Monday was a bad day. I don't mean in the normal, typical crappiness sense of it being a Monday either. (See "Mondays, case of"). No, this was something much, much worse.

I woke up, and the first thought out of my mind was: "Damn it, I'm sick and tired of being a consumer." I dragged myself to the closet, got dressed, and got an energy drink out of the fridge. And from that energy drink, it all went downhill from there. I got the nervous, hysterical shakes I get when I'm 'ffeined up and in a bad mood. They say never take LSD when you're in a bad mood, it'll only amplify the effects. From my experiences with too much caffeine, I can only imagine what sort of monster I'd be on a hallucinogen.

I got to work, and everything bothered me. I mean EVERYTHING. Then we got a call from our out-of-town boss, who was coming to do our performance review at FOUR IN THE FRIGGIN afternoon. I spent all afternoon fretting over that.

After a day I thought I had only barely managed to get through had finally gone by, a good friend at work emails me and tells me that I’ve always been a caring and funny person (HA!), and that my (HA!) sarcasm and cynicism (HA!) are scaring her. Does this person not know me or something? I took stock of things, nevertheless and it was typical livejournal/xanga angst, me being tired of living and of life in general and not wanting to put up with its daily onslaught of attacks and pressures. I woke up this morning and was fine. I really wish it would go ahead and be like spring time or something, only not hot. I need daylight, really, really bad. I’m not the only one either…this weather is affecting many of my friends, and you know who you are.

---

Enter into the equation fartywoman at work. Old woman, nice as can be, but painfully opinionated on her liberal side of politics. As if I didn’t have enough to listen to with all of the right wing morons that surround me. (Politics in general are dumb and useless. I don’t care what party you affiliate yourself with, they’re all the same due to said uselessness)

Fartywoman makes odd quasi-gourmet dishes and then tries to pass them around. I got a thing of mango chutney one year and it had a bug in it. She also puts ginger in her hot sauce and other weird eastern/medditeranean spices in things that TOTALLY have no reason to taste like grandma’s used diaper. Anyway, fartywoman won’t leave me alone. She stands her talking about such useful things as her daughter’s shaving accidents, her own bouts with gas and heart trouble. Sprinkle it with a liberal dose of Bush-bashing and useless banter about horticulture, and you’ve got this ol’ lady.

She sits there today, reading her usual erotica novel at lunch (NOT romance. She gets hardcore smut ‘literature’ from somewhere and reads it.), and I get to hear her make comments about the lesbian couple du jour, etc. It’s all punctuated with farts and grunts and self-aggrandizing comments about her cooking. I wonder what I did to deserve being put in this trailer with her while our new building is being built. *sigh*

Feckin Obese Slag and the bounced check

- So's wie stoap aye thi DandyDan's fi aye spot aye lager, ken? This fat cow ave ay coont's en froont iv us. Gettin thi gas fi her trashy car, likesay. We've not goat thi score on thi broad, cus she like, gets 2 packsaye pony boatles an a carton aye virginia slims. Virginia Slims? Kin ell, we wanted ta choke thi fat cow oan thi feckin spot, likes. Lowest of the low, ken?

Then the catboy runnin thi till tells thi cow, 'Sev-en-ty Sev-en.' Thi cow starts writin thi cheque an bein all difficult, an thi cheque willnae be accepted by thi till. She whinges boot how kin her cheque not be accepted. Wie kin tell ye, coont: ye wrote bad cheques, ya slag.


====================

Jeez.

Took twenty minutes to get my six pack of Tecate today.

Irvine Welsh is brain crack. The man's a genius, what with the regional dialect writing style and all.

Led Zeppelin owns you.

Yay.

Hacked firmware on my router. It stopped dropping off now.

Yay.

*yawn*

As I wait for a dvd to transcode before the burn, I realize that there needs to be a new expression in the American vocabulary. Instead of 'this is as fun as watching paint dry', one needs to utter, 'this is as much fun as watching nero create an image for burning'. It's horrible. I mean, what, an hour to transcode/image, then 5 minutes to burn it all? Am I missing something here?

This is like back in the old days, like Internet Explorer 3 days, when you'd hit up some smarmy guy's website that had java scripts all over the place. Remember the flashing backgrounds, the cutesy pictures with the 'reflecting water' underneath, waving around? How about the cursors? The cube with the pictures rotating?

THIS CRAP COST PROCESSOR AND BANDWIDTH, MORONS. I always hated it when you'd get to a site and all of a sudden in the browser status bar it'd say 'starting JAVA'...and you'd be there for 3 minutes. It was worse than the Sega CD read time.

