One Short Stack, Coming Up – A Tattoo’s Story

 Food, Hate, Injury, Life Lessons, Story, World's Worst  8 Responses »
Jan 122010
 

My one time great dorm mate and supposed tweaker, Dave W. Cissell , once posted on his Facebook that “Morality is temporary, wisdom is permanent…”

tattoo

Notice the butterfly's unicorn horn

tattoo of pancake

Short stack, short stack, coming up

There was a time when I was strictly opposed to the form of body art known as tattooing.  I forbade myself from ever permanently scarring my flesh with some meaningless tribal band or ill placed flower.  I was opposed, until I heard this story of a band of brothers and their quest for greatness; a story that I’m making mine.  This story gave me wisdom.

And, so it was.  I ventured into the vast expanse of the world and came back with a permanent scar.  It’s something to show just how committed to living life fully I really am.  Sunday:

My wife, Jessica, and I went to the tattoo parlor the other day and returned with ink.  We were assisted by Ben at Primitive Soul Tattoo in Lakewood, CO.

Nice place.  Clean, seemingly reputable.

We were joined by our good friend and snack raider, Tyler J.  Jessica didn’t want us to watch as she received her ‘too so Ty and I ran to get some pho.  It took an hour, but it was really good pho.  Pho 95.  The best, Jerry.  The best.  We were headed back when I received a call from Jessica.  ”It’s time,” she said.

When I arrived there were some kids standing outside the shop smoking.  One looked like a retard, another one slipped on some ice and nearly fell.  As I was walking in, I slipped in the same spot.  ”Now who looks like the retard?” their jeers suggested.

We went in and I got inked.  Squid style, son.  The image of a short stack of pancakes three high, forever ingrained in my skin and on my soul.  Maybe one day I’ll incorporate some mythical creature with a bowl of cereal for a body and bulls-eye eggs and bacon for a face hurdling over my pancakes.  The sky’s the limit!

Afterwards, we went to a liquor store to get some beer and I showed the Chinese lady my new tattoo and she was aghast.  Take that, lady!  You just got caked.  I’m living.  I’m full of wisdom and, now, beer.  Here’s a movie:

 Posted by wolsamnoraa at 11:26 am  Tagged with: , , , , , , ,

Nicknames

 Story  No Responses »
Nov 132009
 

Yesterday I was riding in a car with my friends Ty and Chris. Everyone knows Ty and has called him Tito since high school. One time his dad f*cked up and called him T-Bone. Luckily it never stuck. In college, Ty proclaimed himself as the Spoon and then eventually the Mayor. This came after he Youtubed three hours of old McDonald’s commercials featuring Mayor McCheese. He loved it. These days, I call him Ty D but he prefers T. Jackson or The Hate F*ck (it was his facebook name until it was censored) or The Ol’ Boy. Whatever you call him, he is a lovely and fair skinned gentleman.

Chris, who was also in the car, was once known as Dolph Lundgren after his uncanny resemblance to the Siberian Bull from the movie Rocky IV. Recently and unknowingly he was nicknamed Carrots by my wife, J-Dubs. J-Dubs has been called Wooten or Hot Pants and J Maz.  She has a myriad of friends like Skirt Steak and Droopy Nipple. Droopy Nipple used to work at Applebee’s where she rated highest in customer satisfaction. Apparently, her tips reflected her performance and she became known as Boosty Tipple or BT for short which evolved into Burny Tits and then Swink.

My other friend is Sizzle Bok who dressed as a Mexican named Johnny Gomez for a costume party. My brother is Milhouse, Milkill, Milshoe, Shoe, Shoehouse, Millie and, from a misspelling on his high school letter jacket, Millhouse.  I know Jim Jam and Rik.  I have a friend Jake the Snake.  One named J. Pa. and Blum (sounds like bloom).  Blum hangs out with Nelson and Steve B.  Gary is one.  Teens is another.  Goldy, Chesty and Slitty Wrists.  S Mas and his son, X Mas.  J Leezy for sheezy.  Drary.  The Boss, Champ or Curty.  Petey and Wheels and Lamby Poo.  Jay Nev. Teddy Po.  I saw J.R. Swish on TV.  Oh, and for me…they call me Wolsamnoraa (not really, though) which is part Russian and, as I found out today from my mother and her husband, Papa Paul, part French which translates as Special Boy.  And that’s all I can think of right now.  Did I miss one?  Fill me in.

Gay sailor line

This is where I got the name McStainy. My dry cleaner, Mr. Wong, is such a goof.

 Posted by wolsamnoraa at 5:47 pm  Tagged with: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Trendy Trash Talkers Use Drugs

 Driving Car, Hate, Hot Chicks, Story  No Responses »
Jun 302009
 

I was driving home the other night from The Hangover with my lovely wifey pooh when the car I was driving was nearly cut off by some radical dudes with tassels on their rear view.  Now, my initial reaction was that I was going to knife these bitches if they started any sh&t, but that feeling eventually escalated (that’s right, more higher).

The inconsiderate punks flipped a sick bitch (it was a power move) and hauled some serious balls right up next to my ride.  You’ll have to understand here, when I mentioned at the beginning of this story that “I was driving“, what I meant was J Dubs, my lover, was driving.

Not only is she a better driver than me at night (I don’t have glasses), she has a hot rack, and I was drunk, but she didn’t know that.  It made sense she drove.

Anyway, these jerk terds, all jostled and riled because they almost hit me, came screaming up next to my ride.  These dudes were crazied in the faces and loud.  The driver’s all, ”Ah, foo! We’se gonna f*ck you up and take your sense of self worth!  You drive negligently!  I’m gonna get a pistole and choo choo.  Even with our limited knowledge of the world and lack of maturity, we graduated foo (from what, he didn’t say).  See my tassel?!”

At that point, I’m livid.  My buzz was wearing off and the light we were sitting at just turned green.  The little hand was already blinking in the cross walk.  I took off my seat belt and reached out of my car, grabbing for nothing but thin air (these dudes were like 8 feet away).  I started screaming obscenities and snarling.  I talked and spit.  I closed my eyes really tight giving the impression that I wasn’t able to see dog sh()t when it was in it’s mom’s station wagon (ba zing!).

Meaningless dribble and insults followed.  And finally I yelled, “You druggers!”  We drove away.  They drove away to buy drugs.  My lovin and loin muscles were throbbing from anxiety and excitement.  I lip kissed the girl and we went home.

 Posted by wolsamnoraa at 4:23 pm  Tagged with: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
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