White Guy in Chocolate City

This haunting fear loomed over me as I entered the city of New Orleans. I had created this picture in my mind of a post apocalyptic Mad Max world of survival of the most creatively armed. Desperate men would be walking the streets capable of anything to survive in the ruins of a storm torn city. I was even more scared when I realized I had no idea where my friend’s place was and I’d have to make my way on my own. I dropped into the bar where the sign outside read, “You can’t kick the blues in a Vanilla City.”

A blue collar bar with friendly people that once they found out I was from out of town were very adamant about how the insurance companies screwed them. We shared sips from a bottle of Kentucky whiskey while I listened to the stories how FEMA and Allstate were a pack of shit eating cock suckers. I remembered that my host here in New Orleans, Russ Brown, had left a message with directions to his home so a bid my new friends good a good luck and off I went.

Russ was asleep in his chair as I barged in the door. I demanded he wake is lazy ass up and take me out to the local nightlife. My first thought as we walked into a local watering hole was, “Where are all the black people?” Russ informed me that this was the college side of town and that New Orleans was one of the most segregated cities in the country.

As we arrived back to my truck I saw Russ disappears as if he was sucked under my vehicle. I went to see if he was ok and fell in the same hole he did. Uncovered manholes are apparently pretty common in a city with no infrastructure. On our way home I came to an intersection without a stop sign or stop light and was in a collision with a local girl who fled the scene. The cop showed up two hours later and had no computer system and was reduced to writing the incident down on paper. There was over $5000 dollars damage to my truck and cannot be picked up until April due to the abundance of cars and the lack of help. What a mess. I now drive a rented Dodge Neon and consider myself a victim of Katrina. The medians are not maintained, blocks are still without power, but all of this is no new revelation to anyone who has a television. Still, this is why I came down here: To experience it for myself. Be careful of what you wish for and all that.


Aside from the accident, I loved my time in the Big Easy. The people were friendly, the women were beautiful, and the music was fantastic. I went to see Kermit Ruffins and his cavalcade of black entertainment. His entourage included a fierce tambourine player, a gospel style jazz singer, and dueling trumpets. I danced my cracker ass off.

If you read this modest little blog of mine you know that I’m a gambler. I hate that I did one of the most tourist-y things in the city, but I had to go to Harrah’s Casino. It had just opened the week of my arrival and I’m a sucker for the poker table. Again, there were interesting stories and fun people there. I ran into the second trumpet player at the Kermit show in the casino that next evening and he was wearing the same suit sipping on a spirit. “Great job last night man, you can play the hell out of that trumpet.” I told him. “Thanks man, where you from?” “Houston.” I replied. I had to look up since he towered over my 6”2’ frame. He leaned down, grabbed me on the arm, and whispered into my ear, “Everyone from here is there now. It’s crazy.” Then he walked on mysteriously.

Well, I can’t wait to get back in April when I pick up my car. Russ will be doing all the driving.

Artic Circle Nigga!!

When I am not sucking off truckers, according to Chad, I am sometimes called upon to travel to remote locations, and teach people to read. I call it reading, because, jesus christ, they have the tech bulletins! How hard can it be to set up a damn well. Plug and play people, plug and play.

Apparently, my time is worth about $900 a day. WTF, I was a stoned couch coaster not fucking 9 months ago. Not fucking 9 months. It feels weird to be respected, valued financially. Not to mention, I get to use my quirky mind for something other than banging away at America's finest young ladies.

So, its Alaska. Beyond any comprehension. I spend my time looking outside at the -35 degree weather. Snow covers all.

The scenery here is mesmerizing. I think I understand how Odysseus must have felt, as I feel the sirens call to go on a walkabout, to find out where the world ends.

BTW, there are no reputable medical programs in Austin. Certainly not at Brackenridge. Certainly not.

Cock sucka.

Live to love folks.

With some exceptions...

reeder aka "trucker cock master" out

Some Days....

Some fucking days, you find that you are miserable, your ex is dating a doctor and is totally happy, you have 6 projects going on, one of which is due today, and one which involves you flying to Alaska for a week, you can't pay for a traffic ticket because everyone works 10-2, you have a piss test you are scared shitless of, never have any time to workout, can't motivate yourself, and your ex is dating a fucking doctor.

And just when you thought you were doing fucking phenomenal.

It does make a mistake ridden idiot like myself analyze what the hell is going on in his world, and what the hell I want to do here before I become the ether.

Trucker cock indeed.

"Trucker Cock Tastes Like Love"

Girl Scout Cookie Time

It's my favorite time of year again. No, it's not President's Day. No, it's not Ramadan. No, it's not National Porn Week. It's girl scout cookie time. These delicious little morsels of sugary goodness make this rubenesque tummy sing with want. I don't think that the descriptions on the side of these boxes give these little delights there propers. I'd like to offer these alternative descriptions.