I had one friend who's short, abruptly sweet answer was to simply turn off all images and read pure text. I suppose had Jean Arnold been involved with my pc at the time I would have done the same thing. Wait...he was involved with mine. Nevermind.

"You don't neeeeeed 16MB of RAM..."

I enjoy waiting 13 months for a computer to be built, and then finally calling him to find out where the hell it is, only to have him tell you 'I can't talk now'. It was actually the police there, searching his house right before he went to slammer academy.

*sigh*

And then the bloody sound card didn't work.

So I traded a chimp subcriminal techhie for a sexually perverted gun freak with a penchant for Lolitas and wood to pursue and harrass minorities computer Lord. I watched him walk out of a movie once because Wesley Snipes kissed a white woman.

I never associated with him again after that. I gave up and eventually became a systems administrator and hardware gimp to avoid freaks altogether.

Now I'm one. But...you know, without the Lolitas and racists. Or police searching my home.



Yup.

I think I have discovered quite possible the single most atrocious human being in Jones County.

I was in the drivethrough line at Taco Bell last night, and it was my turn to pull up. I'd been sitting for the better part of 15 minutes behind this phallic Hummer H2 that blocked the view of any and every maddafriggin thing on the horizon. The swat mobile finally gets to the window, gets their food, and drives off. Now it is my turn to get my food. I'm getting it, I pay, and I leave. Only...what's this? The hummer has not only NOT turned out of the drive-thru, it's stopped! And what else?? It's BACKING UP. It comes to a halt in front of me, blocking my passage! I'm STUCK and LOST is starting! ARGH. Anyway, the door opens, and I feel like so many characters in sci-fi movies where the UFO is opening for the first time. I was bathed in a mixture of noxious exhaust and white light eminating from the Hummership, and Ryan Adams music from my own car. And out comes this...short...blonde...thing, with a foofy little gap hat on and twinkly scarf and sweat pants. She walks up the sidewalk, past me, to the drive-thru window, and demands the Root Beer she hasn't been given. Could she DRIVE into the the DAMN PARKING LOT FOR THAT?! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. She's blocked in at least 12 cars for her Root Beer. I've always been a loudmouth around friends, but when it came to people like her I've traditionally kept my mouth shut. Not last night. I've got the flu, and the only show I watch on television was on. I rolled down my window and asked her why her bony ass couldn't have pulled around to the parking lot to ask for that drink. She ignored me, so then I tried plan B: The Buick horn. It's loud and nasty. And it also made her jump this retarded pixie jump that was hilarious. Had she fallen with the root beer I would have died and gone to heaven right on the spot. She finally left and I finally got home, but she was a real lesson in 'me-first'-ology.

Ok, now I've heard my fair share of home remedies in my life. When I had chicken pox the 2nd time (yes I had them twice. Had 14 sores the first round and years later in high school I had like 14,000), an old woman told my grandma and I that we should take a black hen out and kill it at midnight, then spatter the blood on my chicken pox. She said she wasn't sure if it would work on chicken pox, but it cured shingles, which was the same thing. She said it was urgent to do it because if the shingles 'touched' and created a belt that completely encircled the abdomen, that the person would die.

Country ignorance is a beautiful thing.


Anyway, I was coughing and couldn't stop. My ribs are sore and my throat even worse, so my wife gets up and comes back with a tub of Vicks and starts removing my socks. I ask her what in Sam Hill's name is she doing, and she starts rubbing the soles of my feet down with Vicks and then instructs me to put my socks back on. I'm making fun of her the entire time. Then she insists on putting it on the palms of my hands. I freak out and ask her what will happen if I, like, scratch myself during the night (already anticipating the pain), and she told me it'd be all my fault if i did. She told me she has no idea why, but her mom always did this and it worked...

Guess what. I stopped coughing. I don't know what the hell your feet have to do with coughing, or if it was a placebo type thing, but by golly, I stopped and slept ALL NIGHT for the first time since Saturday. It was a glorious thing.

I'm disturbed nonetheless.

I learned something today.

'Flu' doesn't necessarily mean 'puking your guts out', or 'the runs'. Flu means a dry, hacking cough that no medicine calms. It's been several years since I had it and I would love to choke whoever brought this on my family. Non handwashing chimps...

