Leroy’s Team Defectors

The scuttlebut is that two of my pool team players are going to form a new team next year. I wish them all the (bad) luck in the world. Really. It’s fine. Lauri can be the captain of Leroy’s team 12 next season since her penmanship is better than mine. We need to sucker Dave and Ken into playing for the team next season. I want to play for the team again too assuming I haven’t been declared an enemy combatant by then. In the interim we’ll try to uphold team unity for the last two games. If Bernard and Lauri speak to each other they get put in timeout. Ha!

Pakistan Fighting

Pakistan recently revised their report concerning a high value target in their hunt for Al-Qaeda. The original report was that, based on the intensity of the fighting in the area, that they had cornered what they believed to be Bin-Laden’s number two man, Al-Zawahiri. This claim was revised this morning as they are now saying that the man they have corned is in fact Denny Terrio of Dance Fever. The fighting has now stopped and high level negotiations have ensued between Pakistan and Al-Qaeda regarding which group has to keep him.

In other news, the Chicken Wars pool contest to 100 is now 8-4 in Dave’s favor as he and I split 1-1 on Saturday night. I’m going to update this entry today as soon as I can make up some more news.

Personality Disorder Test

I took this online personality disorder test and I ended up flagged as either high or very high for quite a few personality disorders, to wit:

Paranoid: High
Schizoid: High
Schizotypal: Very High
Antisocial: High
Borderline: Low
Histrionic: Moderate
Narcissistic: High
Avoidant: High
Dependent: Low
Obsessive-Compulsive: Moderate

One thing that doesn’t seem to make sense is that Schizotypal and antisocial seem like an either/or thing and I’m flagged for both of them. The actual descriptions for the disorders are here . I would agree with the antisocial except that I don’t lie or steal (unless I’m lying now, oh wait, I’m too busy going through this woman’s purse.) The one disorder described that kind of describes me is avoidant:

Avoidant personality disorder is characterized by extreme social anxiety. People with this disorder often feel inadequate, avoid social situations, and seek out jobs with little contact with others. They are fearful of being rejected and worry about embarassing themselves in front of others. They exaggerate the potential difficulties of new situations to rationalize avoiding them. Often, they will create fantasy worlds to substitute for the real one. Unlike schizoid personality disorder, avoidant people yearn for social relations yet feel they are unable to obtain them. They are frequently depressed and have low self-confidence.

Ok, this is kind of me except I don’t have low self-confidence, I just think everybody else is kind of fucked up. I guess that sort of goes along with the high paranoia. I have no problems with the narcissist designation because I really am great.

In summation, I guess I’m pretty fucked up. My past relationships kind of weigh in on the side of this test being kind of accurate. I’m probably bipolar, ADD, with a little malaria and teburculosis tossed in the mix, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. My life is kind of exciting in a getting chased by police with two blown tires and sparks spewing off the highway kind of way.

The Hand of God

I saw this story about a girl who survived a fall off a highway overpass and I was wondering how a girl managed to make such a plunge. As it turns out, she was in a car that was involved in a two vehicle accident that sent her flying out the window and over the railing of the overpass. Her family is saying that it was the hand of God that lowered her safely to the ground (well, somewhat safely, she had to have her spleen removed and suffered a broken leg and broken eye socket.)

Not to sound like a skeptic but I can see God reading this news article and saying, “The hand of Me? This is the first I heard of it. I ain’t no expert but if I was gonna be involved in helping this girl wouldn’t it have been easier for Me to just buckle the m%@$*a in?”

I’m just glad I wasn’t driving by at the moment that happened. It’d be like CRASHHHHH!!! ZING! SHREEEEEEEE(voice fades out). . Mexi: Hmm. . . that was different (keeps driving).

Hearsay and the Mack Rules

The other night I was at the bar hanging out with this girl. We were sitting at the same table so it might have looked like we were together, I don’t know. Later, I noticed that one of my friends seemed to be hitting it off pretty well with her so I wanted to clarify things kind of discreetly so I pulled him off to the side out of earshot of the chick and I was like I’m not with her like that, get your mack on, that’s all you, blah blah blah. But this is just between me and you, don’t say anything to her. He’s like oh fu sho, I won’t say nothing to her. Cool.

