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.
Monday, November 15, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Good luck making sense of this jumble fuck of thoughts.
Well my iPod met a drink last night, and after some initial talks they decided they hated each other. My iPod is pissed that I made it meet that drink so now my iPod is refusing to work. It blows. I had a rough day of sittin around drinking palm wine and all I wanted to do was come home and relax from my incredibly rough day. But when I tried to pop in some Mystic Valley Band my iPod would not turn on thus I am now sitting here in my evening hangover listening to a baby cry and cry and cry and cry. Catching the back up drum beats for the baby is the church next door. But I am not worried they only usually play there drums super loud till about midnight, so at least I will get a restful nights sleep…Holy shit that kid is in to crying, African has made me officially decide I never want kids, instead I prefer to treat kids the same way I treat dogs. Play with other peoples, that way I get them while they are fun, but when I am done with them or they shit on the floor I don’t have to rub there nose it and spank them. This kid is really just crying up a damn storm over here, he has a great beat going, and keeps changing up the scream he makes, it keeps me wondering what coming next. Lets see what else is new o we bought another chicken. This one kept escaping though. It had it legs tied up and yet it was still jumping out windows and making breaks for it. I think he had probably watched Fox’s hit tv show Prison Break and got a few pointers. Anywho after walking home 2 kilometers from school being drenched in sweat and have a neck so burned I coulda fried an egg on it all I wanted to do was kill Henry and get my grub on. But lo and behold that ol con artist was gone again. Matt and I narrowed it down to two possibilities either he had jumped out the window again or Mr. Squeakers decided he wanted an afternoon snack. I was fairly confident the latter was the case because a week ago that fucking rat stole a pack of Mefloquin so it seemed only right that the now malaria resistant rat would take another thing I fucking needed. That rat is such an ass hole. Anyways thankfully we found the frisky chicken, frisky is the word they use here for bad or disobedient, but it always just makes think horny so it give s me a good giggle every time someone uses it. Yes I am well aware of the fact that I have the mind of 12 year. Anywho I beheaded another chicken boiled more water, peppers, and salt and ate him over rice. That’s life baby. At least for me, I suppose you probably buy a frozen chicken from Wal-Mart and throw it in some kind of food that isn’t based on rice, peppers, and salt. Lame.
Woof, rough morning this morning. Woke up to my principle calling at about 10 in the morning. Grabbed the phone and gave a hello in a voice sounded like it had been up late last night with people and a bottle of vodka. Anywho he told me he needed to talk to me on the road to which I said roger dodger, but he didn’t understand that so I just I would see him soon. Put my Ghana soccer jersey on and cruised on down to the road to what I think is some kind of actual meeting. Boy was I wrong. I get there and him and about 6 other dudes are just dranking palm wine from a bucket, turns out it was Liberian Thanksgiving! Dude Liberians also love it when they see a white man drinking palm wine, its how I integrate. Seeing as they don’t have a useless bird that makes you sleepy they replace it with a delicious beverage that makes you sleepy! This community celebrates holidays down right perfectly. Anywho after that I made it back home to bed to catch some much needed shut eye. Than I woke up and spent the rest of my day having water fights with the kids. And when I say water fight I mean I chase them around with a bucket of water.
O the ups and downs of Peace Corps service are fun. One day you are sure that there is nothing else you would want to be doing with your life, and the next day you are ready to swim across the ocean just to get back to the United States. I believe there is a quote somewhere about how a soldiers life is filled with long periods of boredom with brief intervals of intense terrors. I believe if someone were to make that about PCV it would go something like a Peace Corps Volunteers life is filled with long periods of boredom with brief intervals of intense naps. You have a lot of time on your hands, even if you work hard, you still have a lot of time on yours hands with not a lot of ways to spend it. I think this is a large part of the emotional rollercoaster that Peace Corps is, you just have to much time to think about it, especially when you don’t sleep. You have a lot of time to realize where you are failing and also I a lot time to realize the important things you are doing. That compressed with all the pressure of leaving everything you know and love, and trying to fit into an entire new culture can really throws one’s mind for a loop. I remember the months leading up to leaving I was crazy stressed out, it’s a truly terrifying thing when it comes down to it. Within a week I had told everyone I love goodbye and flew half way across the world with a group of total stranger to a completely new culture. Than the first few months here were intense, I think that now after being here for 4 months I am really finally starting to get the feel for everything and am settling in. But like I said there are days when I think I don’t ever want to leave Liberia, and there are days where I think I would rather be in America. Those people I flew over with have now become my Peace Corps family and the Liberian people are in general so nice and accepting that it has made my transplant much easier than I thought it was going to be. One of the hardest parts of Peace Corps is the month before you exit country. Trying to pack, get your financial life straight, say goodbye to everyone, and eat as many cheeseburgers as possible really takes a toll on you, but its all worth it. No doubt.