I also learned that this wonderfully trendy drug Tamiflu is expensive. I mean really expensive. Try $100 if you don't have insurance. That's 10 bucks a pill, $20 a day. It was $70 WITH insurance. The remainder of the eight of us were put on it today and I watched in awe and grief as the debit card ran through the machine at the pharmacy...once for $120, once for $170. Can you imagine if we all get the Bird-flu AIDS? Roche will make themselves even richer.

Buttmasters.

Jeez.

By the way, it's flu everyone. FLU!

Why, dear Lord, why?!?!?!

I swear I don't know how this crap happens to me.

Weird things of the past few months:

• Back to the whole "I've seen you before" fun-with-identifying-someone, in the local mall where I work they have these dumb advertisements for a photography studio. It's one of the expensive ones, where they put the portrait on an actual canvas and stretch it or whatever. Anyway, there are these fine pics, usually of a Lamar-county whiteboy in his saggy pants, showing drawers, no shirt on, bling bling on, hat sideways with a do-ray underneath, arms crossed in a 'kiss my ass' posture, and leaning against a camaro. I couldn't ever make this bullcrap up if I tried to. Well anyway, there's this one portrait of a typical high-maintenance blonde from Canebrake, leaning against a fence. The prominent focal point of this picture however happens to be this girl's deformed forehead. It's so large, in fact, I named the portrait "Bonk's Revenge" after the old Turbo-grafx 16 game of yore.

This girl had a head that's only good use was for destruction. Everytime I went to the mall, I'd often ignore (or at least attempt to, hey! I'm a man) the Victoria's Secret 'come look at me' storefront windows in favor of gazing upon Bonk's striking features. Pardon the pun, if you will. Well one day, it happened. I saw this girl at Schlotzky's. I was with my friend/coworker and as I casually sipped on my diet soda, I glanced over at the window in the northeast corner of the building, and there sat Bonk, in all her forehead glory! I tried my best not to stare, but it eventually degraded to me with sunshades on giggling manically, while my coworker tactfully blurts on "Holy S***! It is Bonk!" That pretty much summed up my reaction too, Mr. Pottymouth. One day Bonk disappeared from the mall. I will find another advert for this company one day and post a picture of bonk so you can see how wonderful her cranium really is.

I found the stupid picture below googling 'Bonk'. I think they're retarded.

• Another thing that happened was just today, as a matter of fact. I started the day off with a nutritious breakfast of a pop tart, a tabasco slim jim, a diet dr pepper, an oatmeal cream pie, and that staple of this time of year, the Cadbury's Cream Egg. Yes, it's safe to start recollecting the commercial for these, with the adorable bunny (Fatal Attraction anyone?) clucking like a hen laying an egg! How CUTE! Anyway, I didn't actually down all of this stuff, but I bought it and kept the junk stashed away in case I needed a fix on the way to Mobile today. On highway Bloody 98, I cracked this egg open, and started licking the filling out of it. I was enjoying it so much that I drooled onto my freshly-crisped dress shirt. CRAP, I said as I tried to dab it off. Right then my passenger yells DUDE!!!! and then....THUD. Apparently I hit a big, square, plastic...thing. I have no clue what it was but it grabbed a sure hold of the undercarriage of my hooptie. We had to stop and pry it out from under there. I brought it home with me, and intended to take a picture of it just now, but I have no inclination to because A.)It's 3:16 in the morning and B.)I got sick on the way down there, which leads me to...

• Why the hell do parents manage to contract whatever upper respiratory AIDS their kids bring home from school? ALWAYS? I'm sick of this. Or, actually and more probable, the spore count from all this Katrina-caused mold growth has brought back my hacking. As many of you know, I managed to swallow and breathe and nice amount of gasoline in the aftermath due to our desperation to siphon it out of any destroyed vehicle we could find/get to. Since then, I've had bronchitis no less than 4 times and I think it's coming back again. I'm probably a moron. Am i? Yeah, I think so. I should have taken up smoking instead.
  

On second thought, I'm going to go play video games now.

Are these just not the two most ADORABLE children you've ever seen in your life? they posed especially for this update. I hope you enjoy their delicate "I'm English and it's c. 1960" smiles.

I am currently babysitting monsters. The three smallest, and the oldest one. My daughter is sicker than a sick dog and is in bed watching Bob Ross paint 'happy trees'. Excellent comment of today: "Don't be afraid of that titanium white. There are no mistakes here, only happy accidents." It was awesome. I LOVE HIM. I always feel like I could paint an impressionistic masterpiece when i watch him, but always realise my artistic shortcomings, usually as I hurl my sketchbooks out the window.

