one cramped leg later, I made it to the facility. Didn't get lost, or turned around this time. Only took three trips to memorize the path.

On the way back to the car I was accosted by a man taking a smoke break. Judging by the sound of his voice, he probably smokes at least five packs a day, and has done so since he was five. On the odd days, he takes a bottle brush to his throat, just for that little extra touch. Anyhow, he called me Hippie. To which I can only respond "That sounds like me!" The long hair and all you know. Well, what followed was a five minute lecture on the evils of the Johnson and Johnson Corporation. It appears that J&J have started putting all sorts of nasty additives into their products - Battery Acid being one of them - all in order to create "Male Pattern Baldness", since it didn't exist before the J&J company was formed.

Tell that to the bald whore-monger Julius Caesar. (He suffered from Pattern Baldness, for those of you my two readers, who don't get the reference) Et Tu Juilui?

Why would they do this? You ask. This big corporation Well J&J make Rogaine, and they have to pimp it somehow. So if the tobacco industry is focusing on making cigarettes safer and more addictive, then why the hell not? Listed on the ingredients for my bottle of shampoo are several chemicals whose names I can't pronounce - except for the word acid - I ain't a chemist, for all I know they stand for dirt and the life blood of a virgin.

So, I was introduced to a new conspiracy theory. Sweet. I love conspiracy theories, the crazier the better, they're fun. He also told me what kind of shampoo to buy. I didn't catch the name, sorry, but it's expensive and comes in liter bottles. So, go forth and buy random expensive shampoos so that your hair doesn't melt. You heard it here first.

After this encounter, I've decided to wear my kilt more often. That way I don't get called Hippie, or if I happen to grow a beard, Jesus. With a Kilt, long hair, and maybe the beard - I'll be a highlander. I might have to carry a sword too. But the fashion-folks always say to accessorize properly. And maybe the crazies will avoid a dude packing a broadsword(my skinny ass would just look comical hauling about a claymore)

Some 12 hours later, I was called on to make a local delivery. It was to an older gentleman who was hooked up to his oxygen tank. Now - I commend him in choosing freedom and comfort. Pants are confining and uncomfortable. But good sir, since you've gotten rid of pants for those very reasons(so I am assuming, since I didn't bring the topic up in conversation) would it not be better to have switched to boxers. Or maybe a kilt. I'm sure there must be some black folk in Scotland by now, you could swing it.

***(Please don't swing it, at least while I'm around)***

So, am I building up Karma for something really good? Or working off something really bad?

My half-assed adventure in learning a stick

Ding! Did you hear that? This toon just went up a level. Rank two Office Bitch! That's me! Wow, all that time spent camping the filing cabinet finally paid off! And what do I get? A new skill point! Sweet! Where do I spend it? Another rank in filing? Or maybe I could up my stats in Computers: Basic and finally figure out where they put the Any Key.

“Mike, the company car, it is a manual. Do you know how to drive?” She asked.

“No, said I. I maxed out automatic.”

“Well, you'll want to fix that yes? Manual driving is requirement for class. You need skill. Driving for getting stuff is your job.” Goddamn class requirements. I was going to invest in some Shmoozing With the Boss, or Sleeping With Your Eyes Open. Hell, there's always the old standby Looking Busy. But that's what happens when you roll up an Office Bitch. Isn't it just?

Just gotta check that description one last time... By taking this skill you will be proficient operating motorized automobiles using the manual transmission. These vehicles have a lower sticker price, and are more fuel efficient. Besides, chicks dig a dude who can drive a stick!

I dropped my solitary skill point into Operating Manual Transmission.

There are two ways to attack this problem. Procrastination isn't one of them. The first being to find someone who knows how to drive a manual and say, “Hey you! You know how to do this! Teach me!” That's the mentor route. Pretty shiny!

I've seen Karate Kid. I know that finding a qualified teacher is the better way to go.

But then I've seen porn too, and know that hot chicks answer the door in lingerie and offer the pizza boy sexual gratification in exchange for free pizza. Well, guess what didn't happen when I played the delivery driver campaign?

