How I Spent My Weekend

Posted: April 27, 2010 by kaostheory in Slice of Life
Tags: , , , , ,

Sometimes all you need is just a nice weekend away from everything. Or rather, a nice weekend away from ANYONE which leaves you free and clear to do whatever it is your black, cold heart desires. That’s what our Eye in the Sky, KaosTheory, had this past weekend. For his (late) article, he chose to let us in on a bit of his personal life. We hope you…

(No. No. Absolutely not. I am not going to allow this. – ed.)

What’s wrong, Ed?

(I don’t particularly feel any journalistic responsibility to let this psycho report on what he does in his spare time. It’s bad enough having to listen to his stories in the office. I don’t think that our readers have any desire to learn of his actions either. – ed.)

Well, it’s either this or nothing.

(And I can’t choose nothing, right? – ed.)

Right.

(Damn it. Fine. – ed.)
——–
Sometimes all you need is just a nice weekend away from everything. Or rather, a nice weekend away…

(We did that part already. Just…ugh…tell us what you did. – ed.)

Ah. Good to know. Anywho.

Masturbated to “We Are Stars” while dancing around in the kitchen: This was the first, last and repeated many times over action that I took. There’s just something magical about taking care of business in places OTHER than the bedroom or the bathroom. For instance, the kitchen. Or the hallway. Or even on the stairs. And with having a mass confluence of 80s metal stars singing about how they are awesome, well…it just completes the mood. A+ work, I must say.

Doubled Down: This was probably the least healthy thing that happened. Look, sometimes a man just has to do something he knows is terrible for him. Enter an amateur MMA tournament. Attempt to juggle running power tools. And eat something that can only marginally be considered food. That is KFC’s Double Down. To start with, you have to go through a mental process to actually justify ordering and paying for the damn thing. Most people turn back before laying down eight fucking dollars for a chunk of food. And it IS a chunk. It’s not really a sandwich because a sandwich has some reason to exist. The Double Down is more like they bred some hellish abortion of genetic engineering and just sawed off a chunk of its body, a chunk consisting of two chicken breasts, bacon, two kinds of what can only generously be called “cheese” and the Colonel’s Sauce which I’m relatively sure is like…79% semen. The concept is more the problem than the actual consumption, although this bastard doesn’t sit well. Oh no. It doesn’t make you SICK but it likes to remind you constantly that you did in fact eat the nutritional equivalent of a cinder block. I blame this fully for whatever madness occurred later.

Drank a full bottle of wine: Okay, this probably added to the madness too.

Got into a combative Internet fight: It’s like this. Sometimes a dickhead says something inflammatory, something insulting, something self-righteous that you just can’t abide. Sometimes you’re drunk enough and bored enough that you can’t sit by anymore. Sometimes you start throwing verbal punches without worrying about the consequences. Sometimes the fight gets beyond a simple disagreement and into a legitimate nasty fight. Sometimes you get so offended that you see red (okay, so maybe the red was partially wine in my eyes) and throw down. Sometimes you walk away. And sometimes some self-righteous religious “scholar” cockbite named Drew Frazier wins a fight because you chose to be the bigger man and not engage in the fight anymore. Sometimes it happens. Sometimes. Not often, but sometimes.

Pretended I was Snake Plissken: This was a fun one. I went all out. Jeans and a black muscle t-shirt. Eyepatch. Cigarette. Charges placed in my arteries in my neck. Silenced Uzi. New York at night. Killed crazies who were trying to kill me. Rode in a cab with Ernest Borgnine. Stared at Adrienne Barbeau’s phenomenal breasts. Fought a giant pro wrestler and killed him with a spiked bat. Got into a fight with Isaac Hayes. Made it out in the nick of time. Destroyed the security of America by stealing a valuable intelligence tape and breaking it. I went all out. It was pretty awesome, not going to lie. Especially the breasts thing. They really were excellent.

Iron Maidened it up: Yes, I am making that a verb. It was pretty awesome. It’s been a little while since I’ve had my voice up to the range it deserves to be at, so when I can sing Hallowed Be Thy Name full force and full range, well…rocking out and singing into a telephone is not only suggested but absolutely necessary. Fact.

Cried to Jurassic Bark: Fuck you, Futurama. Seriously. You were going to have it be the mom and thought it would be LESS upsetting to be a fucking dog? Really? As I’ve said, a man is allowed to cry at three things in his life: his child’s wedding, his wife’s funeral and this fucking episode. Jesus. Now I have great big MIR-sized balls, but this isn’t damn fair. I am not ashamed.

Shot a rifle at passing cars: I hit a Mercedes. It crashed. I think I should probably go into hiding at this point.

“Liked” something on Facebook: Because I’m apparently a 13-year old girl just begging for acceptance from her peers because she feels lonely and unwanted because her boyfriend of two weeks left her for another girl he’s going to dump in two weeks and boys are stupid and gross and her periods are finally starting and it’s still scary to bleed every month and breasts are coming in and now boys are going to pay attention to her but they don’t deserve her because they treated her so bad before and her friends are friends she’ll have her entire life and now she hates her friends and they are all just horrible people and now her friends are the best again and Twilight and Justin Bieber and fucking hell, I just made myself sick.

Decided to just be awesome: It was a reasonable choice.
——–
(You SHOT a CAR? – ed.)

Oh sure, focus on the one illegal thing I did. You didn’t comment on being awesome, did you?

(But you SHOT a CAR! – ed.)

Well, sure, everything sounds bad if you use words.

(I…see you next time, ladies and gents. Damn it. – ed.)

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