I always love those moments when you realize how absolutely tiny you are. It is absolutely freeing, gratifying and humbling all in one cement mixer of emotion. Africa is great for having these. Tonight I was sitting out on my back cement block, like I do, drinking my heinkens. To be a smidge more accurate I was wizard staffing. All my friends in Denver were, are having Wizard Staff right now. So while I cant be at the actual staff meeting I certainly can still make my own wizard staff, which I did. Anyways I was sitting on my back porch staring at the sky, staffing, and thinking just how absolutely tiny I am. I mean here we are same planet and all that jazz and I could yell as loud as I want and they would never know I did. Its just weird. Sorry I know that this is wacked out and ill explained, but I am certain that most people reading this have had this feeling, this feeling of tiny particleness. It really is a great feeling, you can be whatever you want to be and in the end it really doenst matter. You are just a tiny blip on the screen of existence on earth, let alone the entire damned universe. Anywho what I am trying to say is, well I don’t know, but that feeling is cool. We don’t have a lot of time people so grab onto life however you see fit and just ride and laugh, just ride and laugh. I guess what I am trying to say is life is fucking huge so all you can really do is just enjoy it while you can.
But on to more important things. Tonight I was chatting with Matt about our rat problem. We have one. That’s how our chat began. Anywho I was telling Matt that I didn’t really have a problem with it. The way I saw it was that as long as the rats didn’t trouble me I was not going to trouble them. That goes double true for Squeakers. Actually I am just scared of him, and he knows it. Today I saw him in the kitchen and he started scurrying up the wall to his getaway hole in my ceiling and right before he went in he just stopped and looked at me as if to say yea what the fuck are you gonna do. The answer of course is nothing because he is a disease carrying rat that I fear. Anyways just as I was saying I wouldn’t trouble them if they didn’t trouble me a little mouse ran across my toes, which caused two things to occur 1 me to have the reaction of a little girl and pull my feet off the ground and 2. To say well those fucks have accosted me, now its war. Now I have declared war on the rats before, obviously it did not go well otherwise there would not be a need for the second war. So tomorrow starts a new day and a new war with the rats, which is why I must get to sleep and by sleep I mean lay awake all night listening to the rats scurry about my room. I mean I don’t mind the scurrying its just they do it so loudly, I mean be a little fucking courteous and I probably wouldn’t be trying to kill you. Anywho I gotta get ready for war.
So sleeping didn’t really happen, I think the mice and General Ratton (Mr. Squeakers in military form) stepped up their plans of attack. I think they knew my strike was imminent, so they struck first. Last night as I was laying here in bed, half asleep, I was startled back to full on awake by a little mouse crawling on my gosh durned bed! These little fucks are getting brave to say the least. Anywho today, I am gonna do something to stop them, I am not sure what, seeing as they out smarted all my tricks (coke can rat traps, rat poison, and sticky pads). Apparently you have to get bony fish and cook its head for a bit than rub the scales on the poison and the rats just cant resist it. I might try that. Bony fish is exactly what it sounds like, really bony dried out, gross eyeballed fish. More bones than meat. Anywho that’s my new plan.
So last night whilst not sleeping I realized two things, not of particular importance, I just realized them. They were this. 1. You cant sit out under a clear Liberian night for more than 5 minutes without seeing at least 2 shooting stars. That’s totes rad. I mean it really blows my mind how many there are, I am worried that I am gonna get sick of them over the next two years, than I’ll be that guy who is not impressed by shooting stars, and that guys an asshole. 2. I really enjoy telling small lies to get a good laugh. They don’t really hurt anyone, but they make me laugh. For example when I worked at the zoo I used to drive a tour, and on this said tour I spouted off large amounts of facts about a wide variety of animal. Well, every once in awhile I would say the pelican can hold 10 gallons of water in its beak, rather than just three as it actually can. No one really knows, and it doenst really hurt anything, in fact I think it helps because they dig on nature way more when it’s crazy and maybe that might inspire them to help out a bit. Buts probably not. Anywho yesterday I was telling one of my Liberian friends that in America we call someone who travels a lot a yackadoo. Mostly just cause I like the word yackadoo and I saw a chance to get it into circulation. Another harmless little fib, but goodness it makes me laugh. I guess that means I am a terrible person, or something, but what can you do. Maybe its just means I am a fucking yackadoo.