So why come the next night I’m shooting pool late at night and she comes in with her eyes flashing angry and says to me “We gotta talk!”

Now, nothing good in this world has ever come from a woman telling a dude we gotta talk. It’s never, “We gotta talk: I need to give you a blow job”, or nothing like that. We gotta talk is invariably followed with something really fucked up or uncomfortable.

So I don’t answer. I just look at her and wait to hear what we gotta talk about (because a woman is going to tell you anyway, whether or not you say anything so I figure a response from me is just a waste of breath.)

“You gotta explan to me why you said what you said to Damion last night!”

Oh right, I’m thinking. The stuff we just agreed not to tell you. I say nothing, I just look at her like she’s reciting the ABCs. I chalk my stick and go back to my shot.

“Oh yeah, we got a problem,” she adds. I’m like, why the first person plural? “We” ain’t got a problem. The only problem I got is getting the breakup on the nine. I spend the rest of the night acting as if she’s not there. I’ve never been a big fan of “having to talk”, or arguing, or even discussing anything with an angry woman. I’m not good at explanations. If I was, I wouldn’t have pulled old boy off to the side, I would have just blurted that confidential stuff out in the open. As it turns out I might as well have grabbed the karaoke microphone and made a song out of it. Evidently, “Please don’t tell Nikki” must be a synonym for “Go straightaway and repeat this to her as fast as you can.”

I left without having a talk. I won’t have one today either, and I stand firm on two grounds: Number one, hearsay as a general rule is not admissible. I know this ain’t court but dammit I like the rule so I’m gonna roll with it. And even if hearsay was admissible, Damion broke a mack rule. And since the process was fucked up, it will not be entered into evidence. Period.

And the cool thing about this not being court is that there is no apellate court to overrule me. You can scratch my eyes out, you can call the police, you can beat me within an inch of my life. But you cannot make me “talk” to an irate woman.

And to think I almost put him on the blog.

Word Bubbles

People often ask me what I was thinking about when I took a particular shot in pool. This is because either I’m not thinking three shots ahead or I’m actually trying to think that far ahead but I don’t see an out. My standard answer is “I don’t know what I was thinking”, then I pretend to be paying attention to something else in the room til the person goes away. But the truth is, I do know what I was thinking. And it makes me glad there aren’t word bubbles that pop up over your head when you’re about to take a shot. Mine would be something like:

God. . . I hate this shot. This game is stupid. What the hell am I supposed to do now? I’m lining up for this shot. . . Rever is shaking his head. It must be the wrong shot. Fuck him. Damn hippie, get a haircut. Maybe I should shoot the other shot. Oh great, I have to stand on one foot and lean across the table. I look funny. Everybody’s laughing at me I bet. Hit the ball low. Stop the damn cue ball. I can make the two after this. Then I have no shot. I should stop to figure this out. No, to hell with it. I’m the worst player in the world. Smack it. 

Miscue. Cue skims off my ball and makes a beeline for the corner pocket. Dave gives me the What the Fuck? look.

It would be cool to see other peoples word bubbles over their head though. Lex shoots like he’s just hittin’ ’em real fast, but he be thinking. He would have a word bubble over his head something like “(i) P = Force*velocity (P=Fv)”. Just another walk in the park.

Mike Ryan’s bubble would be like:

“I wish Dave would shut up. Pretend you’re ignoring him. Damn. . . He’s still talking too. Does this jackass get paid by the word or something? Yap yap yap. I swear. I need to bring in a rolled up ball of tube socks and just jam it in his pie-hole. Yeah. . . keep talkin’. Note to self: bring tube socks next time. 

Dave’s word bubble would be like

“Now. That’s why he missed his shot. Got him rattled. I bet he wants to bring in a rolled up ball of tube socks and just jam it in my pie-hole. Ha! Now he bet not say shit when I’m shootin’. Dammit.” 