Caramel DeLites: An orgy of coconut, caramel, and crunchy cookie that with one bite will make you want to kick the Pillsbury Dough Boy in the ballsack. The chocolate stripes and coating on the bottom is but an attache to the flavortastic symphony that is the caramel DeLite.

Classic Shortbread: Buying these cookies officially makes you a dull bastard. Might as well just go down to Wal-Mart and buy a big white trash tin of Danish Butter Cookies and throw them one by one at the little sash wearing angel in your doorstep. Seriously, what were you thinking.

Peanut Butter Creme: These tantalizing little gems are the reason George Washington Carver was born. Chrispy peanut butter cookies provide the carriage for the creamy treat inside. If you're lactose intolerant then you're screwed because these little dudes are fantastic with any kind of milk. Goat milk, cow milk, buttermilk, human milk, skunk milk, it doesn't matter because they are that fucking good!

Thin Mints: Roll out the red carpet and make way for the king of all cookies. Put them in your freezer and prepare for frozen cookie goodness. I could eat these cookies out of the asshole of a dead Chinese. In some cultures the Thin Mint is used a currency. Scientists believe that the earth began as one single Thin Mint that was so dense that it collapsed in on itself and created the Universe. Thin Mints have been known to cure cancer, rickets, leukemia, and hepatitis B. Some believe that the obesity problem in the U.S. is a result of the irresistibleness of Thin Mints. The orgasmic nature of these little crunchy yummies is undeniable. If your local girl scout is out of them kick her square in the cunt.

I Really Hate My Fucking Job Right Now

I suppose that if I was Chinese sweat shop labor working my fingers bloody attaching those little rings on nikes that hold the shoe strings I would lie to myself to justify my existence. I would tell myself that I was contributing to the world economy and my blindness and broken digits were character building. Maybe it's human nature to make the best of a situation in order to keep from suicide. This is the revelation I've made during the twilight of my employment.

Let me tell you about my working conditions. I live in a trailer. Not a double wide or even a single wide. A silver bullet has more amenities than the fucking thing I'm typing in right now. There is the constant hum of air motors and air conditioners. There is no kitchen, no television, and sometimes no couches. I had to buy my own microwave, satellite television, and stove. The internet is slow, the electricity is sketchy, and there isn't hot water in every sink. I'm in the middle of nowhere and I have to drive into town to get anything I may need. Every trip into town costs me money because gas isn't taken care of. "You got to spend money to make money.", my boss says. What a load of shit.

Now that we're on bosses let me tell you about this winner. Here is his definition of profit sharing. Money that should have gone for our Christmas bonus this year went to buying new computer screens for the trailers. Since we get to use the screens, that's profit sharing. Meanwhile, I didn't get my parents, aunts, or uncles any Christmas gifts. We did get a bonus but it was nothing compared to last years and came after Christmas. He pays his most experienced employees less than they deserve because they are so nice they don't want to ask for more money. There are no paid vacations, there is no weekends, there are only 12 hour shifts and a pat on the back. He's good about making you feel good about the job you're doing though, but there are only so many atta' boy's I can listen to before it sounds like utter bullshit. "You're a rising star in the company.", "You're doin' a great job.", all bullshit. It's just to keep you working. He must think that all his employees are fucking idiots.

I'm watching the episode of 'The Office' where Tim quits. I sympathize with him. Doesn't he come back in the second season with a promotion?

Clay Aiken is Ridiculously, Ridiculously Gay.

I saw him catch a ball thrown by Jimmy Kimmel the other day. He did the queerest catch of all, the double arm under catch. And it was during some NFL game. I could see Jimmy's desire to show just how queer Clay is just bursting out. He even did a slow motion replay. But WTF is up with ABC pushing that fag's PR harder than Clay pushes at his male fans? Just milking the "is he gay or straight?!?!" conundrum as much as they can. Future folks will look upon our Clay worship on VH1 with shame.

I read that Paris Hilton and some guy broke up. Her vagina is just a shell of what it once was. I mean, she just gets dug out by everyone. Must be nice to live in a coked out coma, or maybe it's a disasterous nightmare, I dunno. I mean, how low can one's self-asteem really get? Or is that what passes for a life in the American no-class elite?

Bling Bling America, Bling Bling indeed.

What else, what else....

I'm addicted to Rome, watch it whenever I can and discuss it on the messenger boards, that's just the way it is. Everyone is murdering everyone, and their morals are very pragmatically relative. No very hard stances really. And the afterlife isn't limited by the same sort of hinderances as in judeo-christian hang-ups.

Bored.