|
SubscriptionsSites I Read
|
|
|
|
| It has been quite some time since my last post. I know that many of you have been sitting on the edge of your seats, waiting for my review of the new Madden game (I play 12 hours a weekend) or looking for me to tell you what to do with your fantasy football draft since these things, along with microwave foods and downloading pornography, are my main areas of expertise. I'm sorry for letting you down, but I have one little thing to make it up to you. That thing, my friends, is a mental picture I'm about to draw for you.
Clear your minds of the Ryan Dopson you once knew. The black backwards Nike hat, the black shirt, the cargo pants, the baby soft skin without the hint of a whisker, the hands without a single blister or callous aside from the one on my main video game thumb. Wipe all these things away. Now picture a man in the rugged north west, wearing a flannel shirt and sitting on the seat of a forklift. That's right bitches, I now drive a forklift. There's a new Ryan Dopson today.
The union at my plant went on strike, and apparently the contingency plan in place is to take kids with MBAs who have worked nary a day of manual labor in their life and put them to work doing things that are better suited for men with beards and tobacco in their lips. The plant has gotten some of the workers who weren't in the union to train some of the nerds from finance (me) and some of the other office guys on how to run the equipment. Imagine me, all 134 pounds of me, in my dress shirt that I wore to the office, running a welder for 12 hours on Monday. Today, I sat my 5'4" frame on a huge forklift and completed half of my training to be a certified forklift operator, which pretty much puts me 1/3 of the way to manhood. Now, all I have to do finish the training, somehow work up a couple of whiskers on my chin and stick my erect wiener inside a woman and I will officially be a man. That will be a beautiful day, my friends. That will be a beautiful day. | | |
| I apologize to all my loyal readers for the gap in posting. It turns out that I don't have that much to write about since I don't really do anything but go to work and play XBox/work out trades in my 7 fantasy baseball leagues. One thing I did do recently was go to see the new Superman movie. I wore my Spiderman underpants because Spiderman is way more awesome than Superman, but any nerdy comic book based movie is on my radar so I went to see it anyway. It took me this long to go see it because I did not want to be that guy sitting in the movie theater on a Friday night by himself while everyone else was there with a friend/girlfriend/wife. I got over it and went to see it because my nerd yearnings are more powerful than my yearnings to be a viable member of a social community.
Saturday I did put pants on and made it out of my apartment to have a few drinks with some people from work. Contrary to popular belief, not everyone I work with has a beard, wears flannel shirts and runs a welder or a riveter, although this does describe a significant number of my coworkers, including the women. Anyway, we went to a bar which was filled with a mix of tough, midwestern rednecks, a similar version to the rednecks from the east coast but even more prone to trying to break a pool cue over someone's back. Anyway, I was having a nice time at the bar because they a) had foosball b)played the thong song c)have blackjack tables. Most of the bars in North Dakota have a few blackjack tables a la a real casino because there is basically nothing else going on in the entire region so they give the citizens a vice to go along with drinking (which is done heavily) and fighting. Apparently, one of the guys in the bar did not have enough vices because he tried to pick a fight with me, the 5'6" kid who was not talking to anyone and wearing an unassuming plain black backwards hat with a plain black shirt and cargo pants. (This as you know is to me as the blue tights, red underoos, and red cape are to Superman.) As he walked past me, our conversation went somewhere along these lines:
Hillbilly: Don't give me that look
The Bismarquee: What look?
Idiot: You know what I'm talking about
Your hero: OK
At which time I slipped out of the bar and prayed that he didn't follow me and pummel blows upon my tiny body until someone who didn't want to see a fight came over to pull him off me. I was almost sure that this person did not exist in Bismarck.
Unleash the Dragon. | | |
| http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f1RGtd6ynak&search=badass | | |
| So one great thing about my job is that I can wear a polo shit to work. It's not really an office environment so the dress code is really laid back, laid back to the point that we have to wear steel toe boots on the floor of the plant. I really like this because I don't have to wear dress socks. I hate this because the boots are really heavy and it hurts my underdeveloped leg muscles if I have to walk around too much during the day. | | |
| Today, I signed up to play on the company softball team. I'm pretty sure that some of the guys in the factory are pretty hardcore about beer league softball, so basically I'm going to be a backup second baseman.I don't think I have the hitting clout of guys who work in a factory and weigh about 240 each. This reminds me a lot of my little league days when my little baby arm was not strong enough to throw any farther than from second to first. I couldn't even play rightfield with the rest of the scrubs because I couldn't make the throw.
This brings me to the highlight of my Little League career. I played for the Dodgers. We were playing against the league power Orioles. They had their big hurler on the hill and I bunted to move the runner. A series of throwing errors allowed the runner to score and I was on third. Tie game. I was taking a big lead off third until they told me that I wasn't allowed to take a lead. But I was light on my toes watching the big fellla sweat in the heat of the east coast summer. His pitch was low and in the dirt and I took off despite my coaches urging against it. I slid in just beneath the pithcer's tag. I raised my arms victoriously, despite the fact it was only the 4th inning. The coaches took me out the next inning and we lost 12-4. I never felt so alive.
In a side note, I had my cable installed today which makes my existence purposeful once again.
"And that's what it's like to be a gangsta." -- Snoop
| | |
|
