Wednesday, January 5, 2011

keep travelin' my friends!

One year ago I was driving across the windy frozen planes of Kansas at record rates trying to make it back to Colorado. From there I found myself 14,000 feet up staring at miles of fresh powder ready to be cut through by my board, when I reached the bottom of those mountains I was back in car dissecting the Rockies to reach the Utah desert. I spent days in the red sandy desert freezing my face off at night and sweating skin off in the day. From there I came to the hustling streets of Washington DC to watch a brother get married, only to shortly thereafter board a metal tube and sail thousands of miles through air to touch down in the tropical rainforest of Liberia, where I would spend days drinking powdered coffee from plastic bags in climates so hot and humid they made my fucking lungs sweat. And yet still my soul needed to move so I took it to the arid French/Muslim infused climates of Senegal. And still I tell you my heart is beating out of my chest to move to the next adventure that awaits my single solitary soul. I’ve been walking a mile a minute, but still my feet aint touched enough ground and until the do my soul is everywhere bound.

Sunday, January 2, 2011

Welcome to 2011. Year of the robot overlords!

Here is my new rule for the 2011 year: Any day you can wake up and reach the head of your bed and grab a Costco sized bottle of ibuprofen pop three of those in your mouth than reach up and grab the Costco size of pepto you had sitting right next to that Costco sized bottle of pain killers and wash down those three painkillers with a big deliciously pink gulp of bismuth subsalicylate is a day started with a victory. Or at least a day where you can wake up with the satisfaction that last night totally kicked ass. And if it, didn’t chances are if you are taking these medical measures because you don’t remember last night so you can easily go through the mental exercise to convince yourself that you had an amazing night, a real night for the record books, I don’t know if anyone keeps a record books for nights, but if they did I feel like some of my nights would be in there. Anywho this is why I love the month of January, because it always begins like this for me. There is no other month in existence that I can guarantee I will welcome first belligerently belligerent and then greet the morning hangoverly hunged over. Aw January you bitter sweet bitch. I welcome you with open arms each and every year!
And every good rule deserves an equally unrelated puzzling question, at least in my opinion it does. Why are people so disgusted by trimmed finger nails? Seriously try this: rub your finger nails (whilst connected to your finger) on some ones arm, most people won’t mind and in some cultures this is seen as sign of affection. Now! Here is the fun part! Detach those same fingernails using a finger nail clippers, your own teeth, or if you are lucky enough to have them sitting about some tiger’s teeth. God clipping your fingernails with tiger teeth is the highest form of luxury, and can only be topped my filing those tiger teeth clipped nails with an elephant tusk file. Anyways that’s beside the point, back to the point! Take those newly detached fingernails and rub that same person in the same manner in the same place, effectively changing nothing except the connectedness of those fingernails. Instantaneous disgust will emanate from your test subject! But why!?! Why!?! Nobody knows. It just a fact of life like JT brought sexy back, bears are hilarious, and bacon is delicious.
A few more notes for 2011: 1. I think I have not made mention of this, I am moving sites from Kanwekan to Zwedru for various reasons. Its not important but I figured I would let you know.
2. I am on my way to Senegal right now for various reasons. Again not important but I like to brag.
3. I was talking to my Peace Corps driver this morning and I was observing the large amounts of people walkin on this fine Sunday morning. I asked why so many people were out, as usually Sundays are a day of rest and that is taken quite seriously in this country. Anyhwo he went on to explain that first Sunday is the only Sunday where churches hand out communion. Which led me to my next question, Why? Which, as you can imagine, led him to his next answer. Communion is too expensive! That’s right, to buy those little cardboard cutout host things is too expensive! How crazy is that! And yet in America people be drinking shit outta gold cups and wearing thousand dolla garments in the name o’ the lord. O religion (Christianity in particular, but none are exempt) you up little system you, you’re always good for a laugh. But cheers to Vatican City for gold plating walls and holding priceless pieces of art in their churches because the pope kicks it there. I am sure god really wants you drinking out of golden cups and staring at shiny walls as opposed to the rest of his followers actually getting to receive an important religious right. By the way I am not claiming to be a saint, I am far from it, I am a greedy self-serving ass hole (or in less words an American!), but at least I don’t pretend I am not. Did I ever mention this blog was to mostly read with a sarcastic overtone? OK, good. As a quick side not, I think churches would be way better off if instead of handing out those disgusting little unleavened wafers for communion they switched it over to handing out dunk-a-roos! God I love dunk a roos, and it’s an easy name switch. You could call it dunk-a-rooian! Now that’s something to go to church for.
Another important side note, I did not use the F-bomb once in this whole blog, now that’s a first, but don’t expect that trend to keep up.

