Operation No Doubt is about to be in process.

It seems as though it’s been so long, and yet here we are again, just like old friends, or tent-mates from that refugee camp.

Strange days, just how I like them.

The Astounding Pete is in town, bringing warm weather and comradery, two essential ingredients for enjoying my recently-achieved unemployment. He, like so many others, has come to bask in the glory of the Yay Area, more specifically, the glorious land of adventure and destiny which I like to call the East Bay.

After all, East Bay is pig latin for beast. (Before I am called on it, I did indeed steal that little morsel of insight from a shirt at Buffalo Exchange on Telegraph, a red shirt stuffed in the rack between a pink Jesus Fixed My Hotrod tanktop and a Southdale Eagles Softball jersey. Ah, the joys of shopping in Berkeley.)

We also went to the Union St. bars in SF, the tiny reservation of hetero youth in the wilderness of weird that is The City’s night life. We had a decent time, though it was not all that great, for several reasons. For one, being the one tiny little spot where upwardly mobile conformist 22-25 year olds go in the entire city, the entire block takes on a sort of indian reservation feel. It’s as though in order to balance out all the variety and diversity and intellectualism that exists in the area, the people that populate these establishments must be extra normal. There was a definite uniform in effect (blue and white striped long sleeve shirt, nice jeans, short hair, etc.) which always sucks. It’s frustrating to head to SD and harp on how retarded the filthy southerners are for all being clones, and then come back to SF, the last bastion of civilization in the world, and see the same shit. Come on kids, lets work together to beat this disease.

Ah fuck it who cares.

No passion in my blood tonight, I can’t even playerhate at a minor league level. All of the fury was drained by last night / this morning’s epic 16 hour computer-repairing battle of death. The new (well, new as in ghetto rigged from my old spare parts and a server donated by the Wes Lazara’s Useless Junk From His Front Room That He Wants To Get Rid Of Foundation) computer I built my parents was giving us much guff.

We wrenched and we torqued and we flashed and we formatted, and still the beast refused to function. This, in and of itself, is enough to drive me into a bloodthirsty rage. But of course, I had the bright idea to dump some of my own computer’s parts into the thing and, of course, the shit hit the proverbial fan and neither of them worked after that.

You wouldn’t know it based on my career choice, but I really fucking hate working on computers. When the sons of bitches don’t work, especially when it’s my own particular son (or sons) of bitch, I sort of go insane. Peter, however, calmed my rage and assisted me in a long, drawn out, championship effort and now both PC’s are working very well. Yay for us.

Wow, reading that over, that’s some really boring shit. I apologize. Nobody gives a fuck about my computer. In fact, I only read the first half cuz I got so bored I skipped to here. There’s probably some glaring spelling errors or run on sentences, but I don’t dare journey back into those paragraphs, lest I kick my own ass for subjecting you poor scum to them.

Oh well blah blah going camping, that’s what matters. The troops, well, the VERY FEW TROOPS THAT DIDN’T GO AWOL, and I are going camping and it will rock. Raft, fly rod, hatchet, beer, steak, firewood, brothers, testosterone… we are dangerously well equipped. The rangers in the El Dorado National Forest have issued a bear warning upon hearing of our plans to visit. No doubt, all the bears in the region will lock their food and children up in Chris-and-Peter-proof trunks and not leave garbage near their sleeping areas, lest they attract hazardous humans like ourselves.

If I should stumble upon a wi-fi hotspot near Mount Tallac and a free laptop with which to access it, maybe I’ll check in. Maybe not. Either way, I’ll see you fools in a bit. Don’t forget to water the lawn, and this place better be spotless when I come back.

Peace,

-T.

i’m a lumberjack and that’s ok

p.s. Here are last minute things I forgot to mention:

1) I fucking love Flavor Flave
2) http://www.thememoryhole.org/feds/justice_redaction.htm
W
T
F.
3) I think they should invent Fantasy Fantasy Football, where I can go on the internet and compete in a league where I create a team of geeky ass sports dorks drafted from the geekiest ass sports dorks in the world who, in turn, go on the internet to create a team of football players drafted from the greatest teams in the league. I think it would make the entire concept of fantasy sports much cooler, and add a sort of karmic irony that I crave.
4) I cannot get Motown Philly out of my head. Curse you, boys 2 men. Curse you.

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