I used to be talented. I used to be able to draw, to paint, to write. But it's slipped away. Sometimes I ask myself did I actually have a talent. My best friend tells me life has ground me down, and I have no time to pursue creative, um, pursuits (I love how he put it).

I'm going to go play HalfLife 2 now and shoot at things.

Talk about running into the wrong end of a conversation. I was chatting with my good friend the Whyzeman at his place of business tonight, and as I left him, I walked between a group of 3 of the typical aisle-hogging whores that are typical in our local retail outlets. One of them inflated her cheeks and wildly shook her head, proclaiming "It was just like this, and she was dead!" I almost screamed WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!, it scared me that bad.

Also, I have another serious problem. I've been bittorrenting a lot lately, getting movies and music. On one particular site, there's a so-called 'discreet local tryst' dating type ad. It's got so-called 'hotness' from the Laurel area....typical names are "HotSexiMomma242323423423 from Pendorf, MS" in a compromising position on the beach...really bad ads. Once, there was a woman with a gag-ball in her mouth, and she was tied to a chair. The ad read "I really like to be bound, because if I escape you'll have to catch me!" Well, I saw her. She's a waitress at a restaurant in Hattiesburg. And she was our waitress. What do you tell someone? "Hey, I saw your bondage personal ad on a hacker website. Are you really that twisted?" Jeez.

Well, I'm so upset about it now I look out for these people at the store so I can yell at them "HO!"

Today has been an absolute nightmare.

I woke up yesterday after a nightmare involving some gang-type person chasing me down the 'main drag' street in town (you know where it is, no need to be so specific *paranoid internet*). This person would run along side me, then disappear in the bushes, then show up again. Eventually he jumped off a hill down onto the sidewalk and tried to attack me. For some reason, I knew he was New Orleans rifraff that had moved up here. He said he'd cut my throat. When he bore down on the knife blade and i felt it tearing into the flesh on my neck, I somehow pulled a Chuck Norris move, and gutted the guy with a bowie knife I somehow conveniently was carrying in my hand. (damn dreams)

A policeman stopped, and I begged him for a ride to a gas station up the street so I could at least walk home in a part of town that's not bad, and he mumbles in a hick accent something about it being against police department protocols and SOP's, and drives off. The fact that a dead miscreant lying on the ground with his entrails everywhere never came up into the conversation somehow. Yep, that's our police department, alright.

Anyway. I woke up from this dream with an incredible urge to go to the bathroom, and while up and stirring about, I felt a contact was acting up on me, so I squirted some drops in it. The box says it's for those days when your contacts are foggy, itchy and you can't see clearly. Well, I woke up Monday morning and the crack of light peeking through the curtains felt white hot. I had tears coming down my face, and my iris/pupil had a red halo ring around it. Converging on this halo were all the veins in my eye. I looked truly demonic. I layed in bed with a pillow over that eye, and later on when I was in the bath i had to put a towel over it. I don't know what the hecks' going on, but at one point I dove out of the tub and peeled my contacts out. I've been putting antibiotic drops in that eye, and I don't appear demonic now, just slightly stoned. Anyone want to pay for Lasik surgery? I'm a more-than-willing candidate.

==========

Today at work, there have been 'latencies in the network services'. I don't know about you, but I'm tired of this INGSOC DOUBLEBADNEWSPEAK CRAPPINESS. 'Latencies' basically mean that the network is yo-yoing like a haemorhoid, on and off on and off. It's horrible. Nothing is being productive and the phone won't stop ringing. People don't seem to understand that it's out of one's hands. Darn providers...


Nothing else has been interesting . *sigh*

Boring me.

I decided to log into Sirius to listen to Back Spin's 'ol skool hip hop' goodness. God, it couldn't have been timed better. Beastie Boys' 'Brass Monkey' starts up as if on cue.

==========

I am disgusted with life in general. A person living in my house has enough cash to throw around and make empty promises involving purchasing me an XBox 360, while I have to rob money out of the joint checking account to buy a friggin car tag renewal (yes, I'm paying it back this weekend, when i get paid. I was sick of driving around with 'November 05' on the back, shining for every cop in town to see).

I'm tired when i get home, mad, upset, my eyes burn, and I see no point in doing anything anymore. Maybe it's the winter, I don't know. I love cold weather though. Yeah, gotta be the winter time because I feel in my innards that it's that much easier to cross the line and become an alkie. It disappears in the CRAP BATTERY DYING HOLD ON

Jeez.

Anyway. It disappears in the spring.