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

We are number 1!!!!

We’re number 1! We’re number 1! corruption.. (cue in Prices Right fail music.)
A week ago some international watchdog organization, I don’t know which one, one of the important ones I suppose because people have been making large deal about, voted Liberia number 1 in corruption in the world. That’s right, we beat out the mighty Nigeria to hold the number one spot in corruption. Now in general speaking I love being number or the best, that’s why I love Jayhawk basketball, but in this case it kinda hurts. I mean we beat out Nigeria, really, that country has been stealing, or trying to steal, my credit card information for years. Nigeria has just gotten lazy in corruption I guess, or more stringent on their anti-corruption laws. It depends on how ya wanna look at it. I prefer they have gotten lazy and we have won! Good on us! Anyhwo the best part does not stop with us being number one in corruption the best part comes right here: of all the sectors that are corrupt in the country, police, health, finance, everything, EDUCATION is number 1. Education is the worst, the most corrupt part of this country. So in the most corrupt country in the world I work in the most corrupt sector. That fills me with all sort of something that is the opposite of happiness and pride. Needless to say this country needs work, but have no fear I am on the job! O shit this country is in trouble…

In other news I have gone America all over this countries ass today! And while this has nothing to do with corruption or my fighting of it, it makes me happy. Today I started my day by waking up at 10:30! Boom! Now that’s some fucking sleeping in bitches! After I arose from bed I scooted on my trust chacos and made for the door. I walked out in the blasting furnace that is the December heat of Liberia and headed for the grocery store. I walked past several street vendors all yelling random insults, and or kind comments trying to get me to look their varied goods, I passed by them and walked down a short side street onto the sidewalk to has been permanently sullied black as satans soul by the selling of coal. I smile at the 20 woman selling coal trying to get the $1.25 a day most Liberians live on and keep on rocking to the grocery store (while we are number 1 in corruption we are only number 8 in poverty, with countries like Somalia, Mali, and number 1 Niger beating us out). As a side note coal pots is what majority of people cook there food on in this country, so coal is a huge market, I mean they sell more coal than America sells porn, but only because most people in America are getting there porn free on the internet these days. Anywho after reaching my destination that is the grocery I proceeded to order a delicious toasted sub sandwich (ala Quiznos), than I bought a Dr. pepper that’s right the mother fucking 23 flavored soda pop with a degree of the highest education, and also found the Dr’s good friend, the king of beers Budweiser! I found the king in the country and while in America I am a banquet beer man (only a man drinks from the yellow can) I will admit that Bud is the most American American mans beer there is. I of course bought it to accompany the rest of my American celebration. I went on to find a jelly donut and a slim jim. (Snap into a slim jim! Do you guys ever wonder what happened to macho man randy savage?) I came back to my little monk cell in the convent and proceeded to crush on the food and beverages until my belly hurt from over eating. In case you are wondering over eating in a country where most of the people are living on $1.25 (83.9% live in poverty, with 83.9% living on a $1.25 a day info courtesy of Oxford University) a day does make you feel like shit, big time, but sometimes I gotta embrace my americaness to stay sane, even if it makes me a dick rod. Stop judging me, STOP IT. And while all the food items really did a lot for boosting my americaness meter it really gets topped out by the fact that last night I was sitting at a Liberian bar listening to We are the World (god I hate that fucking song) and watching WWE wrestling. As an important note WWE wrestling isn’t even dudes wrestling anymore it’s just large chested woman in skimpy outfits rubbing their titties and ass all over each other, which I thought we already had we just called it a strip club? But all the same here is toast to WWE for taking the degradation of woman to the national level! I mean nobody wants to watch sweaty dudes in underwear grope all up ons each other, but woman, well yes please and thank you! I gotta say that the woman thing was not my favorite part, because it was not the most American part, my favorite part came in the form of the audience. Aw let me tell you it was so refreshing to see 300 pound fatties (sometimes I wish I could use their big tummies for a bed, I bet it more comfortable than a water bed, but way more smelly) eating junk food watching mind numbingly stupid “sports.” I am guessing that WWE tickets are not cheap either so god bless them for spending their welfare checks to get front row for this high class form of entertainment rather than providing for the children’s education. Ew I just realized I bought nacho flavored slim jim, god its fucking gross, but I will keep eating based on principle and pretend to enjoy it. God I am drenched to the point of dripping in american goodness! U! S! A! This will probs be my last for 2010 so enjoy the last few days of the year! And we will talk again in 2011.

Friday, December 24, 2010

Scotch and Cookie!!!

