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Monday, September 8th, 2003
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10:30a - we both have dead people in our families
greetings from atlanta--home of the Braves and Coca-Cola and the Jimmy Carter Presidential Library and Museum (fuck you guys, jimmy carter is awesome). i'm in the airport because i had to catch a red-eye to jacksonville and there is a FUCKING stop in goddamn atlanta...like the plane couldn't make it just one more hour... so i don't really have anything to say about atlanta other than that the airport sucks and there is apparently a Margaret Mitchell House and Museum and i just don't understand why they would choose to commemorate some batty old bitch who wrote one of the most classist and most racist (not to mention worst) books of all time, a book which went on to become one of the most classist and most racist (not to mention worst) movies of all time. but that's just me. i'm not from the south, so i probably just don't understand.
since i don't have anything to say about atlanta, let me tell you about last wednesday's soccer game - you know, the one for which i promised wholesale violence? now i can't lie: there was no actual blood that i saw. there was, however, one of the greatest, most spectacular fights i have ever seen, ever. ever. so my guys are facing off against Control Assurance, right? let me tell you something about the guys in control assurance--we HATE those motherfuckers with their travel logs and their oversight committee and their dickface project manager with the australian accent; i HATE that guy. HATE!!! now, this is indoor soccer, mind, so the field is a lot smaller and the spectators are up close and personal with the players. i'm sitting there with kylee, drinking beer and eating cookies and watching the game. actually, i'm drinking beer and eating cookies. kylee doesn't drink or eat, as far as i can tell. the game continues and our guys are sucking out loud, i swear. paul and ken are tripping over their own feet, our best players ben and anthony smith are blocked in by the other team and trevor couldn't keep a beach ball out of the goal, i swear to god. they are so far off their game that i'm starting to yell at them to shape the fuck up. actually, that may have been partially due to the beer. beer bad.
so things are going badly for Production Accounting. we're down like 10-2 with 2 minutes left in the game. those cocksuckers in Control Assurance decide to just keep passing the ball back and forth on their end to run time, which is just silly and dirty, especially if you're up by 8 points. i yelled a few choice things. i think thanks to newcastle number 7, i called that australian bitch a limey pussy. they keep on passing the ball around until finally johnny v runs up to ray (ray's the kiwi asshole) and starts shit-talking. i can't hear all of it, but i see johnny v like...i don't know how to describe it...chest-butt ray. you know, like a sumo-wrestler? and they just keep doing it and yelling at each other and then the other guys join in and it's like 10 dudes running and hitting each other with their chests, it was AWESOME. and it went on for like 10 minutes too. eventually, the yelling lost all resemblance to english and was more of a grunting kind of a thing. it was like watching monkeys fight on the discovery channel but without the throwing of feces.
i didn't actually finish this while i was in the atlanta airport (got distracted by friendster), so i'm sending this to you now from jacksonville, FL home of...uh...home of...i have no idea. home of homeside lending, a washington mutual acquisition. that's the best i can do.
"nobody likes a smart-mouthed sinner"
current mood: apathetic
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