Thursday, March 11, 2010

I think it's over.

For months now I've been playing Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook. I've written of my love for this game before, almost waxing poetic about its many charms in this very space as I glowed in the aftermath of a particularly great game.

But now, it seems, those days are over.

There's no real explanation; it's just that the game isn't that fun anymore. I've been on a bender, have experienced the headiness of an over-400K game, and now realize that the 500K game is beyond my reach so might as well give up trying. My goal of reaching a million boost points appears to be in jeopardy as I quickly lose interest in playing at all...

Dear Lord, what WILL I do now with my time?


Yesterday on the way to work I spotted the Common Douchebag on his morning commute. Tink and I were noodling down Route 1A toward Cap BLVD, doin' the speed limit as we usually do, not a care in the world.

Don't you KNOW, therefore, that Tink and I were to become the bane of the existence of one very ticked-off jeep driver? Dude roared up behind me, flashed lights, beeped, and began gesticulating. Very obviously gesticulating, if you catch my drift. For a moment I thought perhaps there was something wrong with Tink, and this fellow was being a good Samaritan, and so I checked dials and flashy dashboard things and sniffed for an unusual odor, but truly all I could smell was utter douchehole behind me going all Jersey Shore 2 feet off my back bumper.

Folks - the road has 2 lanes. I was in the right-hand one. The left one was perfectly usable. This cornhole simply wanted to antagonize someone, and i was the target du jour.

Not wanting to believe a person could be so asstastic as this dude was, I chose to think there was indeed something wrong with Tink ans thus pulled into the parking lot of the middle school, thinking perhaps dude would follow and maybe help out, but no. As soon as Tink made the turn, Mister Dickstank McGuntface rip-raced past me, flipping a final bird at poor Tinky and me while staccato beeping his impotent lil' horn. I didn't care - there's nothing wrong with the car or me, I'm still taking breath, so life is good man, life is good.

Seriously, on a bright warm early Spring morning some douchenozzle chooses to fling poo at my cone of giddy and comes up the only one stained? I count that as a good day indeed.


When someone blasts past you at a million miles per hour in heavy traffic while weaving in and out of lanes, is it really so wrong to hope they get nailed by the cops? Or that they plow into a bridge abutment, Slap-Chopping themselves into a viscous goo not even their cheap-ass girlfriends or slick-haired Goombahs would recognize?

Gosh I hope not.


Eh - it's time to go. Been another in a series of odd nights around here, and it just might be time to put a nightcap on this sucker and call it good.

See ya.

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