(9.26.10)
Well I finally caved and we bought a generator, which means I am now able to power stuff at my house, whenever I want, if that isn’t luxury I don’t know what is. This is good news for me the insomniac seeing seeing I will now again have something to do at night rather than just listen to the rats run around in my ceiling. This whole listening to the rats thing has been my pass time for a little too long now, but the game really gets fun when they come out of the ceiling and start running around my room. That’s when I get to get out of bed at 4 in the fucking morning in my unders with a boot on one hand and a flashlight in the other chasing these little fucks around the room. Though there is one of them that I do not chase out of fear. Seriously the first time I saw this rat I was equally terrified and psyched because it was so damn big I thought it was master Splinter running around up in my house. Needless to say we named him, and we named him Squeakers, Squeaks for short. I am so fucking terrified of this 7 inch rat I cant really put it into words. Squeaks and I have a great understanding, he does whatever the fuck he wants in my room and I let him do it otherwise he will jump on my face and tear it off, and in the process probably give me the bubonic plague! Squeaks and I do have one thing in common though, we both love to climb. One night I was actually sleeping, a rare occurrence to say the least here in Africa, anywho I woke up to ol Squeaks scaling my mosquito right near my head. My entirely manly reaction to this was to cower to the other side of my bed like a little girl and just wait for Squeaks to finish his climbing work out, dude is jacked, I think he might be on some rat roids.
Lets see what else is new, o earlier this week I looked down on my handsomely muscular milky white thigh I noticed a rather large and grotesque red boil just kickin it on my thigh. Well after a short discussion with the boil I decided that it had to pack it bags and get the hell outta Thigh Motel. The discussion between us got much more heated when I noticed a tiny little white thing wriggling all around in the very middle of the boil. Seeing as I have one rule in life and that’s I don’t let little white things pop out of boils on my leg I had to immediately pop it. After some long minutes of excruciating squeezing I popped it and out came my little friend. Turns out that here in Africa there is a fly that will lay its eggs on wet clothes after you have washed them, than when you put your clothes it burrows into your leg and goes to town so to speak. With this in mind now I have decided there is only one solution, Fuck washing my mother fucking clothes if all it does is put some weird ass fucking fly up in upper thigh bidnass area.
On the sickness related front I was sick as shit again this week. We don’t really know for sure what caused it, there was some speculation it was the porcupine, then there was some thought that it was the moldy boiled eggs I have been eating (it wasn’t so I am still eating those), but finally I decided the culprit was none other than the canned fruit cocktail that I was munching on. The reason I went with the fruit cocktail is because as Matt and I were crushing on the cocktail we noticed the gelatinous clear cubes, which of course caused us to look at the ingredients but too bad for us neither of us can read Arabic so that was out the window. In my infinite wisdom I said what is the worst that could happen and continued munching, after another short bit we noticed that there was a picture of a coconut on the front, so we decided these clear gelatinous cubes must surely be the coconut. Well I kept eating but Matt wisely stopped. The continued eating resulted in me getting up at 4 in the morning and hopping on the African teeter totter for awhile. I was actually so fucking sick we thought I had malaria, and let me tell you stabbing your finger and drawing blood sucks when you aren’t puking your brains straight out yo head, but it sucks way worse when the brain puking is the case. I gotta say waiting on a malaria test, is about as fun as waiting on a pregnancy test, or so I have heard from some friends of mine. Thankfully I did not have malaria and just vomited my brains out for a while longer and then felt great!