Ah the weather of Liberia! Its fucking weird. Yesterday I was kickin it out on my front porch trying to catch a breeze, because I was sweating crazy balls in the house. So I was sitting there in shorts roasting in the hot sun, and about 10 feet away from my house it was raining crazy hard, hard enough that if I wanted to speak to someone I had to raise my voice. I mean it was raining the proverbially cats and mother fucking doggies. Of course eventually the wall of rain settled over our house for an hour or two. YEA DRY SEASON!
The other thing that is crazy banana brain outta this world tripadelic is that its fucking November and I am roasting like a super market rotisserie chicken. Yesterday matt was yelling at a kid “Bro why are you wearing a turtle neck its Nov…” Right there he realized that it is November, and generally speaking November is turtle neck time for those suckers who wear them. But here it is most defs not turtle neck time, its fuckin 90 degrees homie, like e’eryday. I think I am gonna build a pool here. Than get some tequila, sugar, lime and some sweet/sour mix and spend the rest of life here. It really just gets me that it is November 7 and I am gonna be out on my porch tonight drinkin beer in nothing but my shorts, and even them shorts are a maybe. I mean it should be like 30 and snowing. Welcome to always summer, I think that’s why they all look so young here. No stress, and always summer.
And final random thought for this post of jumbled thoughts. You know how there is that saying that Hallmark makes a card for everything, well that’s not true, yet. However, thanks to Max, and I it soon will be. You see there is a Hallmark card for almost every occasion that you need to tell someone sorry there life sucks, there are I am sorry I was an ass hole cards, sorry someone you loved died cards, and even sorry that you had a kid cards. I don’t care if the cards saying congratulation for the kid what it is really saying congrats your life is totally fucked over now! Anywho there is yet to be a Hallmark card for “Sorry I gave you herpes.” Insert any STD in for herpes and I’ll make a card for it. Imagine a hilarious little bear in a suit on the front holding a letter, than you would open the card and it would just be the bear saying “Sorry to be the ‘bear-er’ of bad news but you have Herpes. Get Tested!. Love (your name here).” No one likes awkward situation but everyone loves getting Hallmark cards! And fuck 1/3 people have them now so this shit is gonna be a booming business, and yes I am taking investors. Well its Sunday and my iPod is broked so its time to settle in for a long time of listening the church beat drums and party till all hours of the night. Enjoy your Sunday funday!
Woof, rough morning this morning. Woke up to my principle calling at about 10 in the morning. Grabbed the phone and gave a hello in a voice sounded like it had been up late last night with people and a bottle of vodka. Anywho he told me he needed to talk to me on the road to which I said roger dodger, but he didn’t understand that so I just I would see him soon. Put my Ghana soccer jersey on and cruised on down to the road to what I think is some kind of actual meeting. Boy was I wrong. I get there and him and about 6 other dudes are just dranking palm wine from a bucket, turns out it was Liberian Thanksgiving! Dude Liberians also love it when they see a white man drinking palm wine, its how I integrate. Seeing as they don’t have a useless bird that makes you sleepy they replace it with a delicious beverage that makes you sleepy! This community celebrates holidays down right perfectly. Anywho after that I made it back home to bed to catch some much needed shut eye. Than I woke up and spent the rest of my day having water fights with the kids. And when I say water fight I mean I chase them around with a bucket of water.