Merry Christmas you fuckbags!!! For christmas this year I got myself a wicked sweet sunburn on the beaches of Robertsport. Turns out that fucking equatorial sun is hot mother fucker, which loves burning the shit outta my white white skin. Robersport is where a couple volunteers are stationed, it also happens to be the most wonderully beautiful beach I have ever seen in my life. Picture Gigantic white foam waves crashing against the jet black rocks that are jutting out of the golden sands, not to mention it is utterly devoid of all humanoid life. Anywho I cruised down there with a friend of mine who is in Liberia visiting her mother and father, though I am still counting her as MY first, and likely only, visitor to Liberia. Yay! Anyhwo yesterday was an entirely lovely day, which now brings us to today. Christmas Eve as I sit here sipping my Jack and coffee staring at the wonderfully blue Atlantic ocean I find myself wondering what my family is doing this day, than I remember o fuck me it’s like 5 in the morning there so they are probably sleeping unless they started some new tradition where they get up at 5 in the morning and do some sort of traditionally new tradition thing, which I find unlikely, so I am gonna assume they are sleeping. Though they better respect the greatest Christmas tradition ever, Scotch and cookies mother fuckers! For those of you who don’t know, which is most of you, scotch and cookie consists of taking a bite of Christmas sugar cookie, but wait! Don’t chew, first take a shot of Walker and then proceed to hold that in your mouth and chew the cookie, than swallow that awful concoction! The one who can do it the most times without vomiting wins! Or loses depending on how you look at it. Now that’s Christmas! Anywho this will be the first Christmas I do not spend with my four older brothers. I am finding this harder than I thought it would be, so I am doing the only logical thing: drinking. Which brings me to one important side note: I did an ultra sound this week (I am still sicko) anywho in the ultra sound the one titties on my silk sheets thing I found out (a saying I commonly use for awesome, because having silk sheets is awesome but having titties on those silk sheets is double awesome, everyone knows this) anywho during the ultra sound the doctor commented on what a perfect liver I have! Haha! My liver is alpha and the omega of livers, that mother fucker is titanium plated and filled with kick assery! 10 years of drinking (don’t do the simple math it will only disturb you, but then again I am from Kansas so it shouldn’t shock you) and that liver is still looking handsome and debonair (just like the man whose body it is housed in). Anywho I just wanted to point out how badass my liver is! Boom bitches! Back the point, if I even had one? I looked forward to christmas time every year not for the senseless gift giving (though that fucking rules) but for me coming from a big and spread out family Christmas always represented that time of year for a day or two when my entire family was together. As a baby brother this is fucking amazing as I greatly love and respect each one of my older brothers and parents not to mention no one quite gets the sarcastic ass hole Stolz sarcasm like my brothers and parents. But alas, here I sit in Africa, at Christmas time. I gotta say it is entirely weird to experience this time of year in another country. There are none of the usual American signs its Christmas, those signs of course being people racking up credit card debt like there aint no tomorrow, the repetitive and nauseating repeat of the same old shit ass Christmas music that has been redone into a fucking oblivion (sadly I kinda miss this), the lights and constant saying of Merry Christmas, and finally the cold weather. In this country my indications come in the form of dudes walking around on the streets with plastic Christmas trees on their heads trying to sell them, horrible battery powered Christmas items playing creepy renditions of Christmas carols that serve more to make me like I am in a horror movie about to be chased by a limping, angry never knew I had half brother out for blood. And the final indication people saying where is my Christmas, which is the nice way of saying hey white man give me some fucking money you rich prick! To be honest I have replaced the Dean Martin and Willy Nelson carols usually playing in my house with the great artist Prince’s Pussy Control and ODB Hey Dirtay, now those really put me in the Christmas spirit! Anywho I gotta get back to cooking grandmas stew for the wonderfully sweet person taking me in this Christmas time and laying by the Oceanside pool. I hope this christmas finds you warm (not in the sense that I am, actually I am fucking hot) and surrounded by the people you love! Merry Christmas bitches!

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Drink lottsa wish-kay.