If it'd stay light til' 8pm I'd be set. Yesssss...Tribe Called Quest just faded in after Brass Monkey went off. Does ANYONE listen to normal radio anymore? Heh, song says 'you got BBD on the wall'...BBD's biggest mistake ever was 'introducing' Boyz II Men to the world, because 'Poison' only carried them so far, albeit pretty damn far. I used to think Kid n Play were straight up pimply...


My age is showing.


Speaking of Boyz II Men. They're playing the bar up at a casino in north mississippi. Have we sunk THAT far? What the...

LL COOL J...'oooo eeee oooo...oooooo-o'. You're the Type of Guy...

Lord. Definitely old. And these new bucks think Cool J, Ice T, and 'Cube have always been actors or in movies.

Know what I hate? I hate when your granma has more than one grandkid in town, yet you are the one who is responsible for doing everything. I mean everything for her. That's what my case is...

Not that I mind helping her, mind you. I love doing any and everything I can for her...hell, I mean she raised me when I was an infant and dad was wild and out of touch with humanity. It's the least I can do for her. But my God, when I've given up my afternoon to go by the granny #1 a TV, not found one in my town and driven 30 minutes down the road, lugged it back, and have half-broken my back removing the old one, I don't want to hear excuses. "We've just sat down to dinner. Can't it wait until tomorrow?" Yeah, right bubba. I gave up my day willingly. All I wanted was someone to help me unload the new tv and carry it LITERALLY 10 FEET into the living room. Oh well, peoples' true colours shine when you need them.

"That's fine, no problem," I told him. Sure, no problem in the friggin' world.

I found a friend of mine to help me out. He wouldn't even take a coke or $10 I tried to offer him. (Thanks Raul! Not that you read this...)

It just never ceases to amaze though, seriously.


===============================

Weekend was unmentionable. Nothing nice. Only about 30 hours of sleep combined. Allergies to codeine cause all-night itching, all-night itching causes all-night scratching and not sleeping, which causes magazines to be read, bead necklaces to be strung, Massive Attack to be listened to, and video games to be played. All's fine at first, then the next day the F-up Fairy arrives to tell you how much you've, well, F'ed up.

I want a beer. Gonna find one maybe. Hopefully.

I am posting from...*gasp*...work.

Trade secret how I got here though. ;)

----

I think it's wonderful when we're obligated to give new, high-end computers to people who can't even turn them on. I mean, I know I'm it's my job to help them, being in tech-support and all, but I have a serious problem when someone in this modern age of computing can't figure out which button is the power button. When I am on the phone with you, and trying to coach you on how to reboot the computer, but somehow you turn the 'turning the computer on' phase into a 2 minute ordeal, there is a serious problem.

There is also a problem if you cannot create an icon on your desktop for a shortcut. I realize that the former Worldcom HQ up the road had elves that were paid $70k a year to run upstairs and make it for Bernie Ebbers and the rest of those morons. However, that is why they are now in prison and the elves are now jobless and/or working with me here for a third of what they made before.

It's also fun how someone can try to enforce a dress code on you to wear khakis, and yet the person who is 'employee of the quarter' at last count had 30 piercings, including brow bars, nose rings, tongue bars, multiple earrings, and tattoos all over their visible skin. And a pentagram necklace. I wore a beanie, bead necklaces, allstars, and a leather studded wristband today. They can deal. If not, the pc will stay broke while I get in my car and leave.

Also, if I hear any more retarded regurgitation of crap that morons like Sean Hannity et al constantly squawk on radio, I'll die. I mean seriously. My head will explode, and I'll die. And it's not just the 'right' people. It's the 'left' ones in my trailer. They're ALL obnoxious. JEEZ. LAY OFF ALREADY.

This is why I've switched over to Sirius satellite radio. There's nothing like it. Try it.


===============

Edit: I forgot to add this.

You know, people stay on Oasis about changing. Some people just stay on Oasis, period. 'Not fond of them', and other wordy, altisonante terms. But still. This next-to-last cd that came out proves my point. There's the typical 'wall of sound', strings, guitars...and then there's just...

Noel.

Noel, playing on that acoustic guitar, by himself, playing Noel things that are obviously from Noel's mind. It's classic Oasis. I live for those brief, 30 second ditties where he's picking something that sounds so...real. So sincere. So heart-rending. And you hear it over, and over, and over and it NEVER gets old. (Case in point: 'Don't go away', the very end...)
====================

Oh yeah.

I HEARD SOMEONE SAY 'CRESTFALLEN' ON THE RADIO THE OTHER DAY! MY EXISTENCE IS VALIDATED!