I have also decided to bring the 90’s back hard in Liberia. These kids have no idea what is actually hip in America so I can tell them whatevs the fucks I wants and they totes believes that shit. Yesterday I told them that all Americans love using the word tubular, so now they are all using it. I think Mondays lesson will probably be on the usage of certain catch phrases like “off da hook!” “that’s bomb.com” and “talk to the hand cause the face aint listening.” Yes if nothing else by the end of my two years here these kids will be speaking mad 90’s Colorado dude talk. So if you have any beloved 90’s phrases you want see make a comeback just let me know and I will implement them into my lesson plans. As a sidenote I would really like to create a website called thebomb.com and on it you would put things that you love. For instance if I aint a super dank cheeseburger, an impossibility in my current state of being, but that’s why it would be all the more bomb.com anyways lets say I did, I would take a picture of me crushing on this burger and post it on the website, that way everyone could go to this website and see pictures of everything that is the bomb.com in there city. It’s a great idea, and don’t fucking steal it you fucks! I also think I am going to tell them that dragons exist in America, not only do they exist but we ride them to work everyday and the best part they will believe me!
We had to go the Dru this week which totally ate a fat one do the road conditions. A 45 minute drive in America is about 3 hours here on a good day, on a bad day, like the one we traveled on, it takes about 6 hours. There was 5 times where all 9, that’s right 9! Of us got out of the taxi cab and had to walk down part of the road so the cab would not get stuck in the giant mud pools that had formed on the “road.” When Liberians say road they actually mean a small path that has been cut through the forest that in america I wouldn’t even ride my fucking mountain bike on. There was actually one hole that was so shitty that someone had come and cut a new path into the bush. So we get out watched our taxi cab back up and disappear into the bush and than come out 50 yards later. It was pretty badass. Anywho when we were a few miles outside of the Dru our taxi got seriously stuck and we had to walk into town the rest of the way, Which leads me to a life rule and question. The life rule is always pack light when traveling in Africa, that a seriously good life rule, cause you never know when your gonna have to throw your shit on your back and swim across a fucking river. The question: what did you do this Friday, was it as hardass as walking down an African path at night? No, o ok. Cool. And yes I use path instead of road on purpose. I mentioned earlier there were 9 of us in the station wagon taxi cab, driver, two in the front passenger seat, 4 in the backseat, and two VIP’s in the trunk area. In Liberia they call trunk riders( people who cant afford the full price) VIP, which I love and think is hilarious. We started with some dude in the trunk but 45 minutues he bitched out cause it was to hot. So that dudes day essentially was riding cramped up in the back of a station wagon bouncing around till he got sick, than getting out, puking, and walking back an hour in the rain. GREAT DAY! After ol pussyface got out we picked up two more dudes though. O and the best part about ol pussyfaces plight is that the driver didn’t even give him his money back!
A quick note to take in: If I were to become a DJ I would be called DJ Bear!Face and I would wear a giant grizzly bear that I would borrowed from a real life grizzly bear. My beats would be bearlicious to say the least. Actually I just want people to start calling me DJ Bear!Face because that name is so fucking fresh.
I would also like to take this time to address Tuskan raiders. I bring up Tuskan raiders because we often compare Liberia to Tattooine, that’s how bad it can be sometimes. Anyways really the only reason that the L country is better than that god forsaken desert planet is the fact that Tuskan Raiders do not exist here. If you haven’t seen Star Wars first publically shame yourself than stop reading this and go fucking watch it you asshole. Anywho TR’s are the worst, I mean they sit up on cliffs with bitchin sweet rifles and just shoot at passing cars. I mean imagine trying to go to work and having your car shot by TR’s, fucking awful. Though they also shoot at the pods during podraces, which I think opens up an interesting idea for Nascar. Everyone know that the only reason anyone watches Nascar is for the wrecks, so imagine how much better it would be there were just some crazy desert monsters in a tower shooting at Junior, and Jeff. I would become the biggest fucking Nascar fan ever, well not the biggest because I think a few stipulations for being the biggest Nascar fan ever are beating your wife and being morbidally obese, but I would still really like it.
Well that’s really all I got for now I gotta get up and go to Mos Eisely (Monrovia) in the morning to do some business and also to buy a backpack full of fucking skittles because I fucking love them! O real quick if you know me than you already know this but I actually have two rules in life, I already mentioned one in this post, and the other of course is No fatties. Just wanted
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