Goodness all over graciousness fucking face mother fuckers. My apologies for not writing in weeks, if you had stock in the word fuck you woulda seen an epic Wall Street-esque plunge in your investment without my blog. Don’t worry we will sure as mother fucking shit fix that fucking fuck up in you fucks fucking lives. Fuck. Anwyays where to begin with all the fake and real news flashes that have been flooding in my office (bathroom). Well I suppose we can start with right now, the present moment, because it is fresh on my mind, soon to be fresh on the fucking toilet bowl. I have been In the Rove (great fucking city) for a minute or two now trying to get whats wrong with me figured out. Guesses have been wide, they have been varied, and they have been getting more accurate. If only Blues Clues had a fucking medical degree we coulda had my problems solved in a 30 minute television block and still had time to watch salt and pepper dance on the table. Anywho my totes rad PCMO (peace corps medical officer) has been working his balls off to figure out what is wrong with me. I mean I didn’t really give him a lot to go off of, I feel like shit, like all the time, that’s my symptoms. Anywho after much detective investigative work we found out that I am quite literally full of shit. Sorry, this blog, its kinda gross, uncalled for, most people would not talk about these things, but good for me and bad for you I am not most fuck faces. Anwyho for whatever reason my colon and my shit have formed a relationship and they have decided they don’t wanna part ways. What a bunch of shitheads. So we have been spending some time on making them part ways, now even I have some scantly clad morals that I more often than not keep in the back of my closet right night next to the tight leopard skin pants. But occasionally, just occasionally I bust them out, this is one of those times. I will spare you most of the talk of what the past week has been like, lets suffice it to say unpleasant. My most recent task has been hounding down some salty salt water and Milk of Mag. Sweet Christ take it from a kid who aint pooping, those things make you poop. A lot. So that’s where we are at right now. I will keep you posted. The only other thing I will mention is this: pooping in cups, its not fun, its gross. The follow up to pooping in a cup, moving the poop from cup to test tube vial is even less fun especially when the tool you are using to scoop said poop is not adequately sized. Such was my case. One thing that this experience did teach me is that I am definitely one of those people who shit mother fucking stinks. So if you ever hear anyone say that that fuckhead Tj walks about like his shit don’t stank up the joint, you can say “untrue fucker that fuckhead Tj is more aware than most people of how horrible his fucking turds smell.” I would also like to point out for those of you still reading that I have been calling the shit poop. Haha. Anways I will get off the subject here because I think that’s enough and also I gotta poop!
Other news, good news comes in threes, or is that bad news, I don’t know, but I am gonna give you three things of good news, first in highlight form, than in more depth analysis. 1. I hung out on an empty, beautiful beach. 2. I had KFC-esque chicken. 3. I found Harry Potter 7, The Deathly Hallows pt. 1 for sale on the street. 4. I gotta shit again.
Ok so that was 4 and one them good news to me but gross news to you, the reason it got mentioned is because it was true. Deal with it. Anways back to 1. We had Peace Corps meeting at Tinkers beach a little outside of Monrovia. It was lovely, it was relaxing, it was full of meetings. Anyway the beaches in this lovely little country are amazing, simply amazing. Though I don’t really have any right to judge beaches I am a mountain kid, and god do I miss those snow covered rocks. I am having straight crack head withdrawals over snowboarding right now. But I must say there was a moment in time sitting under a palm tree, digging my little pink toesies into the course tan sand, breathing in the salty ocean air, watching the sun close down another Liberian day where I had to seriously sit and think about whether it was real or not. It seemed as though I was in one of those high school movies about a calfiornia school. You know the ones that are always too good to be true and more likely than not have Freddie Prince Jr in it. Whatever happened to that guy?
2. Monroe chicken mother fuckers. It is fast food chicken here in Liberia, and it is delicious. For reals and seriously it is just like KFC except better and in Monrovia. The first bite of it I took I jazzed my pants and found the meaning to life. The meaning of life is to eat crispity crunchity chicken. O my god, I gotta shit again. Sorry, but its true. And if I gotta do it you should know about it. Anways the chicken is the dankity.
3. People sell these ripped DVD’s on the streets here, I have bought such instant classics as The Expendables, Predators, and now I have added HP 7. Boo ya! Ka sha! That’s really all I have to say about that.
Well before I go sit and wait 20 minutes to download the new Conor Oberst “Coyote Song” for the 30th time in my life I will leave you with this life altering question. IF a man (or a woman, I am not a misogynist and you can have it what other way you like) came up to you and said if you do not speak/write/sign language for a year you will turn into a bear. What would you do? I mean you wouldn’t turn into some kind of little shitty bear (koala, black bear, panda bear) no you would turn into either the most vicious bear in the world (Polar Bear) or the most badass salmon eating thing on the fucking planet (Grizzly bear). Anways if I stop talking and writing and all that we all know what happened, and you can come see me in Alaska.
Also one last thought, I felt kinda bad about this blog, you know what with all the swearing and judgments I passed, but then Wikileaks released how our diplomats talk about shit. Now instead of feeling bad about my language I think I will just put it on my resume and go talk to the state department. Fuckya.