I couldn’t begin to imagine what Ramiro thinks about when he shoots. He’s too quiet. Willie’s word bubble would be liberally peppered with the MF word. Joe be thinking “I’m Dolomite!” Zack be thinking “Now I know damn well I’m not gon’ lose this game to Joe. . . his Dolomite lookin’ ass!”

The only person whos word bubble I would not want to see would be Rever. Because he’d pick his shot, set up for it, get a couple practice strokes , and his word bubble would be “Now what the hell was Mike thinkin’?


I just figured out how a dude can get free drinks at the bar (NO goddamit, I mean a STRAIGHT bar!) All you have to do is sit there with no drink and when the waitress asks if you want anything, say (within earshot of other people) “NO THANKS, I’M ON A AN EXERCISE REGIMEN!”

I’ve had more people offer to buy me drinks now that I’m trying to get back into shape then I don’t know what. It doesn’t work to say “No thanks, I’m broke.” People will just let your broke ass sit there. But try to do something positive and people are like oh shit, let me try to mess this motherfucker up.

It’s cold. I plan to run anyway. And I lifted weights the other day. I’m still sore. It’s a good kind of sore. The kind that makes me feel that I’m gonna knock out even more of a workout next time. And what’s just sick is that after lifting only one day I can look in the mirror and tell already. I must be a mesomorph, my body responds quick.

With me, it’s not balanced to try to just quit doing something. Then it feels like something is missing. So instead of quitting smoking and cutting back on drinking, I’m replacing it with running and lifting weights. No threesomes. PT. Good for you. Good for me.

Oh, by the way Dave, my cue stick is getting re-tipped even as we speak. I hope to get it back today. I shot last night with a bar stick. I think the miscue problem was the tip. Watch out, I’m coming back. . . like herpes!

Dave Marion Cheats and Sabatoges to Take an Unethical Lead in Chicken Wars!

I never thought it would come to this. . . But the Chicken Wars pool tournament to 100 has taken a turn for the unethical. My sworn enemy Dave and I were playing pool at Leroy’s the other day when I took a short bathroom break. When I got back my cue stick looked different. The tip appeared to be clipped down to almost nothing. There were shards of blue cue tip fragments on the floor where my cue stick was.

“What happened to my stick Dave?”

“Huh? Me? I don’t know? Why should you accuse me?”

“I didn’t accuse you of nothing Dave, I just-”

There were shards of shattered cue stick fragments on his clothes too. Plus his fingers were all blue. I was beginning to get a bit suspicious. Nawww. . . Not Dave. . Must be some fateful coincidnence.

I miscued my next shot giving Dave ball in hand on the next shot. “Yessss!” He cried. “My nefarious plan has come to- . . .. . I mean. . . um.. . My shot.”

Something else was wrong too. A noticable film of what appeared to be bacon grease had been smeared the whole length of my cue stick. At least I think it was bacon grease because that’s what it smelled like. And because there was a can labeled ‘bacon grease’ right in front of where Dave was sitting.

“Is that your bacon grease Dave?” I asked.

“Huh? Who, me? No. I’ve never seen this can of bacon grease before in my life.”

I thought to give him the benefit of the doubt. Then I saw some writing at the bottom of the can. It said “Property of D. Marion.”

I don’t know people. I hate to be an accusing kind of person, but things aren’t looking very good for the integrity of the chicken wars. It’s now 7 game to 3 in Dave’s favor.

Editor’s note: pretty much everything posted here is a lie except the fact that Dave’s up 7 to 3. But we won’t tell Dave that. He thinks he’s too cool to read editor’s notes. He said he’s from the ‘D’ and in his ‘hood reading editor’s notes is falls under the heading of ‘Not Keeping it Real’!

True to Life

I have these three Evanescence videos that I’ve watched three zillion times already. My favorite so far is “My Immortal” where she’s all depressed and singing about a failing relationship. The best part for me is the beginning of the video where they show this dude looking like his world has just ended. He’s at the piano hanging his head looking straight down at the keys poking out a little tune while he goes through his mind-rend. Don’t I know the feeling! World has ended, life is over, too depressed to even put on shoes. But I don’t think he’s pining over Amy Lee. I think he met Monique.