Yeah, I went with option two. I Googled it. There are a surprising number of videos available on the subject. So I dove in. Got the fundamentals. A picture is worth a thousand words? Well a video is worth a whole freaking library baby. I was ready.

The company owns a tiny, blue car that probably gets amazing gas mileage. The company owns it. Not me. Now they were sending a Low Level Peon out to try to learn a new skill in this dangerous machine.

Step one, push the clutch pedal to the floor. Start the car. Step three, select gear. Reverse. I wanted to back up. Now, how the fuck do you get this thing into reverse? Those inside, between the gales of laughter at my Noob Status, took pity on me and sent out a low level teacher. She kindly pointed out that there is a trick into getting into reverse. With that hint, the car started to move.

First gear! Time to go forward. About three whole inches and then the car stalled.

The man who normally drives the car is a Level Eight Delivery Driver, with at least a dozen ranks in Creepy Old Dude. He leaves the car smelling like smoke and the radio set on Glenn Beck. The radio in this car is a funny one. Pushing the volume knob mutes all sound. For the time being. Which means, that every time you start the car, the radio comes back to life, and there's Glenn with his usual manipulative crazy noise. Everytime the engine stalls, it needs to be restarted.

And there's Glenn with the crazy in his head.

The carrot and the stick. Girls love a dude who can drive a manual, that's the Carrot. Glenn Beck is the stick. Or a douche. Go, Mikey, Go! Learn fast and you will be rewarded. Fail to improve and you will suffer the consequences! Glen flogged me onward. One would think, towards improvement.

The carrot and stick method didn't work that well. After about the fiftieth stall, I punched the radio. Glen beck didn't shut up. I did take one point of damage to my hand. That's what you get for attacking an NPC in town I guess. I conceded defeat for day one. And then less so for day two.

Finally, I enlisted the help of Mister Miagi. His was an air of unerring Zen as he sat calmly in the passenger seat and in a kind and cheerful way, pointed out why I was a grade A doofus who would never know the love of a woman(for women love men who can drive a manual). Oh, and that the car was stalling because I wasn't giving it enough gas. And yes, It was fine to leave the clutch a little way in while I started to accelerate and the slowly ease off.

Huzzah! I finally qualified for rank one!

If I were an utter nerd, and I am, I would describe my skillz with a manual as such: Say instead I squandered my single point on something useless like proficiency in short swords. Say, that

“All right, that is the sharp end. I point that at the monsters. Or, here abouts, the small woodland creatures. Ouch! What the fuck? Oh, right, keep the sharp end away from myself. I'll have to keep that in mind. Check this out. Ah, shit, dropped it. Ouch, how did I cut myself? Stupid pointy end, why is it so sharp. Hey, it has a scabbard!”

And so forth.

So, I can get out of the Parkinglot. Where are the girls?

On The mean streets of GR.

Today, while walking the streets of Grand Rapids, I met Tony. Tony Indoctrinated me on the Secret Handshake in the midst of informing me that he liked me and that I had nice shoes. Tony Is from GR and I should tell them that. Yes Tony, my folks are doing just fine.

It was, needless to say, a strange experience. And one that I quickly moved away from, before Tony decided he wanted my shoes, or that I would make the prefect sex zombie to keep in his closet. What I'm really hoping though that Tony isn't actually a member of the resistance. A soldier dedicated to fighting the alien invasion. That might prove awkward, especially after the big attack when I decide to join the underground to avenge my slain parents.

Now don't get me wrong. I appreciate Captain Tony's dedication to freeing us from the oppressive yoke of the Glort Collective. But why couldn't it have been the cute blond with the bodonkadonk who introduced herself, groped me and pointed out my finer qualities?

Needless to say, I'm avoiding that street from here on out. Don't want to give Tony any ideas. Like that I'm stalking him. Or that I'm gathering intelligence for the High Inquisitor Gr'lvlclh'gnt to crush the resistance.