jeff yen

Having gone to bed at 3AM the past couple of days, and woken up at the usual hour to go to work, I’m feeling punchy as hell. I thought this would be a good time to write a post about whatever pops into my head in the next…. oh, five or ten minutes.

… hm. Nothing yet… oh wait, there we go. Rabbits. I remember back when I was living in Warren, there were rabbits all over the damn place. I heard some guy shot one, ostensibly for food, and got suspended or kicked off of campus once. I had a gun for a little while, a Walther P99 9mm handgun. This does not, for people who know me, jive with the generally laid back attitude I have towards things. It’s not like I carried it around with me and pointed it at people when they cut me off in traffic, though. I sold it a while back, anyway, so all I have now is the safe. Speaking of assholes in traffic, I spent about an hour in rush hour traffic yesterday on the way home, and I work less than 3 miles away from where I live. Why is it that nine out of ten cars on San Diego freeways are gigantic SUVs? I always see some paragon of human reasoning on local news pissing and moaning about the high price of gasoline, as he leans against his Expedition which gets about half an inch to the metric ton of fuel. Some guy in Mississippi, or one of those states that I can never get straight, converted his pickup truck to run on wood. Which I guess would be pretty cool, if he lived in the 1800s. On that note, I saw some thing on the Daily Show where Bush pledged some ridiculous amount of money towards coal research. COAL?? We know what coal does. It’s black, it’s carbon, and it burns when you light it on fire. How much more can we possibly need to research about fucking coal? It comes in briquettes from Albertson’s. Unless your research is going towards making Superman so he can crush coal into diamonds with which to dust my bathroom floor, I think we can probably afford to forgo unraveling the mystique of this magical fuel. Mystique, isn’t that a Cirque de Soleil show? That Snickers commercial with the girl doing that freaky shit with her legs scares the bejeezus out of me whenever I see it. I always wince, fearing her spine will just go “Oh, for fuck’s sake” and throw in the towel. The one thing I absolutely, positively hate about going to the gym is if I forget my workout towel. Then, I need to fork out money for one of their towels. They cost four dollars, another “fuck you” with a smile provided by the greedy bastards that run the gyms, and besides which, smell like the inside of a guinea pig’s well-used cage.

Time!

1) Target is the best place to buy boxers. I got a pair of Calvin Kleins from the mall, and it was like wrapping my gonads in goddamn tin foil. That, and it cost me $11. Cal, I know you need to fund your underwear model starvation camps somehow, but Mr. Hanes is my new pimp now. Look who they got their Hanes on now! That’s right, it’s a totally unmarketable Asian guy.

2) Ladies go nuts over the weirdest things. My friend Purnima is all googly-eyed over a bag that, for all intents and purposes, looks like a muppet’s vagina. I’m not even joking. Now, by no means have my off-the-wall consumer purchases all made sense (I own a DVD of Japanese animation that is basically one solid hour of boob jokes), but at least mine have been relatively cheap (1 hour boob puns: $19.99. Shoving a DVD into the back of your video shelf in shame: Priceless).

In truth, though, I understand the feeling of wanting something that might not make much sense to other people. Buy it, baby! It’s only money, after all. But you should get Jish to hang it from his rear view mirror, alongside this lovely item… a purse made out of a bull’s scrotum. You need it, for, uh.. feng shui. Ancient Chinese wisdom has been rendered; you have to do it now, or else your offspring will be haunted by visions of egg rolls for a thousand generations. Boo ya!

3) I am not normal. It’s about 2 hours past my intended bedtime, and I’m writing a weblog post. This can partly be explained by the fact that the fucking washing machine at the laundromat didn’t wash my clothes properly, so I had to feed it another $1.25 so I could wait another hour for it to finish. Mostly, though, I was up making 10 quarts of soup. Now why, you might ask, am I, a gainfully employed individual, awake at 1 o’clock in the morning making soup? All right… I’m not going to lie to you.