Let me run with you tonight
I'll take you on a moonlight ride
There's someone I used to see
But she don't give a damn for me
The whole process of moving-in went surprisingly well.
First, one has to pack all their crap. I had all my crap packed up in May, before I left for Sodak.
Second, one needs the transportation and laborers to help you do the job. Check, I had three buddies help out and they all that big-ass vehicles of some sort.
Then the frustration, sweat, and tears that go with moving. This includes hauling stuff up stairways, backs breaking, and frustration of the workers. None of this was a factor because 90% of all my shit was out and in in a matter of an hour. AN HOUR!!!
It-only-took-me-an-hour-to-move!!!!! This includes a couch, recliner, bed, dresser, big tv, and other crap.
It was awesome and my Dad wasn’t there to bitch and moan.
Before the move-in, I was struck with a little nugget of info about my new place that would normally shock anyone.
On Friday, I inspected my new place to see what kinda cracks and holes I could find so I don’t get charged for it. This is actually good times because then you can create any kind of damage you want and not get charged for it. You could punch a hole in your living room wall and get away with it!
Anyway, there was nothing really wrong with the place and as I headed out, I met an old friend. Mel and I were chatting a little bit…
Mel: So what room are you in?
Berg: Oh, I’m in XXX
Mel: Oh. Ah, didn’t they tell you about that room?
At this point gentle waves of steam are just beginning to blow from my ears. My face is getting red and I’m clenching my fists because I certaintly DON’T know the story behind my room.
Mel (looking sympathetic and nervous): Well-ah, the previous tenant was an old woman who died in that place about three weeks ago.
Berg (clenching his heart): OH pfew! That’s aweso-ah er fine. I almost thought you were going to tell me that the previous tenant grabbed their roommates jugular and procedded to rope a bag of chips or something.
Mel (frowning): ah no. I gotta go—somewhere—else… bye!
So yeah, my new place was the last place that an old lady spent her days on this Earth—and I’m taking her place.
Honestly, I think it’s kinda cool because now the pad has a history behind it. Also, I’m not a fan of the supernatural because that stuff bores me to death, but maybe, just maybe my place is haunted! I could have a little old lady ghost come and watch Extreme Elimination Challenge with me!
Resting in front of the TV after a hard day at work…
Old Lady Ghost (OLG): woooooooooooOOOOOOO WOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo
Berg: The hell?
OLG: WOOOOOOOOOooooooooooo WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Berg: Hey! Are you the spirit of the previous tenant?
Berg: ah, good to meet you. NOW SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!
OLG: I beg your pardon? I was here first!
Berg (looking at the ghost): ah, well you’re more than welcome to have a seat and watch some weird looking Japanese hurt themselves by a giant pizza and a big-ass rock.
OLG: So, ah you like the place then?
Berg: yeah it’s not too bad. Say, I’ve never said this to anyone, but I have a fetish with old lady ghosts. I even have a monthly subscription to Nude, Undead Old Hag Monthly.
Mind if I sit on your pretend lap?
It’s a pretty good conversation starter.
I even upgraded my bed from the sad looking 6-year-old twin bed to (just barely a notch higher) a frameless Queen size waterbed. The thing doesn’t sit three feet above the ground, but it’s sleepable!
1. People at Walmart/Target/Ikea…and any other really big store
Ever notice that people are in slow motion at these stores? You have these people that take their shopping cart and look back and forth ever so slowly while gently putting one foot in front of the other.
Me, I’m in a damn hurry because I got a hottie, old lady ghost waiting for me at home. So I sprint in the store to grab some saran wrap and hand lotion and these slow-ass people are in my way! Seriously though, Ikea is a big god damn maze and is infested with all these slow people (Women, I’m look at you). Don’t people know what they want? It’s not like when your one I94 and you want to look at St. Paul, you just slow down and go 35 (Although it seems that some people do).
2. Network TV
The cable guys are coming on Tuesday to give me back what I so rightfully deserve, cable tv. Back at the hizzy, I was the only one that didn’t want, but rather NEEDED cable. The two women I lived with, naturally, didn’t want to pay for it, and H knew about my addiction to cable so he balked and played the, ‘I don’t need cable either’ card so I’d end up paying for it.
I doubt if that was really the case but I like that version.
After all H needs cable just like any other red-blooded male does. Once you go cable, you can’t go back. It’s the worst drug ever!
So after moving in, I’m tired as hell so I plop down on my couch and surf through the channels… 2,4,5,9,11,23,29,45,2,4,5,11,23… and before you know it, I’m playing Bob Geldof’s role in The Wall.
How the fuck did I ever live without it?
3. Whenever they perform a showtune on the Simpsons
I love the Simpsons! My favorite episode came in season 6 where Homer goes to clown college and the worst? The worst is BY FAR is the stupid episode that has all the singing in it. The disappointment that hits me when I find out that Clint Eastwood’s character is singing, “Gonna paint a wagon, gonna paint it good” is about the same disappointment that hits Homer when he finds out he didn’t rent a western but a musical disguised as a western.
I don’t think I have ever EVER laughed at any of their stupid songs they played on that show, except maybe the ‘When I was 17’ song.
On the show last night, Marge was bartending and the story was pretty good.
Then Marge starts singing…..ARRRGGHHHH!
As the comic book guy would say,
Worst episode ever!
4. Hog and his, “oh, lets have a White Castle eating contest” a week ago.
I got an email from Hog a week ago about the upcoming Superbowl festivities and he slyly writes…
“Otherwise, we could have a halftime White Castle eating contest. Eh, eh, what do ya think?”
I think that sucks!!!
I mean wah---ent it—habbuda—NO… You can’t just blurt something like that out without any ambiance. What’s worse is that the power of numbers is against me because he emailed everyone else going to my place about this eating contest and they’re already giddy and practicing! So now everyone’s going to be buying crave cases up the ass and I gotta TRY and stick to my reputation of being a bad-ass eating competitor.
No texas hold ‘em, no rochambeaus.. but a Whities eating contest.
Dammit! And then I gotta go to the gym the next morning. How the hell am I supposed to use the hip sled when I have 25 explosive sliders in my digestive tract?
*shakes his fist* DAMN YOU HOG!!!