You met Monique and yout got involved with her didn’t you, you impossible dumbass!!! We tried to warn you, yes, we all warned you but NOOOOOO!!! You’re all like maybe she’ll love me if I bring her enough cigarettes! She’ll love me if I save her from yet another catastrophe!!! You fucking criminally insane RETARD!!!!! LOOK AT YOU NOW!! You’re at your WITS END and you look around uncomprehendly trying to understand why the SUN EVEN RISES ANYMORE!! YOU!! YOU!! I’M DONE TALKING TO YOU!!!!

Yes. . . it’s a nice video. Plus the black and white touch was kind of cool too. Nice video.

I’m all fine now.

(twitch! twitch!)

Shaolin Mexi

Thursday I had the day off of work so I buzzed all my hair off. Actually I wasn’t so much bored as I thought that my life needed a major change, and of course all major change begins with a haircut. Anyway after buzzing it all off there was some stubble left so I took a razor and finished the job, clean.

I never realized that taking it down to the skin means different things to different cultures. A white guy who who does that is either a swimmer or he dots his ‘I’s with swastikas. Black dude baldheaded? Not unusual at all, most likely means receding hairline. But me. . .. my skin color and almond shape eyes are a shout out to my ascestors who crossed the Beiring strait from Asia. In fact I was once mistaken for Chinese when I was a baby. So within twelve hours of taking the razor to my head, I was dubbed with the sobriquet “Shaolin.”

For those who don’t know, the Shaolin were Chinese monks who retreated to the wilderness and meditated in solititude for long periods of time. These brothas were deep into zen, tao, buddhism, and every other type of wisdom. In fact, the art of kung-fu was actually created by one such monk. Hence the 1960s TV series “Kung Fu”, about a shaolin monk wandering the United States on his quest for something. But I digress.

I never knew how much an effect appearances make. People who had hitherto never given me a second glance were now stopping me to seek enlightenment. Now I’m about as enlightened as a penguin, but I thought what the hell, I’d give it a shot. The point is to be enigmatic. That way if your advice fails, you can always claim that it was misunderstood. Take, for example, this guy who stopped me on my way down the street yesterday.

“Master! Master!”

“Yes, my son.”

“Where does the path to happiness lie? Is it wealth, love, or family?”

“Happiness is like a soap bubble. If you seek to capture it, it will be destroyed in the process. Seeking begins with not seeking. Wash your ass. The bubbles will appear on their own.”

Ok, I got lucky on that one. That’s like telling someone to go deep for a pass, then when he gets about a block away you go back in your house with the football. Not all questions are that easy however. Take the mailman’s question yesterday afternoon:

“Master, I come seeking guidance!”

“What’s with this master shit? Does this look like a damn plantation?”

“I love my son, but he has an evil heart. Since he’s been grown he has resorted to deceit and crime. I did not teach him this way. He is bringing disgrace on the family. Should I disown him?”

“My son, fatherhood is like a three rail kick. You choose the angle with your mind, but if the English sends the shot astray, know that the English was your doing as well.”

“So I should help my son?”

“Huh? No, fuck him. I was just talking about a three rail kick.”

This wisdom stuff is getting good to me. I’m thinking of advising people to rob banks and shit just to see if they’ll do it. The only extent of real wisdom I have personally is to know that this life is only temporary, therefore do not put all your money on this side of the fence. The last guy to ask me for enlightenment really took the cake though. He ran half a block to catch up to me on my way to Leroy’s.

“Master! I’m in need of your counsel!”

“Yes my son.”

“Ere this moon my land has been tilled by three hirelings. This fortnight an hireling hath fallen ill and not tilled hence. The wages for all were divided alike and the other two hirelings are exceedingly wroth. What say ye?”

Mexi: (thinking). . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . .

“I beseech ye, what say ye?”

Mexi: uhhhhhhhh. . . . . . huh huh! Uhhhh. . . . . . . . . . . huh huh!

“I thrice asketh, what say ye?”

Mexi: They servants consenteth ere the ground was tilled, thy business is thine own. Answer thy servants that said business is NUNYA.”

Yes, I think I’m keeping the haircut.