O the ups and downs of Peace Corps service are fun. One day you are sure that there is nothing else you would want to be doing with your life, and the next day you are ready to swim across the ocean just to get back to the United States. I believe there is a quote somewhere about how a soldiers life is filled with long periods of boredom with brief intervals of intense terrors. I believe if someone were to make that about PCV it would go something like a Peace Corps Volunteers life is filled with long periods of boredom with brief intervals of intense naps. You have a lot of time on your hands, even if you work hard, you still have a lot of time on yours hands with not a lot of ways to spend it. I think this is a large part of the emotional rollercoaster that Peace Corps is, you just have to much time to think about it, especially when you don’t sleep. You have a lot of time to realize where you are failing and also I a lot time to realize the important things you are doing. That compressed with all the pressure of leaving everything you know and love, and trying to fit into an entire new culture can really throws one’s mind for a loop. I remember the months leading up to leaving I was crazy stressed out, it’s a truly terrifying thing when it comes down to it. Within a week I had told everyone I love goodbye and flew half way across the world with a group of total stranger to a completely new culture. Than the first few months here were intense, I think that now after being here for 4 months I am really finally starting to get the feel for everything and am settling in. But like I said there are days when I think I don’t ever want to leave Liberia, and there are days where I think I would rather be in America. Those people I flew over with have now become my Peace Corps family and the Liberian people are in general so nice and accepting that it has made my transplant much easier than I thought it was going to be. One of the hardest parts of Peace Corps is the month before you exit country. Trying to pack, get your financial life straight, say goodbye to everyone, and eat as many cheeseburgers as possible really takes a toll on you, but its all worth it. No doubt.
I always love those moments when you realize how absolutely tiny you are. It is absolutely freeing, gratifying and humbling all in one cement mixer of emotion. Africa is great for having these. Tonight I was sitting out on my back cement block, like I do, drinking my heinkens. To be a smidge more accurate I was wizard staffing. All my friends in Denver were, are having Wizard Staff right now. So while I cant be at the actual staff meeting I certainly can still make my own wizard staff, which I did. Anyways I was sitting on my back porch staring at the sky, staffing, and thinking just how absolutely tiny I am. I mean here we are same planet and all that jazz and I could yell as loud as I want and they would never know I did. Its just weird. Sorry I know that this is wacked out and ill explained, but I am certain that most people reading this have had this feeling, this feeling of tiny particleness. It really is a great feeling, you can be whatever you want to be and in the end it really doenst matter. You are just a tiny blip on the screen of existence on earth, let alone the entire damned universe. Anywho what I am trying to say is, well I don’t know, but that feeling is cool. We don’t have a lot of time people so grab onto life however you see fit and just ride and laugh, just ride and laugh. I guess what I am trying to say is life is fucking huge so all you can really do is just enjoy it while you can.
But on to more important things. Tonight I was chatting with Matt about our rat problem. We have one. That’s how our chat began. Anywho I was telling Matt that I didn’t really have a problem with it. The way I saw it was that as long as the rats didn’t trouble me I was not going to trouble them. That goes double true for Squeakers. Actually I am just scared of him, and he knows it. Today I saw him in the kitchen and he started scurrying up the wall to his getaway hole in my ceiling and right before he went in he just stopped and looked at me as if to say yea what the fuck are you gonna do. The answer of course is nothing because he is a disease carrying rat that I fear. Anyways just as I was saying I wouldn’t trouble them if they didn’t trouble me a little mouse ran across my toes, which caused two things to occur 1 me to have the reaction of a little girl and pull my feet off the ground and 2. To say well those fucks have accosted me, now its war. Now I have declared war on the rats before, obviously it did not go well otherwise there would not be a need for the second war. So tomorrow starts a new day and a new war with the rats, which is why I must get to sleep and by sleep I mean lay awake all night listening to the rats scurry about my room. I mean I don’t mind the scurrying its just they do it so loudly, I mean be a little fucking courteous and I probably wouldn’t be trying to kill you. Anywho I gotta get ready for war.
So sleeping didn’t really happen, I think the mice and General Ratton (Mr. Squeakers in military form) stepped up their plans of attack. I think they knew my strike was imminent, so they struck first. Last night as I was laying here in bed, half asleep, I was startled back to full on awake by a little mouse crawling on my gosh durned bed! These little fucks are getting brave to say the least. Anywho today, I am gonna do something to stop them, I am not sure what, seeing as they out smarted all my tricks (coke can rat traps, rat poison, and sticky pads). Apparently you have to get bony fish and cook its head for a bit than rub the scales on the poison and the rats just cant resist it. I might try that. Bony fish is exactly what it sounds like, really bony dried out, gross eyeballed fish. More bones than meat. Anywho that’s my new plan.
