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I have a dream...

by Paul Aug 27, 2007 10:39
that... wait. Ok, I HAD a dream. Last night. That dream is now over. Before I continue let me apologize for never updating this thing. It turns out I didn't have a single interesting event occur for 5 months in a row, while I was travelling in Burma. You may know it as Myanmar; but it will always be Burma to me. You may also know that even though I've been gone for a while, I can still plagiarize sitcoms with the best of them.

Moving on. No, moving back... to my dream.

In my dream, my friend and I go into a theater to see a fine sunday offering, on one of sixteen screens at the neighborhood Cine-plex. We're sitting there making various snarky remarks about the ads and previews that we're watching, when in walks this incredibly hot chick in a bikini, who procedes to sit down directly in front of me.

This happens in movie dreams all the time.

My friend and I however, are not the only people to notice how attractive this girl is. Note, we did not notice nor care that she was wearing a bikini; but that's beside the point. A couple of other guys two rows up from me (one from her), start hitting on her. She's visibly uncomfortable because of it, but tries to ignore the goings-on. I think I talked to her at some point. Maybe I dreamed it. Except I dreamed it in my dream. Whatever I did, it must have worked because somehow she turned around to share her displeasure with the situation. So I guess at some point, I had a conversation with her that I promptly forgot (which may indicate how I feel about women in general... unless you're hot and have a crush on me; in which case as far as you know I'm incredibly manly and sensitve at the same time). The other option is that my powers of telepathy exceed even my own comprehension and I just convinced her that she should talk to me based on pure thought, and possibly a ouijie board.


She decided she'd had enough; and that she was leaving. So, the hot chick stands up and walks out of the theater; ass cheeks just a-blowin' in the wind. Well ladies and gentlemen, Paul has had it. I stand up and I say to the guy with all the derogatory comments "What the F is your P?!" I think we all know what happened next. That's right, he replied. So I said... what? Oh you want to know his reply. That makes sense. He says "What the F did you just say?" Clearly my incredibly hip phrasing and slanguage was too much for this poor shmuck to deal with.

This is dragging out so let me wrap it up.

I challenge this guy to the only way to solve problems like men: fisticuffs.

It is at the point where the challenge was accepted, and he stood up to meet me in the aisle (possibly after school at 3:15pm), that I then came to the immediate realization (due to having perfect 20/20 vision) that this guy, is in fact, handicapped. That's correct. He is what's known in most circles as a cripple. "Oh the horror!", you're probably thinking. Well I've got news for you, Jack. This guy swung a MEAN crutch. Joke was on him however, because I caught the crutch in mid-swing. I then disarmed him, and socked him square in the face. That's the end of that chapter.

That accomplished, I turned and exited the theater to find this bikini girl. I managed to catch her right outside the theater door. She apparently took a break on the way out, or just walks really, REALLY slowly. I says "Hey! I took care of that guy in there so you can come back and watch the movie." She replies "Oh. Well I'm not really in the mood anymore so I think I'm going to go home anyway." That's fair enough; especially since I can now apply my mack in full force to ask this girl out. So I say, "oh that's probably for the best. Anyway... maybe I can give you a call sometime?" Her reply? "Maybe."

She then walks off. I walk back to the theater. No, I don't have her number.

So the moral of the story is... in my dream, where I basically have unequalled creative control of the project, I beat up handicapped people, and STILL get rejected by girls. You know, in a dream, I could beat up an entire army of steroid guys wielding shoulder-mounter nuclear rockets; because it's MY dream. Not me. I'm fighting guys with crutches.
With all that being said... let's not lose track of the frank truth here. I WON that fight with the guy on crutches, and don't you forget it.

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I'll tell you what there should be...

by Paul Nov 29, 2005 10:15
Exceptionally abled placards that denote to other people that I'm so far away from disabled, that they had to give me a yellow sticker for my car's license plate. Instead of the wheel chair logo, mine has the outline of a head, with a halo above it.

I went with yellow because it's one of those "energy" colors so it denotes that I get up with the get down. Which is not entirely true, because I can't get up in the morning at all. Although I have no problem getting "it" up (am I right guys?!...wait I mean ladies?!... no not you, the hot ones.). I guess it's all about movitation and lack thereof. Either way, McDonalds uses reds and yellows to get you motivated to get the fuck out of their building by combining those "energy" colors with your deep seeded attention deficit disorder. If it works for Ronald, it can work for me.

Also, I want parking spaces that only a person with my placard can use. And not just regular parking like the disabled spaces which everyone abuses. My super parking spaces are going to have those tire spikes that they have in parking garages so that you can only go one way across them. That way when some fat fucks pull up in their 1983 Buick Roadmaster--while their kids the Michelin Man, the Pilsbury Doughboy, and the Stay-Puffed Marshmellow Man from Ghostbusters all sing "We scream for ice cream!" pile out of the wagon--and then shred their $25 Costco tires on the way out. Optionally, Fats McButterthighs can call the tow truck. When that guy gets there he won't be able to help them out because they don't have the halo. The only halos they have are the sweat mark halos forming around the neck of their shirt in the middle of the Green Bay winter.
I think I got a bit off track there, but instead of fixing it, let's just agree that I'm right.

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Blogs | P Funk's Journal of Warm Fuzzy Feelings