(Those that need to know what the hell I'm talking about in that last statement already know. It's an inside-type thing.)

I can't sleep. This medicine has a wonderful side effect, i.e. the first day you take it, you can't stop clawing at yourself and you tend to be WIDE awake. I thought narcotics were supposed to do just that...narco your ass to sleep. NOT!

I'm wide awake. And now I realize I had a semi-awake dream about Alex Chiu. If you've never been to Chiu's website, I urge you to go. TODAY. This man is a world changer. Apparently he can make us all live forever. He also explains science, economics, and the keys to a viable outline for world peace. It is all professionally illustrated through expertly-rendered animated GIF's.

Mommy, can i stop being sarcastic now?

Alex Chiu is one of the biggest fruitcakes out there. No wonder Lowtax stays on him and Fiffy so much.

You people really suck. I've stayed up til almost 3 so far...and only one of my homies popped online. I've not talked with a lot of people in a long time. GET WITH THE PROGRAM.

goin to bed

How do you console someone who's lost the only parent they have? A single mom at that, raising three kids in the projects with no help from no one.

There's this kid I know, named Marco. I've known him since he was 2. I used to carry his squirmy little @$$ around when he was little. He has an older sister named Koeisha and a smaller sister named Charne'. (Dad's hard of hearing and incidentally thought Koeisha's name was 'cohesion' for the longest. Thought a dude I know named Eyner [pronounced EEY-ner] was named 'anus' for months)

Marco came home from high school today. Makes me feel old knowing he's that old now. But he came home to find his mom dead. How the hell do you comfort someone in that situation? I know how, it's a rhetorical question for those of you who are coming at me from the inner-circle we share. But I mean...dang.

I wish ya'll would buy some of my necklaces. I'm doing beadwork now. I could use the cash!

Watched Napoleon Dynamite today, which was interrupted by the bad news barrages of phone calls.

Oh yeah, and a cousin of mine beat his stepfather within an inch of his life tonight. Just came up while old dude was watchin Wheel of Fortune and wailed on him with a club.

When I got my medicine tonight at the pharmacy I saw the stepdad in their car. He looks, well, like a train ran over him. He's gonna have to have his face rebuilt and his hand reconstructed from where he tried to block the blows. He's gonna press charges and hopes that my cousin will get a boyfriend in jail.

I...i think he deserves it, but dang. Dang, double dang.

Cough med is kicking in and I'm all dreamy now. My coughing has subsided (kudos iblis) and maybe I'll rest tonight.

Remember those kids tonight in your prayers. They're gonna need all the help they can get. It's like a modern day urban version of The Boxcar Children.

Ok. After finding my data cable, I was able to extract photos from my travels and experiences. Today, we are going to cover the Colt 45 taste test. (Incidentally, to use a friend's oft-use term, I accidentally typed 'teste'. Is that singular for 'testes'?)
For those of you who are completely out of touch with reality, Colt 45 is the so-called 'Finest of Malt Liquors'. Star Wars' Billy Dee Williams used to make the most wonderful, pimply ads for it.
Now, obviously, 'malt liquor' is usually associated with, well, the ghetto. You don't see wino's in the projects drinking Beck's Dark, or a Corona with a lime wedge in it. You see them with a Colt 45 in their hand, in a paper sack most often. In short, a honky with a 'fo-five' in his hand is usually someone who has a ghetto identity problem, like Eminem.
After a good friend of mine rewarded my giving him a bottle of Jameson's Irish Whiskey by bringing me a quart bottle of King Cobra, I had as of last week decided to conduct a taste test of mysterious Ghetto Ambrosia, Colt 45. On to the good stuff:

This is the test subject, along with the testing material. In this case, we have selected the Colt 45 24 ounce 'Two Four' can. Note the eager anticipation that the test subject is displaying.

This is where the test began in earnest. The material container was unsealed and the subject, in a daring move of throwing scientific methodology to the wind, attempts a brash self-test of the material in question.

Note:(The test report was interrupted by a moronic 3 year old who just tried to swallow a bottle of Compound-W wart remover. After assuring she was fine, the test subject proceeded to spank her with a belt for staining the leather sofa with that crap).

Anyway. As shown in the above photograph, the material being tested was not pleasant at all. It was like a mediocre beer if it were hot. The disgust did not stop there however, because another sip was taken...

As shown in this image, the second attempt at testing also proved futile, as the material being tested was simply...butt.

So he just gave up and drank a corona instead. I miss King Cobra...