So last night whilst not sleeping I realized two things, not of particular importance, I just realized them. They were this. 1. You cant sit out under a clear Liberian night for more than 5 minutes without seeing at least 2 shooting stars. That’s totes rad. I mean it really blows my mind how many there are, I am worried that I am gonna get sick of them over the next two years, than I’ll be that guy who is not impressed by shooting stars, and that guys an asshole. 2. I really enjoy telling small lies to get a good laugh. They don’t really hurt anyone, but they make me laugh. For example when I worked at the zoo I used to drive a tour, and on this said tour I spouted off large amounts of facts about a wide variety of animal. Well, every once in awhile I would say the pelican can hold 10 gallons of water in its beak, rather than just three as it actually can. No one really knows, and it doenst really hurt anything, in fact I think it helps because they dig on nature way more when it’s crazy and maybe that might inspire them to help out a bit. Buts probably not. Anywho yesterday I was telling one of my Liberian friends that in America we call someone who travels a lot a yackadoo. Mostly just cause I like the word yackadoo and I saw a chance to get it into circulation. Another harmless little fib, but goodness it makes me laugh. I guess that means I am a terrible person, or something, but what can you do. Maybe its just means I am a fucking yackadoo.
Ah the weather of Liberia! Its fucking weird. Yesterday I was kickin it out on my front porch trying to catch a breeze, because I was sweating crazy balls in the house. So I was sitting there in shorts roasting in the hot sun, and about 10 feet away from my house it was raining crazy hard, hard enough that if I wanted to speak to someone I had to raise my voice. I mean it was raining the proverbially cats and mother fucking doggies. Of course eventually the wall of rain settled over our house for an hour or two. YEA DRY SEASON!
The other thing that is crazy banana brain outta this world tripadelic is that its fucking November and I am roasting like a super market rotisserie chicken. Yesterday matt was yelling at a kid “Bro why are you wearing a turtle neck its Nov…” Right there he realized that it is November, and generally speaking November is turtle neck time for those suckers who wear them. But here it is most defs not turtle neck time, its fuckin 90 degrees homie, like e’eryday. I think I am gonna build a pool here. Than get some tequila, sugar, lime and some sweet/sour mix and spend the rest of life here. It really just gets me that it is November 7 and I am gonna be out on my porch tonight drinkin beer in nothing but my shorts, and even them shorts are a maybe. I mean it should be like 30 and snowing. Welcome to always summer, I think that’s why they all look so young here. No stress, and always summer.
And final random thought for this post of jumbled thoughts. You know how there is that saying that Hallmark makes a card for everything, well that’s not true, yet. However, thanks to Max, and I it soon will be. You see there is a Hallmark card for almost every occasion that you need to tell someone sorry there life sucks, there are I am sorry I was an ass hole cards, sorry someone you loved died cards, and even sorry that you had a kid cards. I don’t care if the cards saying congratulation for the kid what it is really saying congrats your life is totally fucked over now! Anywho there is yet to be a Hallmark card for “Sorry I gave you herpes.” Insert any STD in for herpes and I’ll make a card for it. Imagine a hilarious little bear in a suit on the front holding a letter, than you would open the card and it would just be the bear saying “Sorry to be the ‘bear-er’ of bad news but you have Herpes. Get Tested!. Love (your name here).” No one likes awkward situation but everyone loves getting Hallmark cards! And fuck 1/3 people have them now so this shit is gonna be a booming business, and yes I am taking investors. Well its Sunday and my iPod is broked so its time to settle in for a long time of listening the church beat drums and party till all hours of the night. Enjoy your Sunday funday!
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
I ate my friend, he was scrumptious.
