Thursday, December 08, 2005

Dial-a-Cunt

On Monday, I made an appointment with Professor Chuck Norris to talk about fight night. I just wanted to get some perspective on the event, particularly with someone who knew a lot about self-defense and would be able to assess to what extent I acted appropriately or missed a chance to smash a fool.

Anyway, last night he calls me into his office because "my aunt" called the school wanting to get me a present? He asked if I had an aunt who wants to get me a present. Fuckers, I don't even have an aunt. My uncle is dating this really horrible woman named Ruth who, I mean, I love my uncle very much, but leave Mr. Ed at home thank you. But she's definitely not my aunt. Apparently my uncle married a Playboy bunny once, but it was annulled within a month. I could write a whole diary about my uncle. What is it with uncles that makes them so crazy? I better have a baby before Brother #3116. I don't want to be the crazy uncle to his nerdy spawn. Anyway, so Chuck Norris is explaining that he thought the phone call was odd in light of the fight this weekend, and he said that "the aunt" would not reveal very much about herself, but that he got the sense that she was trying to suss out my skill level, which he did not give. His initial interpretation of the event was that the guy from Saturday was trying to put a case together that I had roughed him up. But I never got his name, and although the cops checked my license, I doubt that they would give my informationi to a drunk dude in handcuffs who just tried to assault me. Then Chuck Norris suggested that maybe the guy's family had gone to the party asking questions, but I don't buy that, either. I don't see my friends giving out my life story to some cracked out lady in a bathrobe and curlers asking impertinent questions at three in the morning. And I don't even think he has a family. He looked like the kind of guy who's no stranger to eating manwich in front of one of the two channels he gets on his homemade wire-hanger rabbit ear antennas. And the intellectual gymnastics it requires to imagine this guy getting on Web TV and googling my name and finding my diary and tracking me down, there's just no way. We're talking about white trash, guys. He is the human equivalent of a golden shower, but without any kind of eroticism, just piss. So the human equivalent of a brown shower. Without ANY KIND OF EROTICISM. Professor Chuck Norris tells me that he doesn't think it's anything to worry about, but that he wanted to let me know because it was strange.

So I'm thinking about it, and I'm like who has the following characteristics:

1. Is a girl
2. Knows I am taking karate at Chuck Norris's Karate School
3. Is crazy

Ha ha. That list is so long. Okay, more:

4. Has the balls to call the school
5. Has some need or desire to hide her identity
6. Has the balls to call the school while hiding her identity

CLASSIC COCONUT!

Ladies, if we have dated but I don't like you, please know that it is still much easier to get my attention with regrettable drunken hook-ups than impersonating non-existent family members and contacting my sensei to inquire about my progress in the martial arts. If you are hot you can probably hold my "attention" anywhere from thirty seconds to up to THREE MINUTES!!!

2 Comments:

Anonymous brother #3116 said...

whatever. my futurechild will beat your futurechild's ass on a regular basis.

12:49 PM  
Blogger Worker #3116 said...

Personally, I wouldn't call being on the winning mathletes team "beating ass," but you nerds have a whole different way of phrasing things.

1:39 PM  

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