Alas! Alas! Alas! It has happened. My streak is over. I have sharted in my pants. Poopy water all over the fucking draws. Shit. Quite literally shit. To be fair I feel pretty good about the length of time I made it without shitting myself in Africa. Much better than I can say for some of my counterparts, and mine was a relatively “small” incident, contained only to my under draws as opposed to running down my leg is oozing embarrassment. Ew sorry that was gross. No I am not mad about the pants shitting, I mean these things they happen, I am mad at how it happened. I was sitting here, jamming some tunes and reading “A Fraction of the Whole” (great book) and I realized I needed to pass gas, or in crude terms I had to make farties, or toot. In my mind I started going through a debate that went something like this…ah man, I gotta fart, but this book is really good and I am at a critical point and I really don’t wanna get up right now.- Yea but the bathroom is like 10 feet away and you are on a lot of laxatives, lets not risk it. –fuck it I will just do it with a certain amount of caution, how can this go bad…AH FUCK! The ah fuck is where I made dookie in my pants. The moral of the story, or the lesson to be gleaned here is NEVER risk it when a on a shit ton of laxatives and the bathroom is 10 feet away. You can always resume reading a book, you can never unpoop your pants. I want that put on my gravestone when I die. Actually I want it to read “here lies Tj fucking Stolz the fucker who partied with polar bears.” Followed by that piece of advice. Also I want it to be diamond encrusted. Also while we are on the morbid subject of my death I want to give my own eulogy. Instead of giving my money to my family or some charity bullshit I am gonna spend it all on hiring the best puppeteer money can buy. Then I will have him string my dead corpse up and right in the middle of my funeral I will pop up outta my casket walk up, mime to my pre-recorded eulogy about what a great man I was and how I fought hordes of evil troglodytes and saved millions of children and damsels in distress and single handedly stopped the world financial crisis than walk back to the casket, light it on fire and close the lid. Now that’s a fucking a funeral!
Yes, to answer the question you are all asking yourself after reading that last paragraph I do realize how fucking weird my mind is. What to do?

Monday, November 15, 2010

Teddy Roosevelt is the mother fucking shit.

Seriously TR is the off da hook. Mother fucker gave us national parks! Thats really all I need to say about him, o and he loved killing shit and drinking PBR.