So a few days ago a chicken was brought to our house, and after some minimal negotiation the chicken was tied to a piece of wood in the hallway. We found ourselves the proud owners of one feathered foul. The deal upon buying Mr. Cluckers, as he was initially called in my mind, was that Matt would pay for it, if’n I ended the long and illustrious life of Mr. C., I agreed. So after we get it, I am in debate as to whether to name it or not, I knew that naming it would cause attachment, but not naming it deprived it of it dignity before death, so I of course named it. First we tried Chester, that didn’t stick, than there was Harrison, General McCluckther, and finally we settled on Gary. Gary I feel is a great name for a delicious chicken. Anywho Gary kicked it in our hallway tied to a piece of wood, and we became friends, until he crowed at 4 in the morning and than shit in my hallway. I tried to explain to Gary that being a good friend did not involve shitting in your friends house. Gary simply clucked back. All the same Gary kicked it in the house for three days. For his final meal I gave him cornflakes, I figure if his cousin endorses them he would like them, and some rice. After that Gary and I went outback to have a chat. Kids came. Gary’s last few moments I imagine went something like this: Damn those cornflakes were good, I sure wish I could get off this rope, o shit that blonde dude has a knife, o shit now some kids is holding my neck out while another one has my feet, this cant be goo…” At that this point I had sliced my way through Gary’s neck. The last thing Gary heard was me saying “well sorry Gary but friends don’t shit in friends hallways.” After we killed ol gary we put him in a pot of hot water, this makes feather plucking easier, and than proceeded to remove the noble Gary’s noble white feathers. Gary was a proud chicken. Than started the actual quatering of the chicken, and dude that is harder than it sounds. Gary clearly had his milk because his bones were strong as shit. Anywho we cut Gary open, the whole time I am doing this I was just thinking man, you used to be a vegetarian, and now look at you. I cut his crop open revealing his last meal, And watched the children fight over who got the feet. They went on to squabble over such delicious parts of the chicken as the skin, the organs, the head, and any other awful looking part of the chicken. God bless Liberia, they don’t waste a fucking thing here. When I said I wasn’t going to eat the neck this kid gave me the most mortified look I have ever seen but than was pleased as a man who just found out he shits gold when I told him he could HAVE the neck. I know, I know, my generosity really shocks me sometime. Anywho the parts of Gary I took up wound up in a delicious pot of pepper soup. Pepper soup is bomb, simply bomb.com.
I had the privilege of watching game 3 of the World Series. I don’t even really watch baseball in America, and I don’t necessarily believe its Americas pass time, I think that goes to NASCAR or perhaps WWF or whatever the fuck wrestling calls itself these days. Baseball is a pussy sport in comparison with those two, and America is not a pussy country so it shouldn’t have a pussy sport for its national pass time. Anywho on our way back in the taxi was moving like a crazed canary down the dirt path. Our driver seemed to think that hitting the bumps at 80 kmph as opposed to 20 kmph would work out better for the alignment of the car. I didn’t bitch we made Kanwekan in 3 hours, that’s literally 4 times faster than some of my other times. I love that I traveled about 70 miles in 3 hours and am super pumped about it. When I get back to America and get a whole car seat to myself in a car that doesn’t smell like roasted monkey flesh and can drive 70 mph without pissing blood, well I don’t know what I will do, probably a jig. Jigs are a gentleman’s way of showing excitement especially when they involve gin.
Other than that my life is pretty much unchanging at the moment. Not a lot happens here, at least not quickly. At time that is super rad, but when you need to get shit done it sucks. Well I am gonna watch people build this building, mixing cement by hand looks fucking hard. At least it is the dry season so it wont rain on those poor fellas, o wait its still fucking raining.
Ah man two fucking flies just landed on me. And that ‘fucking’ there is not just me randomly saying fucking as I love to do, those two flies were doing it on my leg. Ew.
I had the privilege of watching game 3 of the World Series. I don’t even really watch baseball in America, and I don’t necessarily believe its Americas pass time, I think that goes to NASCAR or perhaps WWF or whatever the fuck wrestling calls itself these days. Baseball is a pussy sport in comparison with those two, and America is not a pussy country so it shouldn’t have a pussy sport for its national pass time. Anywho on our way back in the taxi was moving like a crazed canary down the dirt path. Our driver seemed to think that hitting the bumps at 80 kmph as opposed to 20 kmph would work out better for the alignment of the car. I didn’t bitch we made Kanwekan in 3 hours, that’s literally 4 times faster than some of my other times. I love that I traveled about 70 miles in 3 hours and am super pumped about it. When I get back to America and get a whole car seat to myself in a car that doesn’t smell like roasted monkey flesh and can drive 70 mph without pissing blood, well I don’t know what I will do, probably a jig. Jigs are a gentleman’s way of showing excitement especially when they involve gin.
Other than that my life is pretty much unchanging at the moment. Not a lot happens here, at least not quickly. At time that is super rad, but when you need to get shit done it sucks. Well I am gonna watch people build this building, mixing cement by hand looks fucking hard. At least it is the dry season so it wont rain on those poor fellas, o wait its still fucking raining.
Ah man two fucking flies just landed on me. And that ‘fucking’ there is not just me randomly saying fucking as I love to do, those two flies were doing it on my leg. Ew.
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