“Ah hell, ‘nother night wasted and gone.” These are the words I mutter to myself each morning as I lay in bed and watch as the dark lonely hours of night switch out with the pale gray sunlight of the morning hours. Right now it is about 5 or 6 in the morning give or take. Right now in Denver it is 10 or 11 at night, give or take. This means that all my friends are stabbing holes in the side of a PBR can while standing in a bathtub getting ready for the night. As my friends are getting ready to hit up all my old haunts I am sitting here listening to babies wail, dogs yelp and motorbikes run by. While they are looking around at 50 familiar faces ready to party I am looking out my window at some woman carrying a 3 gallon of bucket of water on her head. I am by no means complaining about my positon in life. I love it here; I am merely making a comparison. Life: Its fucking weird. I am also thinking about my good friend J-Bone Landolfe doing the same thing as me in a different country for a different organization. I am dreaming of the day when him and I finish service and meet up in Moab for two year victory beers and days of climbing the red rock. God I fucking miss climbing. In other news the last couple days have brought a few more victories and a few more losses to the soles of my feet. I will relay them to you in a compliment sandwich. You know that thing that fucking stupid thing managers do where they tell you something good and then something shitty and then something good and you couldn’t give a fuck less about any three of them.
The first victory I had was the sorting out this Holland/Netherland, Danish/Dutch, where the fuck is Amsterdam business. I have spent the last week of my life contorting my mind into all sorts of painful positions trying to figure out where the fuck the Dutch are from, and what the hell the god damned difference between them and the Danes are. This all started because I made the acquaintance of some Dutch people, they are lovely people, and it shamed me good that I didn’t know if they were from Denmark or the Nederland’s. I felt as uneducated as a god damned race horse on Mars. Anywho in America I woulda just had one of my friend with an iPhone look that shit up for me, but that’s not so much the case here. So while I was drinking my Heineken, a Dutch beer, I checked to see what the address was, it was Amsterdam, Holland. Now this really through the proverbially wrench in my proverbially gears and I moved my level of uneducation up from race horse on Mars to billy goat trying to drive cars on Neptune, which is dumb and nonsensical to say the least. I was confused by all this Holland business. Anywho I could not fucking take it anymore, I took action, action that should have been taken long ago. I posted on my Fbook my question. Well it came back with two answers Holland, and the Nederland. Now this really threw me for the final god damned loop. What the fuck is the difference between Holland and Nederland. Finally I just called my friend and made him look it up for me (thanks Luke, I heart you). Here are all the answers I was dying to have and I am sure you are dying to know. Holland and Nederland, they are one in the same, Holland is a part of Nederland. First question solved. Difference between Dutch and Dane, Dutch are from Nederland, Danes are from Denmark. Boom! And finally Amersterdam is in Nederland, it’s the fucking capital of Nederland, I cant believe I did not know that. I am a fucking moron. But alas my mystery is solved, which I wish could say led to peaceful nights of sleep, but it didn’t, which is where my loss comes into play. If I have any Dutch or Danish readers, which I doubt I do, but if I do, I am sorry that I am an idiot, please accept my whole hearted apology.
These fucking rats. Rats I say, I would not mind so much if they were tiny cute little mice, but they are fucking huge hideous rats! There is no current existing swear word that I could use that would explain my hatred for these fucking fury murine creatures, god damned them! I decided to make one up so I now swear at them using the new and awful swear word spadarkank (pronounced spa-dar-kank). These fucking spadarkaking rats are to spadarkaking smart. We have tried every god damned thing in the book of war on rats. Sticky glue, which turned out to kick my ass even more than the rats did and left my fingers sticky for days. Rat traps: they won’t go near them, or when they do they use their super ninja skills to remove the peanut butter without getting caught, and finally chasing them around with a boot on my shoe. They are fast and can slip through tiny holes in the floor and ceiling, plus I don’t know what I would do if I caught one, I would actually probably just run away. They have spent hours digging a tunnel system through our house that would have put the North Vietnamese to shame, which why they are always capable of slipping away! Not only are we dealing with the worlds smartest rats, they must have a great rat school here, we are also dealing with super athletic ninja rats. Spadarkank! Anywho we are reaching desperate measures, I have agreed to get a cat. Its not that I don’t like cats, I am actually quite partial to them, it’s that they make my eyes itch like the crotch of a hooker. But I will take itchy hooker crotch eyes if it means that I don’t have to hear those little fucks trolling about my area at night. I’ll keep you posted.
Finally the other victory. It came from a day at school. Generally at school, I teach the first two and the last two classes of the day. Well by the time I got to my last class of the day most of the students and staff had decided it was Friday and nobody should go to a full day of class on such a special occasion as Friday. I went into my last class I found about 1/3 of my normal student population, this was fantastic for me! Not only were they just my good student left, but the school was empty outside the classroom so I didn’t have to yell to talk to them! I taught them a bomb lesson on the states of matter. Got that point across by making them act like particles in a solid, liquid, or gas, it was good. I felt like an accomplished teacher for once. Then I just hung out for a while and bullshitted with them. When I do this it always ends up with questions about America. People are always shocked to find out I am 23, the average age I get is 35. Age makes no sense here, I always think Liberians who are 43 are 23 and they always think Americans who are 23 are 43. Then of course I said that I was swingin single, which prompted a few marriage proposals from my female students, I graciously declined. Finally we just started talking about life in ‘merica. My favorite question I got all day was “why are there blue, red, and yellow lights everywhere in America?” They meant green, yellow, and red: a traffic light. This just makes me laugh because it something I take for granted. I mean a fucking traffic light is a traffic light, and the bane of many Americans existence, especially those of who like to go work as late as possible and the 30 seconds lost at a traffic light can make the difference between on time and late. Anwyays the most common place things to a person can be the craziest concept to someone else. I spent a 5 minute diatribe on traffic lights and there purpose in life, which amazed my students and made me laugh. Ah earth one planet, with billions of different lives all kickin it at the same time. All human life is so alike, in fact speaking genetically 99% alike and yet that little 1% and location make such a crazy difference between the types of people we are. Well I say Jehovah rain your blessing down on that 1% because it’s what keeps life worth living.
Welp-skis the sun is all the way up now. What the fucking fuck am I gonna do today? Well I guess I will start by placing bets on the two rats having a fight on my floor right now. Who am I gonna bet with? O the rat sitting on my fucking bed right next to my left foot. He’s giving me great odds. God damn it that’s the second time this week they have broken the sanctuary of my bed! These heathens have no respect! Damn them! Damn them all to rat hell! After the rat fight I will probably watch it rain, because its still doing that. Great dry season!

A few other important notes I should make before posting this blog. I have both good news and bad news again, but even the bad news is good news! First the good good news, seeing as the bad news isn’t really bad news it can wait till second. So the good news, I was treated to Cannonball Run 1 but the good news does not stop there it goes on to include I marathoned through CBR 1 and 2! Now this is a treat beyond on words of description. The important thing to note is that B-Reynolds is just as sexy in Africa, and as for his mustache well it might be more glorious in Africa. It was hard to cover up the raging hard on that mustaches power exerts on people. I don’t care if you are a woman, you will get a raging hard on from that stache. Besides the raging hard on my chest exploded in copious amounts of chest hair, I still cant see my nipples due to all the fucking hair. Basically CBR 1 and 2 are the same thing as Smoky and the Bandit 1, 2, and 3 except Burt does not wear a rocking hat, and CBR has Deano and Sammy Davis Jr (only has one eye). But they have all the good parts in common, Burt is still great friends with the truckers, the music still kicks 70’s ass, the staches are still glorious and every woman in the movie is dumb as rocks and has big boobs. And you better believe Deano is always hammered, that dude must have been gifted with at least 12 livers.
Anyways on to the other good news I spent all yesterday vomittig and shitting my brains out, which was accompanied by farts/burps of sulfer! And I still feel like ass! Turns out I gots me some Giardia! My first parasite! Now you are asking yourself why and how is that good news? Well I made it my goal in life to get the 5 sailor illnesses of old. Giardia, dysentery, scurvy, cholera, and malaria. Now there is a list I can gladly put on my resume for any job. I mean my new boss would just glance down, see that I had ALL 5 sailor illnesses, and will stop reading right there, fuck past jobs and experience all they need to see is that list. Anywho I am well on my way with the strong beginning of catching all 5 (just like Pokemon!). The giardia came at a perfect time because my sister-in-law (Jen) is pregnant, so now we both have something growing inside of us! The only difference is my little guy(s) is probably way cuter. O and I am assuming that the whole pregnant thing is not a secret anymore, cause if it was, well it’s not anymore. So congrats from me and everyone who just found out by reading my blog! Anywho I am really sad I could not get the G-train in grade school because I woulda been the most popular kid in school. Fuck buying stink bombs I can make them in my ass (actually lower intestines would be a more accurate area of metabolic manufacturing)! I woulda crop dusted the shit out of so many shopping mall escalators. Maybe it is good I did not have it in grade school though because the other possible outcome of being super stinky is being the super stinky kid that no one wants to sit with at lunch. Anywho as much as I would love to keep writing I don’t feel very good, and I gotta start making plans for getting scurvy or cholera, whichever one is Vitamin C deficiency.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Two blogs in one week. Sha-bam!

The Liberian food pyramid.
I was chatting with one of my brothers last night via the cellular telephone (so fucking crazy that I can talk to someone across an ocean as if I were sitting right next to them, Well as long as when you sit with people you can only here every other word and you have to keep calling them back) and I was telling him about the Liberian food pyramid I had devised in my head. I cant say that it is the food pyramid for all Liberians, I can just say it is for the white man in Kanwekan. It is somewhat like the American food pyramid we are all used to seeing in school except way less complicated; there is only three sections. The bottom part is all just carbs: bread, rice, and noodles. Heavy on the rice. The middle part is just an egg and cookies, I know those two don’t got together in the Health Association one, but fuck that this is my fucking food pyramid so I can put what I want together how I want. If you don’t like it build your own damned pyramid. Anywho the capstone to it would be mayonnaise because you put that shit on everything. Than in a magic force field around the whole pyramid is pepper (yea I know that’s 4 parts but the force field does not count). You live, breath, sweat, and pee pepper here. Seriously I spend a good 20 minutes of everyday laying on the floor in my dirty ass house sweating up buckets of saline solution and tearing up in pain because my mouth is on fire. Sadly in about 72 hours I will find myself in the same situation, but this time it’s not my mouth that burns and I am in the business office. I eat so much pepper that I don’t know if I will ever be able to taste anything other than flaming hot spicy again in my life. But the Liberians tells me it makes me strong, but then again the Liberians also say that eating something rotten makes you strong, so I don’t know if they trust their sense of what makes you strong. Also they have two different definitions of the word strong and I can never tell which one they really mean. One is that it makes you like physically and mentally strong, and the other is that it gives you a raging boner. Maybe they always mean both? O here is some advice to middle aged gentleman if you cant pop the tent don’t throw your money away on Viagra, instead just take a shot of Walker Red Label, one raw egg, and of course a little pepper. I have it on good authority this will make you strong all night long. Just donate all the money you save on penis pills to children in Africa and we will consider it even.
Yesterday whilst sitting in a tiny little shack in the jungle hammering down some cane juice, it also makes you strong, I was having a chat with a man about the importance of traveling. You must always be moving we said, it is terrible to say in place. Then he said something that I really loved The world is always moving, it is rotating, so to be alive on earth is to be moving, you cant fight that. Maybe all the people trying to stay in one place are always sad because they know they cannot stay in one place. Its no good to stay static the very nature of being alive on the globe entails a lot of movement whether you want it to or not. You are spinning hundreds of thousands of miles everyday and traveling millions of miles every year because we are all on Spaceship Earth. (Credit Wet Hot American Summer for Spaceship Earth)
So last night I was chillin in bed laying around, sweating after just having eaten my pepper soup. As I was laying here, not harming a soul, my left thigh started burning. I realized I made the fools fatal mistake of touching pepper than scratching my thigh. Sometimes I am so fucking daft I don’t know how I stay alive. I went out into the rain and washed my thigh off, but of course that doesn’t really work. So I went back to laying down with a small inferno burning away. After a few short minutes of having napalm burning a whole into my upper leg my eye stared scratching. Instead of thinking like a smart logical person and remember I had pepper on my hands and that’s why leg is on fire. Yea that smart people logic can go fuck itself, I opted for the fuck tards option and scratched my eye. HOLY FUCKING SHIT! I forgot all about my stupid fucking leg burning and started shouting o fuck me I am gonna go mother fucking blind I tell ya! I was pouring buckets of water into my eye to get the pain to stop. Sweet lord that was a pain the likes you cannot begin to understand unless you are an idiot and put pepper in your eye. Anywho I went back outside in the rain and just looked up trying to get fire juice outta my eyes and while out there it occurred to me that I had not showered in 5 days, not that there is anything wrong with that, it merely occurred to me. So whilst the sky was acting like a shower pouring down water on the clogged drain of the ground I decided hey, as long as nature is willing to give me a free shower I might as well take it. So in the cover of the wonderfully dark African night I strolled out back in nothing but what the creator done gave me. At first I wanted to do it out front where the roof makes the water pour off in big streams at the corners of our house, but then the Nigerians started running there generator. Its not that I had a problem with them watching me, it’s that they wouldn’t pay the $2 cover charge for the show, and unlike nature I don’t give out things for free. I gotta say standing out in the backyard in Africa in the flesh showering under the nice rain is a highly pleasant experience, you should try it. Just tell your neighbors your doctor said it would be good for your heart. Though you might wanna wait till spring, I don’t think snow would make a great shower substance.
While in the shower it finally occurred to me what I wanted to be when I grow up, and it’s a sandwich shop owner. Mostly I just want to open a sandwich shop because work for the first 6 months of sandwich shop owning = lots of sandwich eating. I mean you have to make up new sandwiches and test the product. Really I don’t want to own the shop though, because that means I would have do taxes and shit on the sandwich shop and that sounds hard. Basically I just want some to pay me to eat sandwiches. I could be a sensual sandwich eater. There has got to be a market for that somewhere. The other problem is right now in Liberia all I have to experiment with is boiled egg, mayonnaise, and spicy mustard. Somehow I don’t think sandwiches centered on previously mentioned ingredients can compete with the Green Turkey from Yellow Sub. Damns that shits sounds good.
The other thing I have decided next summer when I take vacation I will decide where I am going based on where the Dead Weathers or the Mystic Valley band, or Radiohead, are playing cause I really want to see them. Someone should inform that they need to be playing shows next summer. I am missing live music like crazy. Concerts are the sweetest fucking things in the world. They combine the three d’s I love most dancing, drinking, duol cisum. There is just something about being smashed up in a group of beautiful people all tranced by the same dance blaring at you from the nearest 6 foot high speaker. I cant really explain it, but you know it rules.
I also just realized what I will do make money for sandwich shop. I mean to start this I am gonna need some capital, and when I am running it I am gonna need a secondary job to pay the bills on my investment. I need something easy, something that would not take much time but still will pay well, therefore I am left with one option: weatherman. Namely a weatherman for Liberia, I mean they don’t have any yet and really all you have to do to predict there weather is flip a quarter. Heads is really fucking hot, tails is a monsoon. It is so gad damned hot today I am getting sunburned laying in doors. I am just lying on my foam mat pouring sweat down my body. For entertainment I have been making bets on which drop of sweat is gonna get to the bottom of my stomach first. I think this might be the next big sport to watch in America we could call it, well I don’t know yet I am open to suggestions. My only stipulation is that it must have to word ultimate or X-treme in it, preferably both, because that seems to what Americans are into these days. Man last night was a night of decisions.
And yea I know there is no logical thought pattern to how a write this blog, but my mind moves a thousand miles a minute and I like keeping up with it. Helps me stay in shape, so wherever it goes there I must follow, that’s why you get nonsensical paragraphs talking about how hot is, to STD cards, to falling into a fire pit fighting a bear that just terrorized an orphanage. In case I have not explained the bear, that’s how I am going to die. An old gypsy woman told me, and old gypsy woman are the authority on this kind of thing so I am told.
Well I gotta stop writing here, there are two beads of sweat forming on my chest and it looks like they are real competitors, my money is on the Lucky Leftie.